RASA NYĀSA Featured Artist ~ Camila Ríos Monsalve | Medellín, Colombia ~

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

In Camila there is light, but at the same time there is a vocation to travel in the hollows of time, to take refuge in unknown, challenging, dark and primal worlds.

~ Fernando Cuartas

Camila Ríos Monsalve was born in Medellín, Colombia. Her works of sculpture have been published in different Latin American countries and Spain. She studied International Business and is a specialist in International Trade. She currently works as a researcher and director of social and educational projects for the OBSERVA AC Organization. She is also a co-author and illustrator of the Games for Peace Briefcase and of the books “El Cuento Revienta”, “Manual de Niñología” and “Pasatiempos y activities por peace”. 

She has been invited to participate in the EXDECA-Mexico Gallery Exhibition, Art Exhibition from the Interior of the MUPA Open Doors Museum Mexico, and the III Virtual International Exhibition * ART IN QUARANTINE TIMES * A message to the World (2020). Her works have been published in the magazines: ArtyHum Magazine Supplement (Spain), Kosmonauta Magazine (Mexico), Collective Culture (Mexico), Innombrable Magazine (Mexico and Colombia), Literaturally Magazine (Mexico), Cisne Digital Magazine (Mexico), and Urban Anecdotario (Argentina). She has been invited as an ‘Artist of the month’ in various magazines including Cronopio Magazine (Colombia), ArtyHum (Spain), and Molok Magazine (Peru). 

La serie de los Oráculos 

Por: Fernando Cuartas 

Camila Ríos Monsalve:  

~ La actividad de Camila es  una retrospectiva en el tiempo mítico, ese submundo de las transfiguraciones, donde todo ha pasado y sigue pasando en un secreto invisible que se encuentra en los resquicios del sueño. La población de Paracas, una cultura milenaria, ha dejado huellas con sus tumbas enigmáticas. Cráneos alargados, pipas funerarias, rostros deformados, máscaras de rituales aún no descifrados. Camila se introduce en ese mundo de oscuras connotaciones mágicas, crea unas esculturas donde al sólo observarlas, se respira lo sacro, el misterio y lo simbólico, de un mundo supuestamente no entendible en nuestro medio.  

Oráculos, como el Oráculo Chamánico de la Serpiente Emplumada, nos entrega una figura de temblorosas miradas de otros mundos. El viejo sabio de una aldea entre las brumas, como la figura Maestro de los Antiguos, y el Guardian de los Portales y las Fases del Tiempo. Una escenografía tridimensional donde cada escultura, crea una leyenda: Rey de las Infinitas LuminariasOráculo del OrigenOráculo de la Muerte Estelar y el Oráculo de la Sabiduría Estelar. Un mundo ritual, una poética de presencias de lo insondable, de esos arcanos silenciosos que parecen observarnos vestidos de roca o convertidos en mutismos.  

Camila es pintora, escultora, ha hecho talleres y libros para la  infancia. En algo se asemeja a las dinámicas lúdico- misteriosas de  Tolkien,  a esos conjuros entre la historia y las presencias de fuerzas desconocidas que nos visitan en la duerme vela. Pero sus figuras encarnan unas connotaciones casi totémicas, más cercanas a la imaginativa y entrañable literatura de Lovecraft. Ella misma ha creado una mitología, una serie de santuarios, unas figuras que podrían hablar en las noches y comunicarse desde las más profundas honduras.  

En Camila hay luz, pero a la vez hay una vocación de viajar en las oquedades del tiempo, de refugiarse en mundos ignotos, desafiantes, oscuros y primigenios. Camila es muy joven, nacida en 1991, ciudad de Medellín, vivió en México donde esa cultura prehispánica singular ha influido en sus procesos. Lo mismo se podría decir del mundo olvidado del sur, mucho antes de los Incas, civilizaciones extrañas, con ritos de deformaciones craneales y sus signos trazados sobre la piel de los desiertos o en los bosques. Camila toma esas fuentes y las recrea y las vuelve a bautizar desde sus intuitivas gestaciones artísticas.  

Bien decía nuestro poeta Jorge Zalamea “en poesía no hay países subdesarrollados”, todos los pueblos originarios han estado poblados de sacerdotes, oradores y poetas, de bebedores de estrellas y de filósofos alucinados. La mujer encarna en ese mundo un papel chamánico de iniciación, es la línea con la tierra, la fuente de las aguas y el corazón de las tinieblas, es la luna y sus azares, es el código secreto para abrir portones de luz en medio de las sombras. Bien, a esto se dedica Camila Ríos Monsalve.  

The oracles series 

By: Fernando Cuartas 

On Camila Ríos Monsalve: 

~ Camila’s activity is a retrospective in mythical time, that underworld of transfigurations, where everything has happened and continues to happen in an invisible secret found in the recesses of the dream. The population of Paracas, a millenary culture, has left traces with its enigmatic tombs. Elongated skulls, funeral pipes, deformed faces, ritual masks not yet deciphered. Camila enters that world of dark magical connotations, creates sculptures where just by observing them, one breathes the sacred, the mystery and the symbolic, of a supposedly unintelligible world in our midst. 

Oracles, like the Shamanic Oracle of the Feathered Serpent, give us a figure of trembling glances from other worlds. The old sage of a village in the mists, like the figure Master of the Ancients, and the Guardian of the Portals and the Phases of Time. A three-dimensional scenery where each sculpture creates a legend: King of the Infinite LuminariesOracle of OriginOracle of Stellar Death and the Oracle of Stellar Wisdom. A ritual world, a poetic presence of the unfathomable, of those silent arcana that seem to observe us dressed in rock or turned into silence. 

Camila is a painter, sculptor, has done workshops and books for children. In something it resembles the playful-mysterious dynamics of Tolkien, those spells between history and the presence of unknown forces that visit us in the sleeping candle. But her figures embody almost totemic connotations, closer to the imaginative and endearing literature of Lovecraft. She herself has created a mythology, a series of sanctuaries, figures that could speak at night and communicate from the deepest depths. 

In Camila there is light, but at the same time there is a vocation to travel in the hollows of time, to take refuge in unknown, challenging, dark and primal worlds. Camila is very young, born in 1991, in the city of Medellín, she lived in Mexico where that singular pre-Hispanic culture has influenced her processes. The same could be said of the forgotten world of the south, long before the Incas, strange civilizations, with rites of cranial deformations and their signs traced on the skin of the deserts or in the forests. Camila takes those fonts and recreates them and re-baptizes them from her intuitive artistic gestations. 

Our poet Jorge Zalamea used to say “in poetry there are no underdeveloped countries”, all the original peoples have been populated by priests, orators and poets, by star drinkers and hallucinated philosophers. The woman embodies in that world a shamanic role of initiation, she is the line with the earth, the source of the waters and the heart of darkness, she is the moon and its hazards, it is the secret code to open doors of light in the midst of the shadows. Well, this is what Camila Ríos Monsalve does. 

Name: Shamanic Oracle of the Feathered Serpent 
Technique: Sculpture, mixed media 
Dimensions: 35 * 22cm 
Year: 2018 

Name: Master Oracle of the Ancients 
Technique: Sculpture, mixed media 
Dimensions: 30 * 30cm 
Year: 2018 
Name: Guardian Oracle of Portals and Phases of Time 
Technique: Sculpture, mixed media 
Dimensions: 30 * 30cm 
Year: 2018 
Name: Oracle King of the Infinite Luminaries 
Technique: Sculpture, mixed media 
Dimensions: 30 * 30cm 
Year: 2018 
Name: Oracle of Origin 
Technique: Sculpture, mixed media 
Dimensions: 30 * 30cm 
Year: 2018 
Name: Oracle of Star Death 
Technique: Sculpture, mixed media 
Dimensions: 30 * 30cm 
Year: 2018 

Poems by Nigar Arif (Azerbaijan) ~ Poet and Member of “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity”, Morocco~ Azerbaijani / English

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Nigar Arif was born in 1993 on 20th of January in Azerbaijan. She studied at Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University in the English faculty in 2010- 2014.  Nigar  Arif  is a member of the “World Youth Turkish Writers’ Union” and graduated from “III Youth Writers’ School” in “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union”. She is also a member of the “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity” in Morocco. Her poems have been partially translated into English, Turkish, Russian, Persian, Montenegro, and Spanish and have been published in different  countries.  She was a participant of  “ IV LIFT- Eurasian Literary Festival of Festivals“ which was held in Baku in 2019. She is going to be one of the participants  of the “30 Festival Internacional De Poesia De Medillin” in 2020.  

When You Left 

I used to see the flushed eyes of life 

in the geography classes, 

I used to see the truths that erupted like volcano, 

and plains  

on which was creeping the lies  

under the truth, 

I used to see fell down knees  

of the highest mountains, 

The same wind was blowing in all countries, 

The same rain was raining all over the world… 

I was a country myself, 

Yes, I was… 

When I wanted to subdue the country like you 

my heart was shaking  

like it was an earthquake; 

sweet waters were running, 

pure springs were running  

in the bottom 

of the most rocky and barren lands. 

I used to see the beautiful faces of the best creatures 

in the far-off places… 

When you left… 

When you left, 

I realized that 

human being is the biggest iceberg; 

he is melting for years  

and flowing to dying… 

The clock is slow 

Look at the world’s clock 

It’s an hour slow. 

Either joy is late, 

Or life is drowned by sorrow. 

Even if it talks and laughs 

like a happy old man. 

The world’s laughs are lame 

as the tired past. 

He’s begging or seeking 

with a wishful hand. 

And spends the days on steps 

Fighting against the wind.  

Out of the sweeper’s eyes 

Falling his nights. 

The broom in the calloused hands 

wakes up the sleepy streets. 

He is a driver on the bus 

Passenger in the wishes, 

Looking for his fate 

With the hope to change. 

Look at the world’s clock 

It ‘s an hour slow. 

Let’s set up it anew,  

For a better life than now. 

Poems by Álvaro Mata Guillé (San José, Costa Rica) ~ Poet, Theater Director and Director of ‘Poesía en tránsito-Corredor cultural’~ Spanish / English

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

Álvaro Mata Guillé was bron in San José, Costa Rica. He currently lives in Mexico City. He is a poet as well as a columnist of the review, Libros y letras, published from Bogota, Colombia. Mata is the Director of the project: Poesía en tránsito-Corredor cultural, which brings together festivals of Mexico, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Spain. He coordinates the summits in Costa Rica, Mexico, and Spain. He is the Director of the Festival Internacional de poesía En el lugar de los Escudos (State of Mexico and Mexico City), and a Co-director of the Festival Internacional Del Norte-Poesía en tránsito, in Monterrey, Mexico.

Some published books are Un libro sin nombre anthology, La Chifurnia, El Salvador; Una serpiente sin alas, Babilonia and La isla al mediodía, Bogota, Colombia (2020); Un país sin nombre; Ponciano Arriaga, Mexico (2018); Más allá de la bruma, Editorial Abismos, Mexico City (2017); La niebla y lo ausente anthology, Colectivo Editor Latinoamericano, Argentina (2015); and Intemperies, Editorial Aldus, Mexico City. (2005).

Álvaro Mata Guillé has directed more than ten theater plays with his group Baco teatro danza. He has also acted in a number of short films.

Qué empieza,

         qué termina

,

transitamos de una noche a otra,

a otro atardecer,

a otra niebla,

sabiendo que cada instante al tocarnos es el último

,

que no somos eternos

que el tiempo no es nuestro

sólo su indiferencia

,

que emergemos de la oquedad,

del silencio

de lo ausente

.

Se dice

que un ciclo termina y empieza otro,

un algo que se cierra,

un algo distinto que aparece. Pero,

si hay una nueva etapa, lo cual supongamos sea cierto

y ésta se avecina como un resplandor en la penumbra,

¿qué sería lo distinto de ese otro desprendido del entorno?

¿qué hace que la lluvia deje de ser lluvia o el viento no sea ya viento y palpen las cosas de otra forma?

¿qué habría que atisbar que provoque otro grito,

otro rostro,

         otra niebla?

La orfandad que padecemos al descubrirnos en tránsito hacia la muerte,

evidencian la necesidad del otro:

complemento, ajenidad,

lejanía, búsqueda,

encuentro y desencuentro apegado al deseo,

a la epidermis,

a la extrañeza,

reencontrándonos con lo ausente,

mirando la bruma en el exilio,

en el desierto

,

en el horizonte diluido en el sol sumergiéndose en el monte,

atraídos por la sombra

,

allá,

en el lugar del inicio donde reposa el pájaro escondido en la nube,

detrás del árbol,

detrás del eco sumido en el valle

,

desde ahí,

escondidos en el umbrío,

reflejándonos en la exaltación de la bóveda de piedra,

en el anhelo de absoluto,

en el no-saber con su sed de pregunta que da sentido a la permanencia,

al significado de lo que somos:

soledad que se persigue en los adentros del lenguaje,

tránsito de una noche a otra que retorna a un sueño que no despierta,

como las hojas al desplazarse en el destello de la sombra,

se evaporan

.

Se dice

que un ciclo termina,

un algo que se cierra,

un algo distinto que aparece,

pero los vocablos se diluyen en lo ausente

y no hay otro lugar

más que la penumbra

(Capítulo 1, del libro Sobre los fragmentos)

****************************************************

What begins,

            what ends

,

we transit from one night to the other,

to another nightfall,

another fog,

knowing that each instant touching us is the last

that we aren’t eternal

that time isn’t ours

only its indifference

that we emerge from hollowness,

from silence

from the absent

It is said

that one cycle ends and another begins,

a something that closes,

a something different that appears. But,

if there is a new phase, which we suppose is true

and it approaches as a radiance in the half-light,

what would the difference be from that other detachment of the environment?

what makes rain stop being rain or wind from it no longer being wind and that their caress is now different?

what should be glimpsed upon so that it provokes another yell,

another countenance

            another fog?

The orphanage we endure as we discover ourselves in transit towards death,

is evidence of the other’s need:

companion,  disaffection,

distance, pursuit,

encounter and loss of encounter adhered to desire,

to the epidermis,

the strangeness,

we re encountering with the absent,

looking at the gloom in the exile,

in the dessert

in the sun-dilute horizon submerging in the hill,

attracted by the shadow

there

in the place off the beginning where the bird lies hidden in the cloud,

behind the tree,

behind the sunken eco in the valley

from there,

hidden in the umbrage,

reflecting in the exaltation o the stone vault,

in the absolute longing,

in the not-knowing with its thirst of questioning that gives meaning to the permanence,

to the meaning that we are:

solitude that chases in the insides of language,

a transit from one night to the other that returns into a dream that doesn’t awaken,

like the leaves as they glide in the beam of the shadow,

they evaporate.

It is said

a cycle ends

a something that closes,

a distinct something that appears,

but the terms dilute in the absent

and no other place

but the half-light

(Translation Daniela Negrete.

Chapter 1. Book: “On the fragments”)

Poems by Shurouk Hammoud (Syria) ~ Award-winning Poet, Journalist and Literary Translator ~ Arabic/English

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

Shurouk Hammod , born in 1982, is an award-winning Syrian poet, literary translator and journalist. She is an Arts graduate and has a Masters degree in Translation Studies from Damascus University. She has three published poetry collections in Arabic and one in English titled The Night Papers. Her poems have been published in many poetry anthologies in France, Serbia, Netherlands and India.

Shurouk is a member of Palestinian Writers and Journalists Union and an honorary member at NAJI Naaman International Library of Honorary Culture. She has won many national and international poetry awards including, Charles Baudelaire first prize for Poetry Creativity (2018), Sylvia Plath Medal for Writing Poetry ( 2017), Jack Kerouac Poetry Merit award (2016), Arthur Rimbaud Merit Diploma for Writing Poetry (2015), Nazik al Malieka Literary Prize for Writing Poetry (2012), Alexandria Public Library Prize for Writing Poetry (2012), and Naji Namman International Literary Prize for Writing Poetry (2014).

She was appointed as an Ambassador of the Word by the Spanish foundation Cesar Egido Serrano in 2016, and the Ambassador of Spanish language by the institution in 2017. Her poetry has been translated into French, Finnish, Mandarin, German, Mandarin, Italian and English.

Poet’s Identity Card

I am a yellow leaf

The wind forgot me

in a hurricane’s pocket

Sadness is my father-in-law

since I married the poem

Fed my kids with clouds

and died in a suitcase

Isolation is the colour of my glasses

I am a noisy silence

looking for a kiss

to break the glassy waiting

in my poem’s eyes

I am the one who accumulated his screams

on a white paper

to turn this black world deaf

Who can

but me

seduce a sexy lady

called heavens

So tell me

just once

how poetry’s messenger could be a demon

While death’s messenger called an angel

The psycho

who talks to himself before the mirror

blaming it for deforming her face

The psycho

who wears humanity perfume

is not a real psycho

She is a poet

she is me

But unfortunately

no one looks into the UN protocols for

the poet’s properties in wisdom lands?

No one tells Plato

that

cities without poets

are nothing but hell

Who can erase the blackboard’s night

with a word

but the poet

Tell me who?

O hope !

Denominators

We have in common

what all people have

The same optimistic names

what we see at night

in the unattainable skies

The fear

and a lot of waiting

It is not the same place

that brings us together

but all of this destruction

Poems by Johana Casanova (Gaia) (Armenia, Quindío, Colombia) ~ Poet, Theater Actress and Member of the Poetic Collective Nuevas Voces ~ Spanish/English

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Johana Casanova (Gaia) was born in Armenia, Quindío (Colombia) in 1991. She is a student of Environmental Control technology. Johana is a poet, theater actress, and promoter of the spoken word. She is a member of the poetic collective New Voices( https://www.nuevasvoces.org/ ). She is a winner of the International Circulation Grant of the Mayor of Medellín. She has participated in the international poetry festival of Havana (Cuba), the International Poetry Festival of Medellín and in several other national poetry festivals.

Distilled Mirror

I had never seen the reflection of death so close

I saw the reflection of the sun on ice

I have not seen perfect mirrors even if they are gold

I have seen the singing of a pair of eyes looking to thread a needle

A mud woman vanished looking for reflections

I went to the mirror

I had always wondered how to get through that crystal clock

I never looked the same

I never went to the reflex

To see my hands full of color

A bird collided with a boulder

like a statue creating shapes on wall.

Dates Have Turned to Ashes

Trunks were pillars in the middle of a storm

Those trunks left marks on a sheet of paper

Drops fell on stone

The movement governed by a habitual smoke of meat

Unexpectedly, everything turned into foams at the center of the lake

The arrows collapsed, shot by men

Powerfully made masks

Poems by Rosaria Ragni (Italy) ~ Poet, Writer and Cultural Promoter ~ Italian/English

Tags

, , , , ,

Rosaria Ragni was born in Taranto, Italy. Poet and prose writer, freelance ghostwriter, SEO copywriter and cultural promoter. After graduating in painting from the Academy of Fine Arts in Bologna, she continued her activity as a painter by participating in group and solo exhibitions. She has collaborated with various newspapers and Web TVs, dealing with interviews and writing articles, reviews and television reports. Her poems have been translated and published in Poland and India. Her latest publications include participation in the collective works. she is the author of the poetry and literature site Www.poesiaealtreparole.com .

Postcard

I live here
And I want to leave this place:
We have no choice but to drag our fallen sails
In the surrounding waters.
The salt burns our tongue
And strikes us dumb, against our will.
Seagulls circle high above the roundabout,
Mistaken by pigeons,
And the leaves fall.
I’m waiting and you smoke.

Poems by Koukis Christos (Athens, Greece) ~ Poet, Writer and the Curator of the Crete International Poetry Festival ~ Greek/English

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Koukis Christos is a poet and writer and the curator of the Crete International Poetry Festival which takes place in Greece every year. He was born in 1979 and he has published poetry books in Greece, France, Italy and Serbia and poems of his have been translated in eight (8) languages. He has participated in poetry anthologies in Greece and other countries and in several international poetry festivals around the world.  He has worked in poetry and culture magazines and has written lyrics for songs. Recently he collaborated in an international project for Documenta 14 Athens. He lives and works in Athens. ( Sourced from http://www.koukispoet.com/ )

Poetry collections, awards, professional memberships, etc.

2019      Participation (since 2014) in twenty (20) International Poetry Festivals ( poems translated in English, French, Spanish, Hindu, Portuguese, Serbian, Romanian, Slovenian, Italian, Turkish).

2019      Publication of poetry book «Modern guilt» in English by Paperwall Publishing House.

2019      Director of International Poetry Festival in Greece (http://cipfest.org/).

2018      Publication of poetry book «Modern guilt» in Greece, Kedros Publications

2017      Participation with two (2) poems in the anthology «Kleine tiere zum schlachten, Neue gedichte aus Griechenland» (Germany), editions Parassitenpresse

2017      Participation in Documenta 14 Athens as a poet (writing, reading, translating) in the International project ‘’The place of the thing’’.

2017      Selections of my poems published in the international poetry magazine Levure Litteraire.

2016      Presentation of my lecture about Modern Greek Poetry in 20th century at University of               Lisbon, Portugal (in English) at the conference ” Da Poesia Neo-Helenica 1905-2016″

2016      Participation in poetry anthologies in Italy and Serbia with selected poems from all my poetry books

2016      Publication of poetry book “Velicanstven paradoks lepote” Smederevo Publications, Serbia

2016      Publication of poetry book “Journal intime d’un amoureux”, L’Haramattan Publications France

2016      Participation in Oaxaca, Mexico video-poetry Festival with several poems

2015      Participation in the poetry anthology “Poetry Dialogues”, Govostis publications Greece 

2015      Poems from all my poetry books were selected by Professor Jacques Bouchard for his lectures at the Centre d’études néo-helléniques de l’Université de Montréal, Montreal Canada.

2014      Publication of poetry diary “Diary for Lovers” Roes Publications Greece

2013-2016 Co-editor of online poetry journal www.poeticanet.gr

2013      Publication of poetry collection “The Great Paradox of the Sun” Govostis publications Greece

2012      Participation in the poetry anthology “Poets in the Shadow” Gavrielides publications Greece

2011      National First Appearance Poetry Award, 31st Hellenic Symposium on Poetry, Greece

2011      Co-curator/ co-organiser of the group international art exhibition “HOMO SAPIENS IN LOVE”

2011      Publication of poetry collection “After Beauty” Gavrielides publications Greece

Latin America moon

The red moon’s gunpowder brought down unconscious the blinds of shame

Tomorrow morning we shall rise alive

I was woken up by the snowflakes of your voice

I squeezed the ripe sun and drank at one gulp

the pollen of a homeland

summer is a paradise devoid of miracular despair

Pine trees pin the syllables of the blue

Birds throw stones at the voice of cars

The sun’s rays dive into the water for the day’s cross

Flowers count the light with decimal precision

and the children on the wooden balcony are pantomiming clouds

The quiet pebbles lack courage

on the sand that didn’t stick on wet love

I must have fallen down a thousand times  I got up once

Your stalks of grain, your glowing skin   

Sesame on the lips, islands in the oceanic wine

Tongue that falters, body testing water

There are women akin to first numbers: they divide

War in Middle East

There was an outbreak of war and instantly sexual pleasures flowed inside us

Prophesies turned into paper money and paper money into tinder

of a country discarded from the hands of the very dream

Guilt by guilt I rake up disaster grasping the lustrous soil’s gunwale

I read the tragedians while swimming in the isthmus of bygone reality

Only thus am I not roused, I don’t waken the first blood

I can’t sleep when I see you gathering

from every season a pair of breaths:

the murmur of yellow leaves, the swiftness of north winds

the pounding of summer noon, the hum of snowy roofs

the death rattle of overflowing brooks and the gale’s guffawing

the swallow’s puffing, the steaming meadow’s sigh

the mountain top’s gallop, the azure’s dive

the dishevelled cloudburst and the damp earth’s frankincense

thunder’s gunpowder, the fog’s blinkers

spring’s rails, the fruits’ compasses

the smoke of deluge and the ashes of sunshine

The frost of success and failure’s starvation

Our tears ask for a share in the bread of ages

Shadows of Grexit

Shadows stagger disarmed on the downward slope foolish by now they turn their wrinkled idol clouded they are the ones that stripped my body from joy

They stood up like half-destroyed bridges, irrevocable words, obstinate

Oh! how much did their era hurt me

how much I was humiliated working for them Bankrupt by now, encircled and no longer inflated

they are in a hurry to sneak into the carriage of the night and I am in the appropriate position to call them

with plenty of satisfaction and relief

Shadows do appear, everything has ended

Modern guilt

Two mirrors were quarreling as to which was the most beautiful

and which could be sold at with the most interesting price

and no objection serious nor loud did we express and not one proper determining fissure did we make

pity; the turn of events would have given us the pleasure we cannot find

so somewhere these two mirrors will be hanging on a wall or from a hand

and they will keep pretending that they have seen a lot but they will always be missing the sight of beauty

Two mirrors were quarreling and had become a spectacle and a subject of discussion but it is all over now and nobody even mentions them nor us

Poems by Myriam Bianchi Hernández (Uruguay) ~ Poet, Storyteller and Cultural Manager~ Spanish/English

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

Myriam Bianchi Hernández (Montevideo, Uruguay) is a poet, storyteller and cultural manager. She is a Member of the House of Writers of Uruguay, Emprende Cultura and the Maciel Hospital Culture Commission. She has published the books titled Males celestiales (2004), Trazos místicos (2009) and Arabescos Marinos (2011). Her work has been included in several anthologies, including: Polifonía , Letras Americanas , Voces en las manos, Tales with a frame, and Je lis un Livre de Poésie, among others. Myriam has received several distinctions among which the following stand out: Victoria Award-Recognition in the arts and Diffusion of Culture, Illustrious Visitor-San Lorenzo Municipality- and Dorado Municipality- Puerto Rico, La Ourensana (Zamora, Mexico) El hombre de los BosquesDissemination of the Works of Federico García Lorca-Tertulias Lorquianas (Granada, Spain).

Roots

When it gets dark

the buds of the orange tree

 talk

in dead languages

with germinated particles.

In Aramaic

 they count

the secret that keeps

hidden;

infertility

cover the earth

With the mystic root

of the mandrágora.

(Translation by Esteban Charpentier.)

Saint Teresa of Calcutta

You took it further than the usual vows

when you learnt  

to love fearlessly.

Immaculate, you moved around

the streets of Calcutta

caressing without fear

the eager faces of the sick,

of those who knew

that they were being blessed

by seeing your celestial aura

before all others.

You could have lived

surrounded by luxury, you chose

to barter the bourgeoisie

and preach in Mahatma Gandhi’s

India of non-violence.

The India of eternal love,

majestic gardens

and the dark reflex

of the Taj Mahal,

of the dead’s and laundresses’

sacred Ganges.

That India plagued

by mystical poetry,

smelling of incense

and Rabindranath Tagore’s

myrrh.

The one you chose,

the one that cradled

your Franciscan

dispossession.                     

(Translation by Zingonia Zingone, Italy)

Poems by Rahim Karim ~ Poet, Publisher and Translator ~ Kyrgyz/Russian/English

Tags

, , , , , ,

Rahim Karim (Karimov) is an Uzbek-Russian-Kyrgyz poet, writer, publisher, and translator. He was born in 1960 in the city of Osh (Kyrgyzstan). Graduated from the Moscow Gorky Literary Institute (1986), Rahim is a Member of the National Union of Writers of the Kyrgyz Republic, a member of the Russian Writers’ Union, official representative of the International Federation of Russian-Speaking Writers in Kyrgyzstan (London-Budapest), and a member of the Board of the IFRW. He received an Honorary Doctor of Philosophy from the International Forum of Creativity and Humanism (Morocco).

Rahim Karim is a Laureate of the Republican Literary Prize named after Moldo Niyaz as well as the Republican Literary Prize Egemberdi Ermatov. He is the author of a national bestseller “Kamila”, which earned him a second prize of the International Book Forum Open Central Asia Book Forum & Literature Festival – 2012 (Great Britain). He earned nomination for the Russian national literary awards “Poet of the Year 2013”, “Poet of the Year 2014”, “Writer of the Year 2014″, “Poet of the Year 2015″,”Heritage- 2015”, and “Heritage-2016”. He was awarded the “Kyrgyz Tyly” medal by the National Commission on the State Language under the President of the Kyrgyz Republic. In 2017 he was awarded the silver medal of the Eurasian literary contest LiFFт in the nomination of a Eurasian poet. Rahim is a Co-Chairman of the Council on Literature of the Assembly of the Peoples of Eurasia.

Rahim is the author of about 30 books published in more than 30 countries of the world in more than 20 languages of the world. He is The author of about 20 patriotic songs in Uzbek, Kyrgyz, and Russian languages, written with composers from Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Russia, Ukraine, and Germany. He translated poetry and prose of authors from more than 25 countries of the world.

Снег памяти

В Оше идет старинный, древний снег,

Как в детстве далеком и счастливом.

Искрится нежно белый снежный свет,

На фоне снега – дорогие лица.

Как полотно, экран кругом лежит,

Смотрю кино как будто в стиле ретро.

Что кинолентой памяти бежит,

То исчезают кадры вмиг бесследно…

Отец и мать.., и первая любовь,

Все игры зимние: хоккей и лыжи…

Показывает снег родной порог,

Мне крупным планом жизнь все ближе, ближе…

Накроет снег картонный темный лист:

Страницы будто старого альбома.

В ячейках – галерея добрых лиц,

Заснятых мною у родного дома!

Snow Memory

In Osh there is old, ancient snow,

As in childhood distant and happy.

Sparkles a gentle white snow light,

On the background of snow – dear faces.

Like a canvas, the screen is all around,

I watch the movie as if in a retro style.

What film memory runs,

Then the frames disappear in a moment without a trace …

Father and mother .. and first love,

All winter games: hockey and ski …

Shows snow native threshold,

Close-up life is getting closer and closer to me …

Cover the snow dark cardboard sheet:

Pages like an old album.

In the cells – a gallery of good faces,

Filled by me at home!

*******************

Прядь осенних листьев

А прядь твоих волос – фрагмент осенних листьев,

Опавших на подушку будто в сентябре.

Написаны ли охрой акварельной кистью,

Шуршат как будто сказку в ухо на заре.

Дурманит пряный запах золотого сада,

Кружится голова, в глазах стоит туман.

Вся эта осень, счастье, радость и услада,

Не на моем плече, а на подушке, жаль.

A Wisp of Autumn Leaves

And a strand of your hair is a fragment of autumn leaves,

Fallen on a pillow as if in September.

Are they painted with ocher with a watercolor brush,

Rustle like a fairy tale in the ear at dawn.

Intoxicates the spicy scent of the golden garden

Head spinning, fog in the eyes.

All this autumn, happiness, joy and delight,

Not on my shoulder, but on the pillow, sorry.

Poems by Laure Cambau (Paris,France) ~ Poet, Pianist and Faculty at the Conservatory in Paris (XVII arrondissement) ~ French/English

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

French pianist and poet living in Paris, Laure Cambau coaches lyrical singers and takes part in poetic readings improvising at the piano. She was invited to participate in several festivals around the world such as the “Festival de Poésie Internationale de 3 Rivières”, “Encuentro de Poesia del mundo Latino di Morelia”, “Feria del Libro di Mexico”, “Poetic Evenings of Struga” in Macedonia,“Tetovo’s Festival”, “Rencontres Internationales Poétiques de Dakar”, “Festival of Poetry in Novi-Sad” in Serbia as well as in various poetic events in France and abroad.

Laure Cambau published several poetry books among them “Boulevards Lunatiques” (Brocéliande Publisher, 1998), “L’Home dans la baignoire” followed by “Nuages des Temps Ordinaires” (Amandier Publisher, 2001), “Latifa, la petite fille qui pleurait des mots” (musical tale, music R. GAGNEUX, Durand Publisher, 2000), “Et le Pourboire des Anges”, (Amandier Publisher, 2005) and “Le couteau dans l’étreinte” (Phi Publisher, Luxembourg, co-published by “Ecrits des Forges”, Québec, 2007).

For her last book “Lettres au voyou céleste suivi de Blanc sans blanc” (Amandier Publisher, 2010) she was awarded the Poncetton Prize of the “Société des Gens de Lettres” as well as the Simone Landry Award and the Naji Nahman Prize (2015). Her most recent publications are “La fille peinte en bleu” (Ecrits des Forges Publisher, co-publishing Caractères, 2015) and “Ma peau ne protège que vous” (Castor Astral Publisher, 2015).

Laure Cambau is also drawn to working with other artists. This has led her to collaborate with painters coming from various horizons such as J. Vimard, M. Cambau, C. Texedre, P. Helenon, E. Burgos. Lately she published two books with the Balkan painter Omer Kalesi (ed. Globus, Tirana, 2010, 2015).

Laure Cambau’s poetry appears in many literary magazines and renowned poetic anthologies (Seghers, Gallimard…). She is translated and published in several languages and countries. Some of her work has been adapted to music.

In addition to her poetry work Laure Cambau holds a teaching position as vocal accompanist at the Conservatory in Paris (XVII arrondissement) in the class of Leontina Vaduva and regularly gives recitals with singers and instrumentalists in France and abroad. In 2010 she recorded a disk of romantic music with Oboe (Laurent HACQUARD, Hybridmusic).

 * * *
Au confluent des sens et de la langue
tu mets des chaussettes aux arbres
un bonnet au sexe des statues
et des mots sur les papillons de l’intérieur


At the confluence of senses and tongue

you put socks on trees

a hat on the sexes of statues

and words on inner butterflies


————–


Quand nos œufs et nos seins seront carrés
la ponte sera géométrique
et ta main blessée
par mes angles

When our eggs and breasts are square

the brood will be geometric

and your hand injured

by my edges


——————-

Dormir loin de la flamme
oublier chair caillou
prière horizontale,
des bigoudis sur l’auréole
parler aux réverbères
se confier aux poissons rouges
éteindre les arbres
oublier l’homme outil
des larmes dans les entrailles
parfumées à l’absent
disparaître
loin de la lame loin de la bête
et pour jamais
s’unir à l’ange gardien
pour filles en vrac

To sleep far from the flame

to forget flesh stone

horizontal prayer,

curlers in the halo

to speak to streetlights

to confide in goldfish

to snuff out the  trees

to forget man tool

tears in entrails

fragrant with nostalgia

to disappear

far from the blade  far from the animal

and for ever

to be united with the guardian angel

of love-struck girls


  —————




La Rédemption Par L’extase

Ta chambre est une île
sur un fleuve de vin chaud
dernier vestige du cri de rédemption…
J’ai croqué le tatouage de ton épaule
de la sueur des os et des ondes
gobé ta petite mort
des œufs à l’encre rouge
mélangé le tout
dans les viscères de mon cerveau
ton corps ne tient pas dans ma tête
mais que ton arbre cache ma fièvre

Redemption Through Ecstasy

Your room is an island

on a river of mulled wine

last vestige of the cry of redemption…

I crunched the tattoo from your shoulder

sweat from bones and waters

swallowed whole your orgasm

red-ink eggs

mixed them all

in the viscera of my brain

your body will not fit in my head

but may your tree conceal my fever