Lidice Megla (1968) was born in Cuba. Lidice is an Author, Poet, Translator and Educator who has been residing in Canada since 1999.
She was the winner of the international poetry contest “El mundo lleva alas”, 2018 Voces de hoy Publishing House and the winner of the poetry contest, “Arte con palabras” Art Emporium, Miami, Fl. 2020.
She appears in several anthologies and literary magazines worldwide. Among her publications are the books of poetry “Tú la bestia” “Totémica Insular” and Mujer sin paredes”. Lidice lives with her husband in Vancouver Island.
Blowing bubbles walk- in- the park; life as it may browning the march silken pajamas clearly worn two candle sticks two daffodils; life as it may browning the march blowing some bubbles eat a little dark chocolate close your eyes after inspect the trees interview the birds ask for the winds tell them to lift you -respect the rituals- -follow the prompts- silken pajamas the bird in the tree two candle sticks my moisten rose the sun is a nipple my mouth is the rain two silken daffodils so evocative their substance one purple one white in the depth of desire the substances rise.
“I am not cruel, only truthful. The eye of a little god.” ~ From Mirror, by Sylvia Plath
Mirage in the Mirror *
(To Sylvia Plath)
And now You, Hulled-Face/ Lance/ Epitaph: Bring forth the truth. Now we know no little man lives in the exacting moon. Non -Judgmental: Come! , Narrate! Reveal the onslaught side in the Lake. Name the Comet. Hoist the flock of bottle battleships carrying the grey rats. The shining gulls adrift Ariel, the clouds above Ulises’ island. Name the knife’s cut The image of Time The below of Age The sound of Truth The breath of God The euphoria in Pain. Ambivalent Elephant. Dancing Essence, House of Signals, come forth to the bright, impending departure.
LUDWIG SAAVEDRA studied Literature in National University of San Marcos. He has published poetry collections such as: ‘Bloom’ (2009) and ‘The Vinil Sea’ (2015), both under the Parachute Publishing imprint. Includes poetry anthologies such as ‘The Reefs’, cardboard edition in charge of Amaru Cartonera; ‘Sick of Sounds’ and ‘Standing up the Explosion’ in 2017 and 2018 respectively. He has participated in different poetry festivals and Book Festivals in Peru, Ecuador, Chile, Bolivia and the north of Argentina. He is a Reciter of street poetry, Literature Teacher, Book Seller, and Editor of ‘Huachumera Publishing imprint’ and the ‘Obayareti’ Latin Poetry Magazine. He is currently working on two new books and is waiting for The Mind Revolution and “burn everything down”.
Si tu dolor ha crecido como árbol frondoso
(sin el prestigio de los álamos en las noches de luna llena)
Si el sonido que me tiendes no es cuerda para mi charango y no me salva
A pesar que te he otorgado los colores del amor
embadurnada de limo fino
Desnuda nube o rosal
Si las palabras resuenan encallan lejos en playas perdidas
Y la muerte es esa ola que las dispersa
borrando sus huellas
Nos desvanecemos con harta fe
alas de cormorán
sin temor al que dirán
Sin dolernos de tu gloria Malaquita mía
Sin creernos ya lo que tus ojos bailaron en la oscuridad aterciopelada
dos zarpazos de primavera
Mientras un poema desvirga la estación veraniega
Saborea este blues secreto
hará nítido el dolor
Pero si el vacío es
todo lo que lleva el río de sonidos a cuestas
Las palabras se suicidan prendiéndose fuego
Las notas se suicidan tan puras como son
Con solo aguantar la respiración.
If your pain has flourished as a lush tree
(without the standing of the aspens on moonlight nights)
If sound that you give me is not string for my charango and doesn’t save me
Although I’ve gifted you the colors of love
Daubed in exquisite clay
Naked cloud or rosebush
If words resonate, running aground far on lost beaches
And Death is that wave that disperses them
Erasing their traces
We will fade with abroad faith
Without fear of the sayings
Without paining on your glory Malaquite of mine
Without believing anymore in your eyes dancing on velvety darkness
Two spring maulings
While a poem deflowers the summery time
Savor this secret blues
Makes clear the pain
But if the void is
All what the river of sounds takes in tow
The words kill themselves igniting/burning on fire
The notes kill themselves as pure as they are
By only holding their breath.
Note: The word Charango is the name of a Small string Andean instrument, similar to a guitar.
****Translation for Celeste María Fe Izaguirre
Quiero escribir un poema que tenga el sabor imperecedero de la soledad
Porque sé de soledad y se de ritmo
Y sé también como consumir un detalle hasta hacerlo brillante como una estrella
Y entonces solo entonces suspirar corteza de árbol uña de gato labrado y silente
Acomedido de ángeles de aluminio
Esas balas que esquivas entre las ruinas
Sabemos que he jugado a la paleta de Eguren
Que he embadurnado hasta el final de miel todo el oído del monstruo
Que tu ni nadie se atrevía a ponerle cascabel al gato ni nombre tan siquiera
Pero si le llamaban como Vallejo gato gato
Acaso entre nosotros solo queda el rencor y la sonrisa de hojarasca
Para otros incendios que dancen
Para que otras altas columnas de humo sostengan templos
Pleno de la voracidad de la estrellas
Y calido como los bandoneones y sierpe como los girasoles ocultos
En la mano de Blake y la pluma inserta en la iluminación de Basho
Bosones y miradas furtivas
La cabeza que explotará como coche bomba
Ante el edificio de la solemne poesía de oro y pan de oro y tostada de oro
Y todas esas orillas donde de rodillas horas de horas acarician sin pudor la carne del río
Y el tiempo que alarga su sombra y saborea mi poema
Porque la muerte sabe también sabe tan bien
Tocar su solo de batería
Su invocación a todos nuestros pulsos
Tengo una estrella en el pecho
Tengo una estrella de sílex y corta en pedazos la fibra de la noche
Y sangra la noche con tus ojos y sangran mis ojos con tu noche
Y tu roche es breve pero intenso
Podrías morir de roche
Si te preguntaran por las aves que anidan en tus manos
En tus cálidas manos hermano Verastegui por tus palabras que son como manos que
Prenden puchos y agarran hembras en la árida meseta que es Lima
Cuando todos se van a soñar
O morir la orquesta que sube la cuesta
Esa orquesta de obsidiana de sílex decolorado y altísono y perpetuo el bajo y grave y señero el oboe y aquí no hay oboes solo quenas y zampoñas y zapateos
Harto zapateo y chispas entonces
Chispas para que sueñes y sigas soñando y riendo y trabajando tus poemas
Como quien perdona al tiempo todo lo imperdonable que esta vida nos ha hecho
Amontonando nuestros recuerdos junto con los muertos y las flores y todas las luciérnagas del vino éter.
I want to write a poem that has an enduring flavor of loneliness
Because I know about loneliness and rhythm
And I too know about consume a detail till make it shine like a star
And then, just then sigh tree bark Cat’s claw tilled and silent
Indulgence of aluminum angels
Those bullets that you dodge in between the ruins
We know I’ve played with Eguren’s palette
That I’ve daubed until the end with honey the entire monster ear
Not you nor anyone has dared set a rattle on the cat nor a name even
But if they called like Vallejo kitty kitty
Perhaps between us us only left bitterness and litterfall smile
So other fires dance
So other high smoke columns support temples
Full of voracity of the stars
And warm as bandoneon players and rod as hidden sunflowers
In Blake’s hand and the feather inputs in Basho’s Enlightenment
Bosons and furtive glances
The head that explodes like a car-bomb
In presence of the building the solemn golden poetry and golden bread and golden toast
And all those shores where kneeled hours of hours shamelessly caresses the flesh of the river
And the time that prolongs its shadow and savors my poem
Cause Death tastes too, tastes so good
Play its drum solo
Its summoning of all our heartbeats
I have a star in my chest
I have flint star and slices in shards the filament of the night
And bleeds the night with your eyes and bleed my eyes with your night
And your embarrassment is brief but intense
You could die of embarrassment
If you were asked for the birds that nested on your hards
On your warm hands brother Verastegui for your words that are likes hands that
lights cigs and grab lasses in the arid plateau that Lima is
When everybody goes to dream
Or die the orchesta that climbs the slope
That orchesta made of obsidian of flint colorless and high-flown and perpetual bass and heavy
and the outstanding oboe
And here aren’t oboes just quenas and zampoñas and zapateos
Lots of zapateos and sparks then
Sparks for you to dream and keep dreaming and laughing and working on your poems
Just like who forgives Time all those unforgivable things Life has done to us
Stocking our memory among the dead and the flowers and the fireflies of ether wine.
Quenas: Wind Andean instrument, Traditional Andean Flute made of wood.
Zampoñas: Also known as panpipes. Wind instrument composed from bamboo stems with a variety of lengths tied up together.
Zapateos: Stomps, typically made on traditional Andean dances and rituals.
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,
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
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.
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 Bosques– Dissemination of the Works of Federico García Lorca-Tertulias Lorquianas (Granada, Spain).