We present this work in honor of the Tunisian holiday, Republic Day.
Salah Garmadi Tunisian 1933 – 1982
Should I one day die among you
but will I ever die
do not recite over my corpse verses from the Koran but leave that to those whose business it is do not promise me two acres of Paradise
for I was happy on one acre of land
do not partake of the traditional couscous on the third day of my death it was in fact my favorite dish do not scatter bits of fig on my grave
for little birds of the sky to peck at human beings are more in need of them don’t stop cats urinating on my grave it was their habit to piss on my doorstep every Thursday and it never made the earth shake do not come to visit me twice a year at the cemetery I have absolutely nothing with which to welcome you do not swear by the pace of my soul that you are telling the truth even when lying your truths and your lies are of no interest to me and the peace of my soul is none of your business do not pronounce on the day of my funeral the ritual phrase: “in death he preceded us but one day we shall meet again” this type of race is not my favorite sport should I one day die among you but will I ever die
put me on the highest point of your land and envy me for my untouchability
I concern myself with you no more; I have taken up strong arms against you; I do not answer when you call; I ridicule and deride you instead.
O enemy, I now have passed The dubious way. My Jesus has freed me; You gain nothing by remaining. I have known his grace, so I will not fall; No longer tempt me with hook and bait I do not answer when you call; I ridicule and deride you instead.
You believe you have good reason To shower me with pleasures; But I no longer think of you So I will not offend my Lord. I want you to leave me be, I no longer want to hear your cries. I do not answer when you call; I ridicule and deride you instead.
Who makes his way to the side of Christ, Has little need of your words; Who takes care to stop his ears Is not harmed by your calls. I go to follow him who died on the cross; Do what you will, I desire you not. I do not answer when you call, I ridicule and deride you instead.
Now I want you to leave me be, With your threat of mortal wounds! I will think only on my sins And on God, whose bounty is infinite. I want now to lead my life So that God will love me. I do not answer when you call; I ridicule and deride me instead.
Now show me what you can do How many pleasures you know. If you were you and of your party, You would have from me nothing else. Consider my struggle at an end With your false and trivial ways! I do not answer when you call, I ridicule and deride you instead.
We present this work in honor of the Egyptian holiday, Revolution Day.
Bayram Al-Tunisi Egyptian 1893 – 1961
Oh Egyptian, Why to loosen up your arm while the universe is all yours The beautiful and dulcet Nile is yours It heals the burns God created Macedonia and Sardinia Thus, don’t be so bleak when others goof off in life
Now let me praise the keeper of Heaven’s kingdom, The might of the Creator, and his thought, The work of the Father of glory, how each of wonders The Eternal Lord established in the beginning. He first created for the sons of men Heaven as a roof, the holy Creator, Then Middle-earth the keeper of mankind, The Eternal Lord, afterwards made, The earth for men, the Almighty Lord.
We present this work in honor of Colombian Independence Day.
Mery Yolanda Sánchez Colombian b. 1956
The other day at the Court House he barked as the flames blistered his snout. Sniffed the ones lined up and transferred to the blind house on the corner, where he’d often wag his tail in military marches. It’s Friday, old Lázaro the street dog goes into a restaurant and is arrested, a criminal record was the last thing he’d want it would prove even more he was a man. Now they all keep an eye on him, point him out, issue warnings, possible convictions he feels for his tail and his two paws left behind like fingerprints. He signs, cries, needs a hug. Cries, signs, looks for a handkerchief, signs, cries, asks for a kiss. The man at his side growls like he did before. Lázaro just cries and signs. The little dog with smoke in her eyes rummages on the other side of the bars. Outside they read off the lists, Lázaro isn’t there.
We present this work in honor of the 650th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Petrarch Italian 1304 – 1374
What infinite providence and art He showed in his wonderful mastery, who created this and the other hemisphere, and Jupiter far gentler than Mars,
descending to earth to illuminate the page which had for many years concealed the truth, taking John from the nets, and Peter, and making them part of heaven’s kingdom.
It did not please him to be born in Rome, but in Judea: to exalt humility to such a supreme state always pleases him;
and now from a little village a sun is given, such that the place, and nature, praise themselves, out of which so lovely a lady is born to the world.
When the earth with the naturalness of women “mujer is more than senora or senorita”— receives openly at the first rains, I think of nothing then but you.
It was hardly war, the hardliest of wars. Hardly, hardly. It occurred to me that this particular war was hardly war because of kids, more kids, those poor kids. The kids were hungry until we GIs fed them. We dusted them with DDT. Hardly done. Rehabilitation of Korea, that is. It needs chemical fertilizer from the States, power to build things like a country. In the end it was the hardliest of wars made up of bubble gum, which GIs had to show those kids how to chew. In no circumstance whatever can man be comfortable without art. They don’t want everlasting charity, and we are not giving it to them. We are just lending them a hand until they can stand on their own two feet. A novel idea. This is why it occurred to me that this particular war was hardly war, the hardliest of wars.
My father was hardly himself during the war, then I was born during the era that hardly existed, and, therefore, I hardly existed without DDT. Beauty is pleasure regarded as the quality of a thing. I prefer a paper closet with real paper dresses in it. To be born hardly, hardly after the hardliest of wars, is a matter of debate. Still going forward. We are, that is. Napalm again. This is THE BIG PICTURE. War and its masses. War and its men. War and its machines. Together we form THE BIG PICTURE. From Korea to Germany, from Alaska to Puerto Rico. All over the world, the US Army is on the alert to defend our country, you the people, against aggression. This is THE BIG PICTURE, an official television report to the nation from the army. This is Korea! Is one thing better than another? These South Koreans are all right. Woe is you, woe is war, hardly war, woe is me, woe are you? My father is still alive, and this is how I came to prefer a paper closet with real paper dresses in it.
Well, it’s morning in Korea. The most violently mountainous place on Earth. Everyone has been dusted, existence hardly done, whereas beauty has been regarded as the quality of a thing. At Uncle Dann’s Huddle doughnuts and coffee are free and in case there are any, for there are many, the unescorted ladies are not permitted. The decision has been made in Tokyo for the hardliest of wars, an old soldier made it. The situation in Korea is so critical that we the Navy must give the Eighth Army practical support. Do you remember how you began this day? How did you spend this morning? Woe are you? Well, pinecones fall every day. So why do we fail? Miles and miles of homeless refugees set adrift by the Red scourge.
Hail Mystick Art! which Men, like Angels, taught, To speak to Eyes, and paint unbody’d Thought! Though Deaf, and Dumb; blest Skill, reliev’d by Thee, We make one Sense perform the Task of Three. We see, we hear, we touch the Head and Heart, And take, or give, what each but yields in part. With the hard Laws of Distance we dispence, And, without Sound, apart, commune in Sense; View, though confin’d; nay, rule this Earthly Ball, And travel o’er the wide expanded all. Dead Letters, thus with Living Notions fraught, Prove to the Soul the Telescopes of Thought; To Mortal Life a deathless Witness give; And bid all Deeds and Titles last, and live In scanty Life, eternity we taste; View the First Ages, and inform the Last. Arts, Hist’ry, Laws, we purchase with a Look, And keep, like Fate, all Nature in a book.
Poets Corner 