TEERANDAZ >> Multilingual International Literary Magazine >> Special Issue on Poetry >> Celebrating International Women’s Day

0
835

TEERANDAZ >> Multilingual International Literary Magazine >> Special International Issue on Poetry >> Celebrating International Women’s Day

T E E R A N D A Z

Multilingual International Literary Magazine
Special International Issue on Poetry

Celebrating International Women’s Day 2021 with the publication of poetry by poetesses from around the world

Ana Dudić (Zubčić) CROATIA

Two poems

Originally written in Croatian language and translated into English

Dvije pjesme Ane Dudić (Zubčić)
Izvorno na hrvatskom jeziku i na engleski prijevod

JUTRO MOJEGA JUTRA

Sunce se na izmaku gasi na mojim rukama,
Jutro mojega jutra
Neće stići meni, u tebi zaspiva…
Da li ja to pišem suze na jastuku od snova
Ili je dan odnio sva sjećanja,
A kuća, mala kuća na raskršću želja
Sada je zatvorena…

Napisah ti ime na pijesku,
Lagani povjetarac ga s lakoćom izbrisa,
Napravih brod od papira,
Odmah se na hrid nasuka.
Ubacih novčić u fontanu želja, a on ispliva.
Pomirisah kao krv crvenu ružu,
Onako, usput, nehajno,
A ona se orosi suzama…

Osjetih okove, teške okove od ružinih latica ,
Okove od suza…
Poljubac pretvoren u sate čekanja
Peče u očima od odsutnosti ili zaborava…

Ruža prosu zadnji miris boli,, ne sjećaj se,
Brod od papira nikada neće isploviti,
Ispružena ruka tvoju neće dotaknuti…

Svjetiljka na uglu se ugasi,
Ime stranca sa broda od papira zaboravih…

Ukaza se jutro mojega jutra,
Ruža opojno zamirisa i ja se osmjehnu
Novoj zraci , novome životu,
A nemirni vjetar se poigra
I miris tebe spoji s mirisom ruža…

BLAGOSLOV NEBA

Još nosim ljeto u kosi
I auru od sunca,
Pjev cvrčka u pozadini
I okus mora na usnama.
Uzalud mi kažu da jesen je,
Želja je ista, ljetna…

Pustit ću nebo da kuca po prozoru
Dok ponovno probuđena nada
Plaho se u kapima niz moje golo rame slijeva…
Pružit ću ruke
Neka me zagrli tišina ili misao njegova
S mojom spojena…
Zažarit će dlanovi
Dok svetost kapi primam kao blagoslov neba
I prvi jesenji list gori na mom dlanu
Plamenom munja…

Zatvaram oči da svjetlost sveta
Ne izbriše njegove obrise u njima,
Neka mojim tijelom vlada spokojstvo njega.,
Dok ostajemo zauvijek samo želja…želja…

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

The Morning of My Morning

At sunrise, the sun goes out
On my hands,
The morning of my morning
It won’t come to me,
You fall asleep …
Do I write tears
On a dream pillow
Or the day took away all the memories,
And the house, the little house at the crossroads of desires
It is now closed…

I wrote your name on the sand,
A gentle breeze wipes it off with ease,
I made a paper boat,
Immediately on the cliff face.
I put a coin in the wish fountain,
And he swims out.
I smelled like blood red rose,
By the way, casually,
And she tears herself…

I felt shackles,
Heavy shackles made of rose petals,
Tear shackles …
The kiss turned into hours of waiting
Bake in the eyes
From absence or oblivion …

The rose spills the last scent of pain,
forget,
Loving forget,
Don’t remember,
A paper boat will never sail,
Your outstretched hand will not touch …

The corner light goes out,
The name of a stranger from a paper boat I forgot …

The morning of my morning appears,
The rose smelled intoxicating and I smiled
A new ray, a new life,
And the restless wind is playing
And the smell of you merges with the smell of roses …

Blessings of the Sky

I still wear summer in my hair
And aura of the sun,
I hear crickets singing far away
And taste sea on my lips.
In vain do they tell me autumn has arrived,
My wish is still the same,
Summer like.
I’ll leave the sky knock on windows,
As hope is born again
Timidly dropping down my naked shoulder…
I am reaching out
To be held by silence or his thoughts
United with mine…
My palms are on fire
As I receive holiness as a blessing of the sky.
The first autumn leaf burns in my hand
like a lightning flame…
I close my eyes for divine light
Not to erase his shadow,
Let my body feel his serenity
As we remain forever but a wish… a wish…

Ana Dudic Zubcic was born in Perusic, Croatia. She lives in Rijeka, Croatia. In 2016, her first collection of poetry, Woven of Love, was published by the Croatian Writers’ Association, and received the annual prize for the best book at the prestigious festival ‘Friends of Book’. She published another two collections of poetry, Exoticism of You and Colours and The Heavently Symphony were published by the Croatian Writers’ Association. She has received numerous awards and participated at numerous festivals in Croatia and abroad.

Anna Maria Stępień POLAND

Two poems

Originally written in Polish and translated into English

Dwa wiersze Anny Marii Stępień
Oryginalnie napisane w języku polskim i przetłumaczone na język angielski

Czego pragną kobiety

Kobiety oczekują szacunku.
Kobiety wzbudzać chcą podziw.
Bezwarunkowa miłość –
pragnienie takie w sercach im się rodzi…

Tęsknią
za kochankiem namiętnym
i miłości ogniem.
Lecz i o raju skrywają marzenie
by odnaleźć zrozumienie.

Mamo moja kochana!

Miłość do książek
i słowa pisanego –
również dzięki Tobie!

Spojrzenie na rzeczywistość:
czasem z przymrużeniem oka,
czasem z melancholią –
jak u Ciebie.

Wierszem mówienie
niezaprzeczenie
Twoja też „sprawka”.

I miłość do otwartych przestrzeni
błękitu
zieleni,

jagód w lesie dojrzałych…
Kochałaś świat cały!

Twoja Ania

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

What Do Women Want

Women want respect.
Women want to be admired.
Unconditional love
is what they desire…

They crave for
a passionate lover
and the love’s fire.
But they also wish to feel good
and be always understood.

My Dear Darling Mum!

The love of books
and the written word–
also thanks to you!

The view of reality:
sometimes with a knowing wink,
sometimes with melancholy–
like you.

Speaking and rhyming
there’s no denying –
your “doing” too.

And a love of open spaces
the azure
the green places,

berries in the woods, fully ripe…
The world entire
so insanely you loved!
Your Ania

Anna Maria Stępień born in 1980 in Tarnobrzeg (south-eastern Poland). She studied Economics, English Philology and Advanced Translation. She is teaching English as well as translating over 17 years. Anna Maria is the Director of Association of World Writers (AWW), editor and the editorial secretary in the World Taifas Literary Magazine (Romania), Coordinator of the Teerandaz International Festival of Poetry and Fiction (Dhaka, Bangladesh). She is also one of the International Editors of Teerandaz International Multilingual Literary Magazine. She writes poems, short stories, memoirs and anecdotes, both in Polish and in English. Her poems have been translated into other languages – such as Bangla, Hebrew, Spanish, Portuguese, Uzbek, Macedonian, Assamese, and published in domestic and international online groups as well as magazines.

Antonia Cerrato Martín-Romo SPAIN

Two Poems

Originally written in Spanish and translated into English

Dos poemas de Antonia Cerrato Martín-Romo
Originalmente escritos en español y traducidos al inglés

CONSUELO
(A mi madre)

Rodando entre los trastos viejos
un mundo de sueños por hacer
palos torneados
que se aburren
sin el toque de tus manos
y un encaje de promesas
que nunca viste florecer.

En la sombra del cajón
duermen los alfileres, el hilo
un dibujo por tejer
y la esencia de tu mujer
que flota en el olvido
enredada en las bobinas
enhebrando momentos del ayer.

MUJER, SIN MÁS

Estás aquí,
la de los ojos glaucos,
la que bebe del vaso de la siega
toda la sabiduría
la que es polen y abeja de la casa.

Mujer que trajinas
los hilos de todas las batallas
Atenea sin cetro,
égida de vientos, pecho abierto
frente al mundo
que se olvida de volver, de volverse,
de arrodillarse ante tu trono.

Mujer, cáliz perfecto de luz
y abundancia, calor que bruñe
el llamador de la alegría;

con tus dedos,
dibujas sueños de amor
en las alas blancas de una lechuza
para que luego levanten el vuelo
bajo tu mirada imponente de diosa…
De madre.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Comfort

(to my mother)

Rolling among the old junk
a world of dreams to be made,
turned sticks
that get bored
without the touch of your hands
and a lace of promises
that you never saw bloom.

In the shadow of the drawer
sleep the pins, the thread,
a drawing to be woven
and your woman’s essence
that floating through oblivion
tangled in the bobbins
threading moments of yesterday.

Woman, No More

You are here,
the one with glaucous eyes,
the one who drinks from the glass of the harvest
all wisdom
who is pollen and bee of the house.
Woman who weaves
the threads of all battles
Athena without scepter,
aegis of winds, open breast
in front of the world
that forgets to return, to turn back,
to kneel before your throne.
Woman, perfect chalice of light
and abundance, heat that burnishes
the caller of joy;
with your fingers,
you draw dreams of love
on the white wings of an owl
so that they may take flight
under your imposing gaze of a goddess…
Of a mother.

Antonia Cerrato Martín-Romo teaches Philology at the University of Extremadura. She has published five books of poetry: Santa Amalia, yesterday and always, The misticisme of olive tree, The silence of words, This autumn rose, and The city of names. Her poems also have been appeared in hundred anthologies. She is the Chairperson of MIGAS Association, the Literary Tertulia Thursday’s poets and the Harvest moon Reading Club. She got many awards and literary prizes.

Consuelo Núñez PERU

Two Poems

Originally written in Spanish and translated into English

Dos poemas de Consuelo Núñez
Originalmente escritos en español y traducidos al inglés

El Viaje

Va en carro
veloz
pasajera
aborda duda
darse devuelta

camino a Lima
paisaje se abre
apenas tarde
sol de las tres
ensancha colina
parece dormida
se pinta dorada
mar destella

con nadie al lado
contempla vista
de su ventana
parece puente
del cielo admite
pasaje en Quilca

absorta queda
ante presencia
de incendio o bruma
celeste brisa
emana lengua
erupción divina
de agua
cristalina

fulgura al centro
de aquel horizonte
banquete luce
enorme mantel de
prominente mar
asiento y trono

con voz tersa
así misma
nube avista
a ras de olas
siete en hilera
gallinazos
tu voz al vuelo
anunciaba

despide
la noche oscura
sonríes mucho más
señora ahora ganas
sola no estás
vuelas ligera
adiós domingo
destas orillas
recordarás.

A mi esposo el Zar

Sabio ser
mi esposo es
razón adelantado
engastado junto
a mi corazón
rubi guardado

Puede alado
amarme
de su cénit o nadir
verme
o seducir halagado

Cuanto lo amo
el volcán sabe
de su pecho
ardiente
o regazo inflamado
ojos de luz he colmado
con flama
de mi sangre
caliente

Fuente viva
placer embebe
gustoso
de mi costado
bebe o toma
de mi cara
o envés se goza

Bebo a su merced
gozo su gobierno
su porte y aliento
sostienen toda mi sed

Ante bello zar atiendo
abro a sus pies
camino y luces enciendo
enfocado al tras
de sus tacones
aprisionan sus pasos
oscuras deshoras

Amado avanzado
viste elegante
traje o sentimiento
cubre envolvente

Su nombre compones
de música y letras
de dulces endechas
honores y cumbres

A sus pasos
nace
admiración toda
lluvia desatada
de jubileo pleno
luce

Dormida la tarde
en su ausencia
acicaladas horas
al vuelo tersura
de celajes sombras
aglomeradas
huyen
aprisa rendidas
caen

Vuelta su presencia al día
tarde tan mimosa
la noche entibia
torna feliz su compañía

Cobra fuerza tal
su mirada
a mi pupila
alcanza poder imperial
concentrada
avista
no tiene rival

Dulce embarcaría
si al día presto
con atención
predispuesto
dejarlo no podría

Con frente altiva
su canto entona
y a solo un paso
de su comisura
besar quiero
apasionada
su dulce boca

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Trip

Goes by car
fast
passenger
addresses doubt
give back

way to Lima
landscape opens
just late
three o’clock sun
widens hill
seems asleep
it is painted gold
sea flashes

with no one by the side
contemplate view
from your window
looks like bridge
from heaven admits
passage in Quilca

absorbed remains
in the presence
fire or mist
celestial breeze
emanates tongue
divine eruption
of water
crystalline

glow to the center
of that horizon
banquet looks
huge tablecloth
prominent sea
seat and throne

with a smooth voice
to herself
cloud sight
at wave level
seven in a row
Turkey buzzards
your voice on the fly
advertised

dismiss
the dark night
you smile much more
lady now you win
you are not alone
you fly light
goodbye sunday
these shores
will you remember.

To my husband the Tsar

Wise to be
my husband is
reason in advance
set together
to my heart
ruby saved

Can winged
love me
from its zenith or nadir
see me
or seduce flattered

How much i love him
the volcano knows
from his chest
burning
or swollen lap
eyes of light I have filled
with flame
of my blood
hot

Living fountain
pleasure soaks
glad
from my side
drink or drink
of my face
or instead you enjoy

I drink at their mercy
I enjoy your government
his bearing and breath
sustain all my thirst

Before beautiful tsar I attend
I open at your feet
I turn on the road and lights
focused to the rear
of her heels
imprison his steps
dark hours

Advanced beloved
dress elegant
suit or feeling
covers envelope

Your name you compose
of music and lyrics
of sweet lays
honors and summits

In his footsteps
born
admiration all
rain unleashed
full jubilee
it looks

Asleep the afternoon
in his absence
groomed hours
on the fly smoothness
of shadows clouds
agglomerated
they flee
quickly rendered
they fall

Turn your presence to the day
so cuddly late
the night is warm
makes your company happy

It gains such strength
his look
to my ward
reaches imperial power
concentrated
sight
has no rival

Sweet would embark
yes a day soon
carefully
predisposed
leave it could not

With a haughty brow
his song sings
and just one step away
from its corner
kiss I want
passionate
her sweet mouth

Consuelo Núñez was born in Arequipa Perú in 1968. Her poems have published on blogs and virtual media. She is yet to publish her first poetry book. Zunila is her pseudonym.

Cristina Wormull CHILE

Two Poems

Originally written in Spanish and translated into English

Dos poemas de Cristina Wormull
Originalmente escritos en español y traducidos al inglés

Brujas y bacantes

Sobre la cama en tarde de otoño
cuatro paredes contienen la vida
pensamientos vuelan al infinito
a otras vidas a un tiempo que fue
aquelarre de ideas zumba en la cabeza
la bruja despierta para encantar

Generaciones han transcurrido
trepar hacia el olvido a través del tiempo
la porfiada memoria se asoma
a los brazos de las sacerdotisas
que danzan enloquecidas
en la noche en un claro del bosque
brazos extendidos hacia el cielo
suplican misericordia protección
lloran angustia

Mujeres de un pasado vivo en la memoria
las traen los sueños las olvida el día
inquietos recuerdos de tiempos pretéritos
donde el cuerpo se estremecía bajo la luna
en noches estrelladas en bosque oscuro
bailando extasiadas súbditas de Selene
consagrándose en vida a la diosa Afrodita

La danza enloquecida en el claro del bosque
invoca pasiones estremece el cuerpo la piel desvaría
y Dionisio entregado al fuego vehemente de las bacantes
brinda sus brazos su piel y su aliento
a desenfrenadas amantes
pasiones del dios hedonista

Cabellera cana

Mi pelo está tan largo como la cuarentena
Crece a razón de dos centímetros mensuales
y van cinco meses que no lo puedo cortar
diez centímetros ha crecido y ya se vuelve indomable

Mi pelo es rebelde y llevado de sus ideas
no quiere ser domado ni menos tintado
mi pelo es cabellos al viento que pintan las mañanas
enredado y despeinado cada vez que amanece
cubre mis ojos y se cruza sobre la mirada
cada mañana que despierta acompañado
enredado en los ojos de un amante caballero

Mi cabello es mi orgullo y no quiero ocultarlo
está matizado de grises ha devenido en plateado
mi pelo me abriga me divierte y desafía
nunca me anuncia cómo aparecerá en la mañana
menos en el día que viene
jamás en la pecadora noche

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Witches and Bacchantes

On the bed in the autumn afternoon
four walls contain life
thoughts fly to infinity
to other lives at a time that was
coven of ideas buzzes in the head
the witch wakes up to enchant

Generations have passed
climb into oblivion through time
the stubborn memory peeks out
to the arms of the priestesses
that dance crazily
at night in a forest clearing
arms outstretched to the sky
beg for mercy protection
they cry anguish

Women of a past alive in memory
dreams bring them, forget the day
restless memories of bygone times
where the body shuddered under the moon
on starry nights in dark forest
Dancing rapturous subjects of Selene
consecrating himself in life to the goddess Aphrodite

The mad dance in the forest glade
invokes passions shakes the body the skin raves
and Dionysus delivered to the vehement fire of the Bacchantes
offers his arms his skin and his breath
to unbridled lovers
hedonistic god passions

Gray Hair

My hair is as long as the quarantine
It grows at a rate of two centimeters per month
and it’s been five months that I can’t cut it
ten centimeters has grown and already becomes untamed

My hair is rebellious and carried away by his ideas
does not want to be tamed or less tinted
my hair is hair in the wind that paint the mornings
tangled and disheveled every time it dawns
covers my eyes and crosses over the gaze
every morning that wakes up accompanied
tangled in the eyes of a gentleman lover

My hair is my pride and I don’t want to hide it
is tinged with gray has turned into silver
my hair keeps me warm, it entertains me and challenges me
never announce to me how it will appear in the morning
less in the next day
never in the sinful night

María Cristina Wormull is a poet, writer and essayist. She born in Machalí, Chile. She has published four individual books prose and poetry, and her writings have been included in several anthologies both in Chile and abroad. She is currently working on her third collection of poems. She is a member of various groups. She obtained several prizes in poetry and short stories and got a fund in poetry from the Ministry of Culture, Chile. She collaborates with various magazines such as Entreparéntesis, La estaca and Nube conónica, among other publications.

Isilda Nunes PORTUGAL

Two Poems

Originally written in Portuguese language and translated into English

Dois Poemas de Isilda Nunes
Originalmente escrito em língua portuguesa e traduzido para inglês

Mãe, não quero nascer!

Sabes mãe tenho a pele tatuada pela tua angústia
o corpo cinzelado pela dor que te chicoteia
e a alma fustigada pelas ventanias que te impuseram.
Sabes mãe, bebi todas as lágrimas que não brotaram dos teus olhos
os teus soluços
o teu pranto,
o teu clamor,
o teu medo
e a tua fome de amor.
Escondi-me nas tuas entranhas quando aquelas mãos grandes violaram a tua integridade.
Mãe humilharam-te. Humilharam-me!
Mãe tenho medo de viver no teu mundo
Mãe não quero nascer.
Sabes mãe… eu sou uma menina.

Porque me olhas indiferente nessa tua soberba ironia?

Porque me marcas como uma besta subjugada?
Porque me humilhas e me golpeias, quando simplesmente te quero amar?
Não!
Não quero ser o reflexo de um tempo petrificado em meu relógio parado!
Não quero ser o protesto silenciado no soluço entrecortado,
nem a boca amordaçada na revolta sufocada!
Não quero ser um pássaro ferido na liberdade retida,
nem a máscara de quem sou no breu de uma noite infinda!
Não quero ser o rio estagnado na árida berma da morte,
nem um sonho agrilhoado a uma efémera sorte!
Liberta-me!
Deixa-me amanhecer!
Rejeito ser uma sombra na vereda do teu ser.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Mother, I don’t want to be born!

Mother, you know, I’ve got your anguish on my inked skin
my body carved by the pain that is in you whipping
and my soul battered by the wind they imposed upon you.
Mother, you know, I drank all the tears that from your eyes didn’t flow
your sobs,
your mourning,
your outcry,
your fear
and that hunger for love, for real.
I hid within your bowels when those big hands violated your dignity.
Mother, they humiliated you. They humiliated me, too!
Mother, I’m so afraid of the world you live in
Mother, I don’t want to be part of that world.
You know, Mother… I’m a girl.

Why do you look at me indifferently in that superb irony?

Why do you mark me like a submissive beast?
Why do you humiliate and beat me, when I just want to love you?
No!
I don’t want to be the reflection of a petrified time on my halted clock!
I don’t want to be the silenced protest in the broken sob,
Nor the gagged mouth in the suffocated revolt!
I don’t want to be a stagnant river in the arid deaths edge,
nor a dream chained to fleeting luck!
I don’t want to be a wounded bird in retained freedom,
nor the mask of who I am in the darkness of an endless night!
Free me!
Let me rise!
I refuse to be a shadow, in the path of your being.

Isilda Nunes is a Portuguese award-winning writer. Recently she won the Intercontinental World Poetry Prize Kairat Dusseinov Parman and the World Prize Cesar Vallejo 2020, for literary excellence. Her poems have been translated into Spanish, English and other languages. She is a co-author of about thirty anthologies and solo books of poetry and prose. She took part in Radio and Television programs, book fairs and literary festivals. She is a member of the Association of World Writers (AWW).

Lyubka Slavova BULGARIA

Two Poems

Originally written in Bulgarian language and translated into English

Две стихотворения от Любка Славова
Първоначално написано на български език и преведено на английски

ЖЕНА

В сърцето ти влиза със дъх на кокиче,
навежда се тихо и щедро обича.
Ръцете докосва, на жар разтопени,
раздава душата, до миг споделена.

В съня на сина ти със майчина ласка
прегръща, лекува – детето пораства.
Рисува със него безкрайни вселени,
крила подарява – с любов сътворени.

Парченца от щастие, обич и сила
тя нежно запазва и дава закрила.
Със тях тя реди животворна мозайка.
…Тя просто жена е – любима и майка.

Жилетка от баба

Сънувам ти ръцете – с топла плетка.
И безопасната игла отпред.
Събуждам се. Последната жилетка
на топлината пази спомен блед.

Обличам я и тръгвам аз по пътя
на делниците. Времето лети.
Ръцете ти прегръщат и упътват,
през плетката за мен се грижиш ти.

Поглеждам я, когато боледувам –
напомня за лимон, лъжица мед.
И да те видя пак в нощта жадувам,
но само твоят дух е с мен навред.

Как липсваш ми… А моята жилетка
самотно в гардероба си виси.
Ти обич вплете. Всяка моя клетка
по теб тъгува. Днес къде си ти?

Тогава чувам някак си гласа ти,
през времето достигнал с топлина.
И нанизът от спомени богати
припомня ми за твойта добрина.

Ще пазя песните ти във сърцето
и ще ги пея с моите деца.
Жилетката ще топли раменете
по пътя ми през хладните утра.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Woman

She enters in his heart with the breath of a snowdrop,
she bends down quietly and loves generously.
She touches his hands, melted in the heat,
she hands out the soul, shared till the last moment.

She embraces and heals in the dream of the son
with a mother’s caress – and the child grows up.
She paints with him endless universes.
She gives away wings, created with love.

She gives protection and gently preserves
pieces of happiness, love and strength.
She arranges with them a life-giving mosaic.
… She is just a woman – a sweetheart and a mother.

А cardigan from my grandmother

I dream of your hands – with a warm knit.
And the safety needle on the front.
I wake up. The last cardigan
keeps the warmth of memory pale.

I put it on and I go on the road
on weekdays. Time flies.
Your arms embrace and guide,
you take care of me through the knitting.

I look at the cardigan when I’m sick –
it reminds me of a lemon, of a spoonful of honey.
I want to see you in the night again,
but only your spirit is with me everywhere.

How I miss you… And my cardigan
hangs alone in my wardrobe.
You weaved love. Every cell of mine
mourns for you. Where are you today?

Then I hear your voice somehow,
reached with warmth over the time.
And the string of rich memories
reminds me of your kindness.

I will keep your songs in my heart
and I will sing them with my children.
The cardigan will warm my shoulders
on my way in cold mornings.

Lyubka Slavova born in 1972 in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. Her first book a collection of poems: “The Dream of Cloud Birds” was published in 2014. Her second book with poems – “The direction in which I love you” was published in 2017 by the Foundation “The Letters”, Sofia, Bulgaria. Her poems have been published in various anthologies, almanacs and in periodicals. For poetic achievement she got many awards and prizes. She is the Secretary of the Writers’ Association, Plovdiv, Bulgaria and a member of the Association of World Writers (AWW).

Maria Angeles Lonardi ARGENTINA-SPAIN

Two Poems

Originally written in Spanish and translated into English

Dos poemas de Maria Angeles Lonardi
Originalmente escritos en español y traducidos al inglés

Mujer

En la luz del alba puedo encontrarte,
o en el silencio de la montaña,
en las iniciales de una letra eterna
o en las consonantes protectoras…
En las hondonadas luminosas del río,
en las luciérnagas que habitan tus ojos
o en las manos cuenco y tesoro.
Puedo encontrarte siempre
donde huele a vida, mujer,
donde se esparce el consuelo
que ante la muerte repartes
con un beso, porque eres lágrima y más…
Eres pureza , eres alfa y omega,
la continuidad del germen,
el cántaro donde el agua es fuente.
Y cuando la fruta es pasión y deseo
el aire verde de almizcle fecunda.
Con las alas desplegadas puedo verte
trazando caminos, sosteniendo el sol,
curando heridas, derrochando aliento,
dejando huellas por donde pasas
con la luna en los hombros
y en movimiento constante.
De día eres remolino de carne y hueso
y por la noche, te quitas las alas de ángel.

ELLAS

Ellas existen y a veces parecen irreales.
Son ingrávidas, con perfil de aire.
Tienen la sombra etérea,
la mirada profunda y el corazón frágil.
Los sueños quebradizos como cristales.
De boca encendida y piernas curvilíneas
bailan envueltas en luz como las hadas.
Delicadas criaturas que cuando te miran
te quitan el aire, hasta las palabras.
Cadencioso su andar es como las olas,
y sus manos se mueven como la arena
mecida por el viento en hondonadas.
En su vientre habita la vida
y entre sus brazos retienen la ternura
y el sosiego del abrazo del alma.
Mujeres sin máscaras, sencillas,
sin adornos vanos, con sutil delicadeza
se deslizan descalzas por el jardín
de los días; con ellas la naturaleza juega
caprichosa entre su prisa y su pausa.
Quisiera saber de qué están hechas…
Si es que se han escapado de un sueño
o son criaturas aladas, llegadas
a la tierra para devolvernos la esperanza
y la alegría cada día con sólo estar cerca,
mujeres de carne y hueso, en carne viva,
heroínas sin capa, valientes, arriesgadas,
que se dejan la piel en cada intento
derramándose como intenso magma.
Ellas son mitad y todo a la vez
figuras eternas recortadas en el tiempo
que nos hablan, aun sin decir palabra.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Woman

In the light of dawn I can find you,
or in the silence of the mountain,
in the initials of an eternal letter
or in the protective consonants…
In the luminous hollows of the river,
in the fireflies that inhabit your eyes
or in the hands, bowl and treasure.
I can always find you
where life smells of life, woman,
where the consolation spreads
that in the face of death you spread
with a kiss, because you are tears and more…
You are purity, you are alpha and omega,
the continuity of the germ,
the pitcher where water is source.
And when fruit is passion and desire
the green air of musk fecundates.
With wings spread out I can see you
tracing paths, holding the sun,
healing wounds, wasting breath,
leaving footprints wherever you go
with the moon on your shoulders
and in constant movement.
By day you are a whirlwind of flesh and blood
and by night, you take off your angel wings.

They

They exist and sometimes seem unreal.
They are weightless, with an airy profile.
They have the ethereal shadow,
the deep gaze and the fragile heart.
Dreams as brittle as crystals.
With fiery mouths and curvaceous legs
They dance wrapped in light like fairies.
Delicate creatures who when they look at you
They take your breath away, even your words.
Their rhythmic gait is like the waves,
and their hands move like sand
swayed by the wind in the hollows.
In her belly dwells life
and in her arms they hold tenderness
and the calmness of the soul’s embrace.
Women without masks, simple,
without vain adornment, with subtle gentleness
they glide barefoot through the garden
of the days; with them nature plays
capricious between her haste and her pause.
I would like to know what they are made of?
Whether they have escaped from a dream
or are they winged creatures, arrived
to the earth to give us hope and joy every day
and joy every day just by being near,
women of flesh and blood, in the flesh,
heroines without a cape, brave, risk-takers,
who leave their skin in every attempt
spilling over like intense magma.
They are half and all at the same time
eternal figures cut out in time
who speak to us, even without saying a word.

Maria Angeles Lonardi was born in Larroque, Province of Entre Ríos, Argentina in 1970. She is a poet, critic, sort fiction writer and jury of literary competitions. Her writings have been published in many anthologies and magazines around the world. As a poet and short story writer she won numerous international literary awards. She has published five books of poems, two of which have recently been translated into Italian. Since 2002 she has been living in Almería, Spain. She is a member of the Association of World Writers (AWW). Her writings can be followed in her blog: letras-sobre-papel.blogspot.com.es

Maria Borio ITALY

Two Poems

Originally written in Italian language and translated into English

Due poesie di Maria Borio
Originariamente scritte in lingua italiana e tradotte in inglese

OCCHIO, SCHERMO

Osservate, chiedete non alla forma
ma fuori a tutto il resto cosa sia,
questa scrittura o le unghie esili,
le biografie anonime o le parole anonime.
Mi dicono che può essere forma questo libro a schermo
dove vedi vite in frammento o luce stupita.

La forma è lo schermo come una casa azzurra,
statistica e figure, un ritmo che lega gli uomini
nella mia mente. La forma è, non è ciò che volete
io dia. È, non è il divenire. È disfarsi, a volte.

L’altro limite, solo l’immagine, mi hai detto, ma lo cancello
e lo riscrivo: lettere, vi dico, pensatele, in ogni lettera
guardate una parola come un piede di bambino
appoggiato alla mano della madre, quella mano
alla pancia e la pancia a un pensiero.

A volte seguo questo percorso perché una scena accada
e non sia forma sola, ma pancia, mano, piede
che non vedete, anche nelle immagini
disordinate nell’etere sempre vi seguo,
un aereo silenzioso che rientra nell’hangar
o il cieco che arriva all’ultimo segno del braille.

Mi hanno detto di nuovo di fermarmi sulla forma,
la forma che se scrivi o vivi non è mai lo stesso.
Con i pensieri come unghie lego vite
disunite a schermo.

LETTERA, 06:00

Per il momento che separa la notte
restavi allo scoperto nell’erba alta e azzurra.
Gli occhi la scrivevano in qualche spazio
e l’obiettivo della macchina fotografica la catturava
nuda e magra: qualsiasi vita che voglia apparire.

Se scrivi l’istante si distende? Ma la camera
di ciò che scrivi molto lentamente raggiunge
la vita degli altri e questa fotografia come una bocca
vera più del vero già a tutti farebbe chiedere
dove sei, l’ora, perché raccogli
il cielo impallidito fra gambi celesti.

Forse questo ultimo momento d’estate
potrebbe dire se stesso
solo se si riproducesse muovendosi,
se assomigliasse a ciò che in un video
le vite che appaiono vogliono sentire simile…

Gli uomini nel neolitico narravano
con i palmi delle mani sulle pareti della grotta
e le sagome delle mani erano il proteggersi,
la luce che vive. Guarda così le mie lettere.

Attacco le mani al rosa bluastro, alle bocche spinose:
la donna nuda che comprime una migrazione
schiacciando i palmi sulla roccia.
Le vite disarmate continuano la caccia
nella voce registrata, nella foto che cancella
la voce, nelle lettere che cancellano il corpo.

Sei seduta sul muretto di cinta e ascolti
di nuovo il suono del video che scrive
dove sono, l’ora, il perché.
La voce è una donna nuda e fredda
che stampa mani in alto.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Eye, Screen

Observe, seek not the form,
but above all what else is,
this writing or frail fingernails,
anonymous biographies or anonymous words.
They say this book on my screen can take shape
where you see fragmented lives or astonished light.

Its form is a screen like a blue house,
statistics and figures, a rhythm linking men
in my mind. The form is, not that what you want
I’ll give. Being, not becoming. Unbeing, sometimes.

That other limit, just a vision, you said. But I delete
and rewrite it: think of letters, I tell you, see in every
letter a word like a child’s foot
resting on his mother’s hand, the hand
on a belly and the belly on a thought.

At times I follow this course and a scene takes shape
and it’s not only form, but belly, hand, foot
that you don’t see; even into the ether’s
deranged imagery I follow you,
a silent plane reentering the hangar
or a blind man reaching the last dot of braille.

Again they told me to halt on form,
form that written or lived is never the same.
With thoughts like fingernails
I tie lives disunited on screen.

Letter, 6:00 AM

For the moment that divides night from day
you stay in the open, in the high, blue grass.
Your eyes write it into some space
and the camera lens captures her
naked and thin: what life wants to appear.

If you write down a moment does it grow?
Slowly the writing’s camera reaches
others’ lives and this photograph like a real
mouth more than real already begs
where you are, at what time, why you gather
the pale sky between azure stems.

Maybe this last bit of summer
could speak itself
if it reproduced by moving,
if it resembled lives on video
that appear, long to feel similar…

Neolithic men retold with the palms
of their hands on the walls of caves
and the outlines of their hands were protection,
light that lives. See my letters this way.

I stick my hands on the bluish pink, on the thorniest mouth:
the naked woman who compresses an exodus
crushing her hands on the rock.
Unarmed lives continue the hunt
in the recorded voice, in the photo that erases
the voice, in the letters that erase the body.

On the low wall you sit and listen
again to the sound of the video that writes
where I am, the hour, the why.
The voice is a cold nude
who presses her hands to the sky.

Translation by Danielle Pieratti

Maria Borio born in 1985, Maria Borio is a poet and literary critic. She holds a BA and a PhD in Italian literature. Her poems have been published in several journals and literary websites. She published the collections L’altro limite (pordenonelegge-lietocolle, 2017) and Trasparenza (Interlinea, 2019) which are going to be translated into English. She is the editor of the poetry section of the journal.

Vera Jakelic CROATIA

Two Poems

Originally written in Croatian language and translated into English

Dvije pjesme Vere Jakelić
Izvorno napisano na hrvatskom jeziku i prevedeno na engleski jezik

ŽENA

Ženi treba kormilo
ona jedri tišinom i olujama
ostaje stijena u plimama
čvrsta smreka
nošena vjetrovima

Koliko borbe za jedan dan
jednakost za rad, glas
ratuje osmijehom
strpljenjem
nema predaje
bijele zastave

Ponosno prkosi tami
otima se nasilju
nepravdi laži

Koliko puta opjevana
mudrošću zarobljena

Majka suznih odsjaja
životnih ugriza
sjete

To je žena
bez niti konca plete
ljepše buduće vrijeme

MIRISI LJUBAVI

Razlijeva se noć
sjajno tkanje zvjezda
isijava molitvu
utjehe

Moć zlatnih boja
pjeva uspavanku
gladna sam
lake noći

Ne čujem labuđi pjev jedine ljubavi

Misli plešu
sretne trenutke
preplanule
tvojim dodirima

U vremeplovu
života
bezvremen si
volim te bez treptaja

Zbogom logiko
realnosti

Ulazim kao plemkinja
u nutrinu
tvog dvorca
čudno
pauk ispleo mrežu
guši prašina
odlazim
ostaješ
evergreen

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Women

Woman needs a rudder
in silence and storms , she sails
rock captured by tides
a solid spruce carried by winds

Much fighting to survive day
equality for work, voice
smiling , she fights
by patience
no surrender
white flag

Proudly defing the darkness
abducting from violence
injustice or lies

Sung many times
captured by wisdom

A mother with tearful reflection
life bites
gloominess

That is a woman
without threads
she knits a nicer future

Smells of Love

The night is spilling
Shineing weaving of stars
sending pray
solace

Power of golden colors
is singing lullaby
im hungry
of easy nights

I dont hear swan song of only love
toughts are dancing
happy moments
tanned
of your touches

You are timeless
in timemashine of life
I love you with
no blinking

Goodbye logic
reality

Im entering as a noblewoman
in silence of
your castle
strange
spider weaved a web
dust is suffocateing
Im leaving
you stay
evergreen

Vera Jakelic was born in Croatia. My profession she is an economist but due to illness she now enjoying a retired life. Her poems have been published in many anthologies and webzines. She likes to walk with her dog, swim, watch movies, but poetry is her passion.

ASSISTAN EDITOR

Anna Maria Stępień
POLAND