Poetry

  •    By Daljit Nagra
    Ah the Raj! Our mother-incarnate Victoria Imperatrix rules the sceptred sphere overseeing legions of maidens’ “fishing fleets” that break the waves to net the love of a heaven Etonian!Fetes on lawns...
  •    By J. P. Das
    My small worldlies suspended betweenthe four walls of your house.There is no entry sign,yet my life, leashed to it,keeps moving endless round and round. From wherever I startI reach your house, sure...
  •    By Ashok Vajpeyi
      I spread out earth’s green bedI pull in sky’s blue veilI place sun and moon on two pillowsI remove grass’s attireI indulge in play with you. Translation from the Hindi By Sudeep Sen...
  •    By Subodh Sarkar
    Here, every child is scared to playHere, every squirrel has a bullet-proof home Here, every old man wants to commit suicideThere is no difference between a soldier and a manNo difference between the...
  •            How sweet the past is, no matter how wrong, or how sad.                                                            – Charles Wright I watch the icicles              unravel from t...
  •    By Anita Nair
    Was it a Sunday eveningWhen you left a window carelessly openYou rang first that gong of betrayal? Was it one high noonWhen you thoughtlessly fed her bones of the lambYou sang first that litany of du...
  • The Flower and the Hummingbird (En español)   The Flower and the Hummingbird            ¡Tengo un colibrí! dijo la flor. Me envuelve con su fino picoy su hi...
  •    By Natalia Toledo
    Bidaani’ Ruyadxie’ lii sica ruyadxi guragu’ guibá’,ribaque chaahue’ lii ndaani’ guiña candanaxhi guiriziñaguidilade’ ruxhele guirá guie’ bizeecabe lu xpidaane’ guirá nguiiu ne biulú z...
  •    By Virgil Mihaiu
    womanif you had nothing but jazzwhat would you choosefor the child in your wombto listen tobefore the spring of milk starts to flow? only bill evansplaying glass beadson a keyboardof ice crystals and...
  •    By Virgil Mihaiu
    the bossa novasof the'60saccompanied bythe vaguely irregularvaguely neuroticrim shotsof the stickclicking horizontallyon the snare drumfrom the perspectiveof the 21st century –a sort of clockworktick-...
  •    By Virgil Mihaiu
    Virgil Mihaiu/text & Alan Tomlinson/trombone   A historical document from the beginnings of the JAZZOGRAPHICS, here in their embryonic nucleus: Virgil Mihaiu/text & Alan Tomlinson/trombone....
  •    By Virgil Mihaiu
    Dumitru Belinschi / keyboards & piano; Marius Gagiu / flute & percussion; Mario Florescu / drums & percussion; Virgil Mihaiu / poetry & percussion This audio sample is recorded fragm...
  •    By Lauren Camp
    When I realized I could make mistakes . . . I decided I was really on to something. — Ornette Coleman                 You can tell by the rumble of tall incantationsthat he has secured sound into a m...
  •    By Lauren Camp
      I met Monk      on a subway, coming through the tunnel.          His words fell out be-     tween thick beard hairs,          then lumbered toward me, paused and sighed.                    When the...
  •    By Alessio Zanelli
    As a child he’d been feeding on sea stories, sea people, sea adventures. Benign and adverse sea, calm and rough, emeraldand leaden. Tale after tale, book after book, devoured byinsane desires, adrift...
  • 同居 他们将在街头同人生的三个意向相遇: 老人烟斗的余火、儿童涂写在墙上的笔迹 和湿漉漉的雨中行走的女人的小腿...... 他们徘徊了一整夜 围绕小白房子寻找标记 太阳升起来了,归宿仍不能断决 错误就从这时发生 没有经过祈祷 他们就会睡到一张床上 并且毫不顾忌室外光线 在晚些时候的残酷照射 因而能够带着动人的笑容睡去 像故去一样 竟然连再温柔的事情 也懒得回忆 ...
  • Irma Pineda "You Will Not See Me Die"   Natalia Toledo "The Weaver"   "For T.S. Eliot"   Victor Terán "I Know Your Body"
  • Translator’s note: Feliciano Sánchez Chan is among a growing group of poets (including Briceida Cuevas Cob and Isaac Carrillo Can) writing modern verse in the ancient language of Mayan. The M...
  •    By Nathalie Handal
    The four recordings here are from Poet in Andalucía, forthcoming from the University of Pittsburgh Press in January 2012.   "Tree of Red Leaves, Jaén"   "Prophet in Andalucía" "La...
  •    By Julian Stannard
    Plan B We’re trundling down Via Balbipast palaces of glory and endless virtue. We’re fecund with children, we’re good at thatand some of us have rabbits in our pockets. We are fluent in sundry dialect...
  • The Mothers Far from being goddesses or sibyls:the poor motherssuffering from migrainescrushed by the heart’s servitude.   Dear Life Dear life,you chose colourless places,anonymous hours,the tritest o...
  • Ascanio Celestini - "Fabbrica", Teatro Ambra Jovinelli, Rome, March 2007 Photo: Maila Iacovelli - Fabio Zayed/Spot the Difference     I have a technique.When I attend a meeting, I sit down, I pull ou...
  • When with my judgment I laymyself out to the tepid peace of every day,the docile afternoons, the wide and naturalsleep, no longer opposed to the climatethat equal and still caresses me instead– the cl...
  • A turkey-oak two hundred years old nowno one has pollarded. Beneath itthere live vipers – woody elbows acheagainst the back. And one nightupon the roots, you rebelled, and with such violenceas to rema...
  • in the wind they sowed their long phrases– like scarves they'd wave in the wind – the wind ripped many scarves by chanceand carried them away in frayed cloud shapes – the poet always scatters her word...

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