All posts filed under: International Women’s Day

A Celebration of Poetry for International Women’s Day 2020

Papyrus Fragment It darts, bares a blaze of underwing to plain sight; this endless fragile need to make a mark, to come to light Papyrus Fragment is © Annette Skade   ‘Secrets of a cartographer’s wife’ by Katrina Dybzynska The cartographer’s wife never told him about her contributions to his maps. A few tiny islands hidden in the middle of an archipelago in the name of symmetry. Some borderline moved to resemble a face shape. The territory of England shortened slightly, in personal revenge. One time, she renamed an insignificant river in Bangladesh after her lover. She felt pity for the cartographer that he was more furious about the affair than about her intervention in the world order. She knew that romances were ephemeral, while naming things was changing them forever.   Katrina Dybzynska poet, shortlisted for Red Line Poetry Prize 2019. Author of „Dzień, w którym decydujesz się wyjechać” (The Day When You Decide To Leave), Grand Prix of Rozewicz Open Contest 2017. Laureate of national competitions in Poland. She has been publishing short …

A Celebration of Women’s Poetry on International Women’s Day 2019

Image: Srilata Krishnan Poethead has been celebrating the achievements of women writers, editors and translators for over a decade. International Women’s Day 2019 is no exception. This year I have decided to highlight the work of women poets from my international index and to introduce my readers to some new Irish poets. I am very grateful to all the poets who submit to the site, especially for their patience. I do not think we would be heading into eleven years this March 2019 without the generous support and uplift that comes from my daily correspondence. Thank you, C. Murray, March 2019 ‘Birth Mother’ by Srilata Krishnan   We are standing in front of the mirror, my daughter and I, brushing our hair and being vain when I think of the doctor’s question: “What was her birth cry like?” I don’t know and never will. She is fine, or will be, I know. But looking in the mirror and into her almond eyes, I wonder what she is like – her birth mother – if she …

“Birth Mother” and Other Poems by Srilata Krishnan

Birth Mother We are standing in front of the mirror, my daughter and I, brushing our hair and being vain when I think of the doctor’s question: “What was her birth cry like?” I don’t know and never will. She is fine, or will be, I know. But looking in the mirror and into her almond eyes, I wonder what she is like – her birth mother – if she too, was once, afraid of words and of the fluttering of pigeons, if she has nicely formed arches on her feet and whether or not her eyebrows make a bow for good luck, if she is small and slender-waisted, if she is anything like my daughter, or was. Strange, but I don’t wonder at all about the father. I tug at her pony. “Amma, let’s go”, she urges into a mirror that is slowly swallowing her birth mother. Our eyes meet in that eye of a little god and she smiles the sort of smile that is like mine.   What Penelope Said to Ulysses …

A Celebration of Women’s Poetry for International Women’s Day 2018

  ‘A History of Love Letters’ by Seanín Hughes   Miss said every time I told a lie, Baby Jesus had a nail hammered into his hand. She said I had a sad mouth, corners downturned, pointing to hell.   Stephen with the p-h had a mouth like sunshine. I gave him a token: a tiny toy dinosaur egg, pale blue and gold. I wrote his name on my hand and hoped the egg would hatch.   My body grew and Granny said, never shave your legs, so I did. Better bald spring chicken; better descaled and plucked bare for boys to touch with their nervous fingers, and work me open.   The one who wrote love letters spilled his entrails in black Bic biro, telling me in no particular order the parts of me he liked best — some illustrated.   When Napoleon begged his Josephine to lay herself bare, he meant for her flaws to fold her into neat and precious squares — for her to be less than his clenched-fist heart could hold.   …

A celebration of women’s poetry for International Women’s Day 2017

Featured image from “The Infinite Body Of Sensation” by Salma Caller Salma Ahmad Caller is an artist and a hybrid of cultures and faiths. She is drawn to hybrid and ornamental forms, and to how the body expresses itself in the mind to create an embodied ‘image’. UK based, she was born in Iraq to an Egyptian father and a British mother and grew up in Nigeria and Saudi Arabia. With a background in art history and theory, medicine and pharmacology, and several years teaching cross-cultural ways of seeing via non-Western artefacts at Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, she now works as an independent artist and teacher. salma caller artists statement [PDF] “In the Glass Coffin” by Kim Myeong-sun Today, I withstood agony again, Because my life is still lingering, Trapped in scarcely visible sorrow. If my body is trapped Like the life of a dinky, dinky thing, What is with all this sorrow, this pain? Like the bygone prince, Who had loved the forbidden woman, I believed I would live if I danced in the glass …