All posts filed under: Translation

“Phoenix” and other poems by Müesser Yeniay

The House of God   We landed from the house of God to the island of heart we came into being we are at the house of earth bodies are celestial   Phoenix Poeta pirata est I should be a phoenix to the peaks of my imagination I should see the tips of my horizon and introduce myself to it never I wish anything remains hidden from me since I came here to see the front and behind both of dreams and reality Woman The wind is blowing that sweeps the sand around words Everybody is calling God! I am taking myself from inside and putting it out with my hands. I am the place where human-being is less God is more. Phoenix and other poems are © Müesser Yeniay MÜESSER YENİAY was born in İzmir, 1984; she graduated from Ege University, with a degree in English Language and Literature. She took her M.A on Turkish Literature at Bilkent University. She has won several prizes in Turkey including Yunus Emre (2006), Homeros Attila İlhan (2007), …

‘the goldberg variations’ by Chris Murray

scene 1: the goldberg variations   a kiosk at the end of a dark train in an abandoned travelyard: two shadowmen ravel orange round about their nothing much the magician in his moth coat appears in a vaudeville flourish. your piano balcony is high above the narrow stone street, your piano plays the rescued Goldberg, plays, and plays through its charred pages, – their black edges. it is the gothic quarter men move in their coffins.  their coffins are white with crosses on (red)  their coffins are on narrow shelves of (stone) aside an archivum (shades of gray):     a shady tree     an etched stone     a skull and crossbones Scene 2 : the goldberg variations     that indestructible piano! the undestroyed Goldberg is playing (again) wending its tones above a skatepark of bullet-glass (the melody plays, yes). I see that:  the romans left their life-size eggs and urns below the city  stitches pull and sting on the underside of my elbow (pain) softening the blow here and here there is no stitching …

‘Lilacs From the Field of Mars’ and other poems by Maureen Boyle

Darshan   (Hindi: the pleasure of looking)   In my favourite of your Indian stories you are working in your room in the garden ashram: the air is heavy with mangoes and dung the cows in the gowshala sing the saffron cloths of the swami flap like prayer flags on the line.   You are working on the Gita intent and peaceful but suddenly you look up and there is the cook, Santakumar, with his extended family smiling at your door and when you ask what you can do for them he says, “No, no – just Darshan Mr Malki, just Darshan.”   And now, on many nights when you are asleep before me I lie and look and think, “Just Darshan, just Darshan Malachi.”   First published in ‘Incertus’ 2007.   Invoking St Ciarán of Saigher   When the blackbirds begin to build their nest against your house we take it as a good sign – an omen of continuance, of the birds knowing it as a gentle place, trusting its rafters, burrowing into …

intv. Kimberly Campanello at the Prague Micro Festival

  AN INTERVIEW WITH KIMBERLY CAMPANELLO BY CHRISTINA SCHNEEKLOTH SJØGAARD   Kimberly Campanello was born in Elkhart, Indiana, and she now lives in Dublin and London. She has an MFA in Creative Writing, an MA in Gender Studies and she recently got a PhD in Creative Writing. She has written a pamphlet called Spinning Cities, which was published in 2011 by Wurm Press. She later wrote her first full-length poetry collection called Consent in 2013, published by Doire Press, and in 2015 her new collection of conceptual poetry MOTHERBABYHOME will be published by zimZalla. Also in 2015, Strange Country, her full-length poetry collection on the sheela-na-gig stone carvings will be published by The Dreadful Press. Campanello’s work is influenced by investigation of the society in Ireland from a multi-angled feministic viewpoint. Her poems are often of a highly political nature, and she seems to search for justice in an unjust society.   Questions: First of all, you have lived in different places in the United States, and now you live in Dublin and are often …

‘Nocturne for Voices One and Two’ by Christine Murray

Nocturne for Voices One and Two   Voice 1   Sea pummels shore, wind and reed knock trees. Winter trees’ wooded music is not green sapped   ‘under the Greenwood tree.’   But yet, yet but, and alone, the moon is all ?   Voice 2   Moon is not all, while the restive sea and you separate. Separated.   Silence, quiet.   Quiet, peace !   Voice 1   And sleep now ?   For, The bird skims dark waters The bird skims silver streams.   Stream encroaches on the bay, Stream sieves the sand.   Voice 2   And sleep now ?   In silence or peaceably.   The moon is all, it lights a trail.   Voice 1   It is with the voice of longing that you speak, Close your eyes that mock the moon.   Close your eyes that tremble on the reed, Close your eyes that discern the wing.   Not distance, not distance from.   Voice 2 Separated, separating.   V1 /V2   We do not in our …