Poet

Poems from Angel Minaya’s Collected Poems TEOREMA DE LOS LUGARES RAROS (Theorem of rare places) Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouman Hislop & Amparo Arróspide

by

1.
lugar es una casa para poner un codo no deja de dañar la mesa también sobre los
huesos un palo sus balances

lugar es una puerta para esconder la carga perdura en la cabeza aislada el rastrillo de la
deuda tatúa las membranas

lugar es una ventana para poner un caballo un libro alguna cosa

(i)

place is a house to place an elbow the table never leaves off hurting it´s also a stick
on the bones balance sheets

place is a door to hide the burden on an isolated head the rake of debt lingers
tattooing membranes

place is a window to place a horse a book some thing

2.

un niño pasea por las orillas del légamo se parece a mi sombra tiene miedo pero no corre
tal vez sus pies han oído el acre perfume de la ova animales suaves se agitan en el cañizal
un ciervo tendido va confundiéndose con las hojas caídas su cuello muestra linfas secretas el
sol cruje con la intensidad de la corteza columpios oxidados anticipan la ruina de los juegos
juegos solitarios donde el niño me imagina soñando con orillas recordando carroñas sin volumen
el agua verdinegra que el verano va cociendo ambos somos un sueño compartido por el otro
observados bajo las cañas por los ojos feroces de nuestra madre

a child passes silted shores seeming like my shadow he’s afraid but doesn’t run perhaps his
feet have heard the acrid perfume of the ulva soft animals tremble in reed banks a deer
lying down mingles with fallen leaves his neck revealing a secret lymph sun crackles through
intensity of bark rusty swings herald a ruination of games solitary games where I’m imagined
by the child to be dreaming of these shores a massless memory of carrion the summer’s
blackgreenish water is baking we are both a dream shared by the other watched under the
reeds by the fierce eyes of our mother

3.

Conferencia austro-húngara [apuntes]

antes de comenzar imaginemos
pensar en húngaro o escribir en alemán

alguien recoge lo que ama y lo corrige
alguien hubiera preferido someter a reconstrucción una pared escarpada
y ahora yo llevo bajo el brazo
el vínculo entre la fuerza y la risa

el caso es
de dónde procede este placer
después de qué aniquilación maduran los conceptos
por qué admiramos los átomos o la madrugada

queridos colegas
por) un agresor ha sido devorado
como) la frialdad de las madres es comparable a las máquinas zapadoras
en) lo que permanece dentro siempre resulta victorioso

en fin por) como) y en) prueban que una idea es lo más parecido a una cicatriz
o a un sueño que dura ya 51 años

en alemán los ahogados
beben hasta que les llega la muerte
en húngaro los mensajes indirectos acaban alojándose
en órganos e inervaciones habituales

buenas tardes y gracias a todos
por su aflicción

Austro-Hungarian Conference [Notes]

before we begin let us imagine
thinking in Hungarian or writing in German

someone picks up what they love and corrects it
someone would have preferred to rebuild a steep wall
and now I’m carrying under my arm
the link between strength and laughter

the case is
where does this pleasure come from
after what annihilation do concepts mature
why do we admire atoms or the dawn

dear colleagues
by) a foe has been devoured
as) the coldness of mothers is comparable to trenching machines
in) what remains inside is always victorious

hence by) as) and in) prove that an idea is the closest thing to a scar
or a dream that has already lasted for 51 years

in German the drowned
drink themselves to death
in Hungarian indirect messages end up occupying
the usual organs and innervations

good evening thank you all for listening
and thank you all for your suffering

4.

Apuntes catastróficos

contraimagen en el observador nace un estado de malestar o acantilado

contradicción la luz sobre el terraplén se degrada en movimiento

estímulos la vida es una erosión subterránea equivalente al plano inclinado de la
angustia

contragolpe un árbol despliega la tierra rota en dirección al sol blanco de la
analogía

contrapunto los dominios zoológicos se ramifican y expanden como nudos que se
persiguen

impresiones la caza y los territorios acumulan conglomerados de mapas y
desprendimientos

contrasentido un cono o pirámide de escombros pasa de la regularidad a la máxima
turbulencia

contraataque el observador es una trampa para frecuencias de lenta degradación

reducto un germen de catástrofe en favor de la excitación y el desorden

 

Catastrophic Notes

counter image a cliff state or discomfort is born in the observer

contradiction the light on the embankment degrades in movement

stimuli life is an underground erosion equivalent to the inclined plane of anguish

countercoup a tree displays broken earth towards the white sun of analogy

counterpoint zoological domains ramify their expansions pursued as knots

impressions hunting and territories accumulate clusters of maps and landslides

countermeaning the debris of a cone or pyramid goes from regularity to maximum turbulence

counterassault the observer is a trap for frequencies of slow degradation

stronghold a germ of catastrophe in favor of excitement and disorder

5.

Equivalencia en hueco

[nada] evento de la palabra que lo pronuncia [nunca] agujero o gusano de tiempo oscuro [nadie]
impensada extensión de una antinomia que se fue [nulo] valor absoluto del abandono [pérdida]
extravío en la dirección apropiada [mudez] propósito semántico del niño en silencio [se]
impersonal atavismo del aullido [cero] punto lógico del número a su saco [no] jaque a la
tercera persona oblicua [yo] identidad imaginaria de la cópula y la disyunción [negro] color
automático de las orillas en materia de movimiento [vacío] mensaje contracto del negativo de
los objetos [incógnita] conjunto dispar de soluciones y raíces antes del árbol [significado]
liquidar el poema de materia oscura

del doble tan raro
decirse no expresarse
aunque [yo] estuviera allí

 

GAP-IN EQUIVALENCE

[nothing] an event from the word that articulates it [never] a dark time or worm hole [nobody]
an unthought extension of a vanished antinomy [null] the absolute value of abandonment [loss]
a misplacement in the proper direction [muteness] the semantic intention of a child’s silence
[self] an impersonal atavistic howl [zero] the number’s logical point in its sac [not] the
oblique third person placed in check [i] imaginary identity of conjunction and disjunction
[black] the automatic color of edges in the materialisation of motion [vacuum] a message shrunk from the
negatives of photographic objects [unknown] a disparate set of solutions and roots preceding
their tree [meaning] to wipe dark matter out of the poem

by such a rare double
to tell oneself not to express oneself
even though as if [i] was there

6.

WCW 1963

amo las cosas esas cizañas que no dejan ver el mar el sabor oculto de las fresas perceptible
solo en su consumación el zorzal una danza leve en la luz amarilla

hoy una mano escribe y la otra me hace viva la muerte

en otro tiempo el día era el ascenso mis manos ayudaban a nacer palpaban el dolor y la noche
el descenso la medida variable de los huesos quebrados por la música

ahora el perro y la fiebre la oscuridad extensa donde nada tiene cura

van cayendo los ciegos los aros giran la espalda del desierto es la tortuga que sostiene el
mundo

WCW 1963

i love things those ryegrasses not letting you see the sea hidden taste of strawberries
perceptible only in their consummation a thrush a light dance in the yellow light

today one hand is writing and the other is making death alive for me

in another time a day was the ascent my hands helped to give birth they touched pain and night
the descent the variable measure of bones broken by music

Now the dog and the fever a vast darkness where nothing can be cured

the blind are falling rings are turning round the spine of the desert is the turtle supporting
the world
***

Translations from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop

***

ANGEL MINAYA (Madrid, 1964), a Bachelor in Hispanic Philology by the Complutense University of
Madrid, was also awarded in PhD in Linguistics by the Autonomous University of Madrid.
A teacher of Literature and Language at a high school in that same Community, some of his poems
and critical reviews have been published by Nayagua literary e-zine. A few have also been
included in the anthology Voces del extremo: Poesía y desobediencia (Madrid, 2014).
Teorema de los lugares raros (Theorem of rare places) is his first published poetry collection
(El sastre de Apollinaire, Madrid, 2017).
http://www.elsastredeapollinaire.com/producto/teorema-de-los-lugares-raros/
https://www.facebook.com/angel.minayaechevarrena

 

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Amparo Arróspide (Argentina) has published five poetry collections: Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento, as well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines. She has translated authors such as Francisca Aguirre, Javier Díaz Gil, Luis Fores and José Antonio Pamies into English, together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, who she worked with for a period as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, at Artvilla.com a Webzine. Her translations into Spanish of Margaret Atwood (Morning in the Burned House), James Stephens (Irish Fairy Tales) and Mia Couto (Vinte e Zinco) are in the course of being published, as well as her two poetry collections Hormigas en diáspora and Jacuzzi. She takes part in festivals, recently Transforming with Poetry (Leeds) and Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).

robin-portrait-july-sotillo-2016-by-amparo

https://www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
https://www.twitter.com/PoetryLifeTimes

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; at Artvilla.com his publications include

All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals Collected Poems, and the recently published Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation
of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)


			


					
			





	

					

				
Poems from Laura Giordani translated from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop
		

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Language is the territory of the common, of the community. Through my writing I try to make  visible not only what is not so due to our sensory handicap, but what has been made invisible: small daily holocausts, omissions, our most intimate violence.


Poetic language contains the seed of insubordination, of becoming disobedient to a way of  looking at the world and naming it; politics is the place where we situate ourselves to articulate as speakers, enlightened, subaltern, omniscient, decentered, etc.




It does not matter if we do it about a bird, a milk tooth or an intimate event. In my opinion, the political load of a poem is not dependent on certain topics, but on the insistence that invites us to breathe in a system that otherwise suffocates us, to resist so that we don’t let our eyelids drop in resignation.


Editor’s Note: extract from an interview with Laura Giordani. http://www.tendencias21.net/ Laura-Giordani-La-poesia- contiene-la-semilla-de-la- insumision_a13660.html


————————–


(i.)


[Qué te hicieron caballito, que las manos de tu amo


se hundan en tu carne abierta


hasta que llore polvo de ladrillo,


hasta que la fusta con que te azotaba


caiga con él de rodillas.


Con manos imantadas


Hundir los dedos en la tierra negrísima de la infancia, Cuando las yemas ardan, escarbar con manos imantadas por una ternura abandonada junto a los restos: el desguace nuestro.


Botones sueltos, fotografías de familia: los esposos en un muelle con cuatro hijos y dos baúles, un viejo de ojos claros junto a su silla de enea, escarpines de lana amarilleando sin término, el ajuar con las mismas iniciales de aquel ataúd chiquito y blanco.


Un mechoncito rubio en la mano, único consuelo.


Mujeres pariendo en camas de hierro, niños amamantados por cabras.


[veni, sonnu, di la muntanedda


lu lupu si mangiau la picuredda


oi ninì


ninna vò fa1


A la infancia a través de las manos, palpar el fondo de los cajones para conocer el revés nuestro, las costuras de un relato siempre en hilachas.


Ella se fue y algo se rompió dentro


[algo sordo, como llorando.


Escondimos las rodillas lastimadas por el pavimento.


Llegaron como una peste las palabras y las llevamos a la boca creyendo en su alimento.


Los contornos adquirieron relieve, los pétalos del corazón fueron cayendo –uno a uno—como en aquel juego.


Sobrevino la sintaxis, la separación, el desastre.


[La guardiana del tacto] 




1. Nota: Canción de cuna siciliana. Oh, ven, sueño, de la montañita / El lobo se comió a la ovejita / Oh, el niño /Quiere dormir.


(i.)


[What did they do you little horse that the hands of your master


should sink into your opened flesh


until it weeps brick dust


until the whip with which he lashes you


falls with him to his knees.


With magnetised hands 


To sink our fingers into the blackest earth of childhood, when fingertips burn, hands magnetised by a discarded tenderness that dig searching the remains – our scrap.


Loose buttons, family photographs: spouses on the quayside with four children, two trunks, an old man with clear eyes next to his wicker chair, woollen stockings forever fading, the trousseau with the same initials as that little white coffin, a little lock of blonde hair held in the hand their only consolation.


Women giving birth in iron beds, children suckled by goats.


[veni, sonnu, di la muntanedda


lu lupu si mangiau la picurredda


oi nini


ninna vó fa*


Childhood reached through our hands feeling the bottom of drawers


knowing our underside, the seams of a story always in rags.


She left and something broke inside.


[something deaf, as if weeping


We hid our knees scraped on the pavement.


Words came like a disease, we put them in our mouths believing in their nourishment.


Outlines became distinct, one by one, as in that childhood game, the petals of innocence fell.


Then syntax, separation, disaster.


[The Guardian of Touch]


* Sicilian Lullaby. Oh come, sleep, from the little mountain/The wolf ate the little lamb/Oh, the child/Wants to sleep.


(ii.)








Con guantes de goma anaranjada ella ahogaba los cachorros recién nacidos en el fuentón de lata: no son puros, seguro que fueron los perros de Moroni – sentenciaba y aguantando la respiración hundía a los perritos todavía ciegos, buscando el calor de la collie que aullaba junto a la puerta. Anegaba sus pulmones en el fondo hasta que flotaran y los metía en una bolsa de nylon que cerraba con nudos bien apretados. Luego se sacaba los guantes color naranja y con esas mismas manos cortaba el pan y trenzaba el pelo de mi amiga Alejandra.


[Todavía me persigue el llanto de aquella perra,


el frío mortal del lavadero.


Mi amiga creció, tuvo hijos, otra casa. Su madre siguió baldeando con desvelo la vereda cada mañana, ahogando – primavera tras primavera—perros sin raza.


[Extraño país]


(ii.)


With orange rubber gloves, she, my friend’s mother, drowned the new born pups, in a tin basin.


These are mongrels, sure from old Morini’s, she judged, as she held her breath to drown the still blind puppies as they searched the warmth of the collie, who howled beside the laundry door.


She flooded their lungs in the bottom until they floated putting them into a nylon bag that she tied in the tightest of knots.


Afterwards, she took off those orange rubber gloves and with the same hands cut bread and braided  my friend Alejandra’s hair.


[Now the howl still haunts me


deadly cold in the wash place.


My friend grew up, had children, another house. Her mother continued every morning to thoroughly wash the pavement down drowning spring after spring mixed breeds.


[ Strange Country]


(iii.)


El sobretodo azul que pusiste


sobre los hombros de la muchacha aquella


volvía empapada del interrogatorio


temblando


la mojaban la picaneaban*


cada noche


la dejaban junto a tu colchón


con un llanto parecido al de un cachorro


ese gesto a pesar del miedo


a pesar del miedo te sacaste el sobretodo azul


para abrigarla


no poder dejar de darle ese casi todo


en medio del sobretodo espanto


la dignidad puede resistir


azul


en apenas dos metros de tela


y en esos centímetros que tu mano


sorteó en la oscuridad hasta sus hombros


sobre todo


[El sobretodo azul]




(iii.)


The blue overcoat you put on
 over the shoulders of the girl
 soaked from interrogation
 shaking
 watered tortured with the picana1
 each night
 they´d left her next to your mattress
 with a puppylike whimper
 that gesture despite the fear
 over all the fear you took off your blue overcoat
 to warm her
unable to resist giving over all
over all the horror
in its midst
dignity can stand
blue
in just two meters of cloth
those centimeters your hand
covered in the dark over her shoulders
over all else.


[The blue overcoat]




1 The “picana” is a wand or prod that delivers a high voltage but low current electric shock to a torture victim.




 


laura


 


Laura Giordani (1964, Córdoba, Argentina)


Because of the Argentine military dictatorship, in the late 1970s she went into exile with her family in Spain, where she has lived almost half  her life.

She studied Psychology, Fine Arts and English language.

She participates in writers´meetings and gives poetic recitals in Argentina and Spain.

She has written the following poetry collections: Apurando la copa (2001), Celebración del brote (2003), Cartografía de lo blando (2005), Noche sin clausura (2006), Sudestada (2009), Materia oscura (2010) and Antes de desaparecer (2016).

Her poems have been included in several anthologies, she has also collaborated in journals from Argentina, Brazil, Germany and Spain.




The following link reviews her latest work  Antes de desaparecer ( Before disappearing) from which the above poems are extracts  http://www.tendencias21.net/Antes-de-desaparecer–de-Laura-Giordani-una-manera-de-ampararse_a32021.html


 


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Amparo Arróspide (Argentina) has published five poetry collections: Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento, as well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines. She has translated authors such as Francisca Aguirre, Javier Díaz Gil, Luis Fores and José Antonio Pamies into English, together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, who she worked with for a period as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times,at Artvilla.com a Webzine. Her translations into Spanish of Margaret Atwood (Morning in the Burned House), James Stephens (Irish Fairy Tales) and Mia Couto (Vinte e Zinco) are in the course of being published, as well as her two poetry collections Hormigas en diáspora and Jacuzzi. She takes part in festivals, recently Transforming with Poetry (Leeds) and Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).


robin-portrait-july-sotillo-2016-by-amparo

 

 

https://www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

https://www.twitter.com/PoetryLifeTimes

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; at Artvilla.com his publications include

 

All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, collected poems, and the recently published Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as  Key of Mist  and the recently published Tesserae  , a translation

of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.

 

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

			


					
			





	

					

				
Poem by EVA MARÍA CHINCHILLA on a homage supplement published in “Cuadernos del Matemático” Nº 56-58, dedicated to Leonard Cohen,Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arróspide
		

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We are the lesser  who will never be able to write
          
a good love poem than those of us who will never
          
             be able to write a love poem in time.
      

    




 

 

I love your temperature. That’s what I love,

not you

 


Gentle, gallant, it keeps the milky warmth of a blade of wheat

offering itself at dawn

breaking earlier than myself, heralding

— from its delta-

 

the descent of dreams

 

I love your eyes. For their sea, for their fairy

for their

id

 

and whilst each time i shatter the image of blue cliches

you invade that which has no colour, each time leaving it within

that which i’ll never

discover

 

not you

 

I love your caligraphy. Remains of eternity, my inheritance

that you pretend   as yet yours

 

voice that sweetly swathes me

and tungsten. Impossible firefly, there

I love your caligraphy because it cleanses  each time the wound of having thought i knew you

 

 (and the treasure of the hidden note in the third stanza, when  id

shipwrecks

where we read

because it cleanses  each time the wound of having thought i knew you

 

to read again now

 

because it gently opens the wound whether i knew

how to love

despite not knowing

 

I love your caligraphy   because it lets me recognise you

a balm which you prepare for me, it  says

 

to recognise has been to know

 

so

 

there exists the possibility that i have

you, that´s what your caligraphy says, it says my

my love for you

that i have not yet known,

 

it extends before my eyes and on my skin bares – a code so familiar as to be indeciph–

sunsets and a bond of views without other qualification than their

certainty

 

this breeze that rustles my skin, carouses my blood, tempers

and forgives me

me, you, me

 

 

 

 


    

      

        

          
Somos menos quienes nunca lograremos escribir
          
un buen poema de amor que quienes nunca
          
lograremos escribir a tiempo un poema de amor
      

    




 

 

Amo tu temperatura. Es lo que amo,

y no a ti

 

Suave, donosa, guarda el calor lácteo de la espiga. Se entrega de madrugada, antes

que yo amanece y anuncia

–desde su delta—

 

la bajada de los sueños

 

Amo tus ojos. Por su mar, por su hada

por su

id

 

y mientras yo destrozo cada vez la pantalla de los tópicos

del azul, invades lo que no tiene color, lo dejas dentro cada vez jamás

encontraré

 

no a ti

 

Amo tu caligrafía. Restos de eternidad, herencia mía

que simulas tuya aún

 

voz de tela que me arropa

y wolframio. Luciérnaga imposible, ahí

 

amo tu caligrafía, porque desinfecta, cada vez, la herida de haber creído conocerte

 

(y la nota del tesoro escondido de la tercera estrofa, cuando naufrague

id

donde hemos leído

porque desinfecta, cada vez, la herida de haber creído conocerte

para ahora leer

 

porque abre con suavidad la herida de si supe amar

lo que conocía

a pesar de no sabr que lo

 

amo tu caligrafía porque me deja reconocerte

un bálsamo que tú preparas para mí, dice

 

reconocer ha sido conocer

 

entonces

 

existe la posibilidad de que te haya

a ti eso dice tu caligrafía, dice mi

te amo a ti

que yo no he sabido saber,

 

extiende ante mis ojos y en mi piel expone –en un código tan familiar como indesci—

amaneceres y miradas en unidad, sin otro calificativo que el de

 

indudables

 

esa brisa se extiende por mi piel, navega por mi sangre, me templa

y me perdona

 

a mí, a ti, a mí

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eva Chinchilla, evachin. Poet. Author of Años Abisinios (2011), Verbo rea (2003), and a third poetry book  currently in production. Participant in anthologies such as La noche y sus etcéteras. 24 voces alrededor de San Juan de la Cruz (2017), Hilanderas (2006) o Estruendomudo (2003).  She is also a board member of poetry magazine Nayagua, which is a publication by the José Hierro Poetry Foundation, where she was a teacher from 2007 to 2016. Member of the Genialogías Association and the 8que80 collective of female poets; co-editor of Diminutos Salvamentos poetry collection. She walks along the haiku and flamenco lyrics paths. A philologist (hispanist), with a degree free master in continuous training and questioning. Born in Madrid (1971).

 

 

Eva Chinchilla, evachin. Poeta. Autora de Años abisinios (2011), Verbo rea (2003), y un tercer poemario en prensa; incluida en antologías como La noche y sus etcéteras. 24 voces alrededor de San Juan dela Cruz (2017), Hilanderas (2006) o Estruendomudo (2003). Forma parte del consejo de la revista de poesía Nayagua, que se edita desde la Fundación Centro de Poesía José Hierro de Getafe, donde fue profesora desde 2007 hasta 2016. Integrante de la Asociación Genialogías y el colectivo 8que80 de mujeres poetas; coeditora de la colección diminutos salvamentos; andariega del camino del haiku y de las letrillas flamencas. Filóloga (hispanista), con master sin titulación en formación y cuestionamiento continuos. Nació en Madrid (1971).

 

 

 

 

 

 

https://www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

https://www.twitter.com/PoetryLifeTimes

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; at Artvilla.com his publications include

 

All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, collected poems, and the recently published Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as  Key of Mist  and the recently published Tesserae  , a translation

of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.

 

You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

			


					
			





	

					

				
Reducto Anagramatico Sunday Afternoon 1915 Wallace Stevens. Poem Excerpt from Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems by Robin Ouzman Hislop
		

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http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm

 

 



 



 

reducto anagramatico sunday afternoon 1915 wallace stevens

 

come give balm to the gusty grieving

nights to hush day green the seas

for her dark oranges bloom an

 

indifferent inhuman evening

of cherished comfort and wings

like wide  complacencies

 

but next moves in mythy gat motions

among any hind’s heaven or paradise

& cries cause the sun’s littering

 

our afterwards river sky relinquish

the mountains and whistle in her porch

death still the imperishable inescapable

 

for receding boughs to wear sleeplessly

the sun colours to hang of sky bosom

serafin plum the perfect rivers  the hills

 

the lay sky paths that live impassioned

upon grass phrases in extended cries over

her peignoir and coffee upon blood calm

 

 



 

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems and translations from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae (the award winning XIII Premio César Simón De Poesía). In November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds, UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020.

 

 

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Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com . You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his

work Performance (University of Leeds)

			


					
			





	

					

				
Somewhere Over. An Audio Textual Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop
		

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Oh when the saints	          tread tenderly
flora & foliage are abundant	   so the pain
with bird song	    is not seen	       with the
lessening of     in my eyes     human traffic
bury me here    go marching in      & laugh
in the face of the wind      & come back next year
bring me the face     somewhere over the rainbow
when will we return?     of the grateful dead
i wanna be     & i will sow	 skies are blue
the flora of tomorrow      will the deserts be green
again amongst that number as when homo erectus
trecked through them?            once in a lullaby
what did they seek freedom?   before confusion
 & the babble of tongues   when the saints go marching in


 

 

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Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com . You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

			


					
			





	

					

				
Episodes. An Audio Textual Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop
		

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episodes however brief	virus in the slaughterhouses 
obedience to the state  or there is fragmentation
a world of fragmentation is not of epiphanies	
but epitaphs	they tell us	 surrounded by hegemony
that camouflages our right of way	we multiply 
in the expectancy to gain the wealth of the world 
it is our sadness	    as we grow old
the fear we cannot care for each other
this is what the walk of life has led us to
misunderstanding 	the unknowable unknowables
the something and the nothing noths	
helpless as leaves upon a tree 		
we struggle on in our suffering as so many millions 
upon millions have done 	must do in silence & stoicism 	
remembering
lost friends & relatives without blame for we cannot enter 
their minds		i had had a surprising dream 		
about death i figured	but so personal i didn't want to speak 
about it	to anyone	in case i might make it happen
early morning mist rain	thunder rolls on the blue mountains 
this really is the kingdom of exile	where we play with words		
the silent absent words	yet embedded in every action	
even as we think 	before we speak     words that tell 
truth & falsehood are fragments	episodes however brief


 

 

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Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com . You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

			


					
			





	

					

						

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go go go

there’s no grail in the grainy day

i’m so tired of stirring glue

one more time lady of the night

go go go i’m outta sight

power plays with psychopathy

what’s left of words our pathology

i took my baby down to MeJico

the place you know you go go go

i’m so tired of stirring glue

& tomorrow’s just another shoe

where there’s no lack for being strange

where the world’s already twisted & maimed

one more time lady of the night

what’s gonna make it through & through

we’ll all be dead at the sight of you

go go go i’m outta sight

we’re pathologically psychotic

you can put it got it got it

our words blasted in the thunder

& tomorrow’s rainbow’s no penumbra

where psychopathy plays the one number

kick arse this world so full of shite

come on down lady of the night

go go go i’m outta of sight

i’m so tired of stirrring glue

we’ll all be dead at the sight of you

holocaust plague & famine too

the map’s rotting over the ruins

words turn to bones in their tombings

like waxwork effigies we melt in the blue

i’m going down to MeJico

you know the place you go go go

come on down lady of the night

i’m gonnna dance with you outta sight

we’re on a wave that’s gonna disappear

a field that evaporates in thin air

then suddenly again you’re standing there

dancing with time forever there

come on down lady of the night

i’m gonna dance with you outta sight

 

 

 

 

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Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com . You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)