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Year Gamma: London: Wednesday: March 28: 2018
The Arkive About The Humanion VII London Poetry Festival 2018: October 14-17 Natural Health Social Poetrimore Poetry Poetre The Humanion Poetry Theatre
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 First Published: September 24: 2015
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Poetry Arkive 2016

 

VII London Poetry Festival 2018: October 14-17

 

October The Poetry Month 2015

 

Insomnia: Aalya Janjna, East Berkshire College


The lights are off, but I’m still paying the bill.
The blinds are closed, yet someone remains home.

Drowning in the darkness, the waves submerging my mind
Swamping my lungs, with suffocating silt.
Alone with my thoughts, yet I cannot afford to think.
I was once living. But now I merely float awake.
I won't stop rowing.

I am ready to face the night, a wakeful warrior:
Raise my armour up — I lift my blanket
Shield at the ready — I wrestle my pillow
I am a soldier of the night, fighting with fatigues.
I am ready to fight, I remain outnumbered.

It's me versus the night,
I must become one with my enemies, drifting, better yet prancing,
Prancing on our battle sheep as we try to unite.
At first we struggle to get over the fences, the fences that segregate us
But when we get together, we will ride.

I frantically turn and turn.
My eyes open and close like a loose letter box on a windy day.
How to survive? How indeed?
In all my years awake I have never attempted to find out,
I ache to not know, I throb to forget,

I don’t want to remember the dread of the night, not tonight.

When I open my eyes I see the dark colours being swallowed by darker ones.
When I focus my ears all I hear are the enemies haunting me in petrified
silence.
When I breathe all I taste is the trauma of oxygen.
When I smell, I smell vacuous nothingness.

And it is the nothingness that depletes me.
Me, myself, I but nothingness reminds me I am alone, me, by myself._
Completely alone,
Stale like the orphaned slice of bread, never picked and left to rot.
Raw, unfresh, isolated.

I’m choking and I can’t gasp for air.
The oxygen seems extinct, frozen over.
There is a still light that I begin to follow,
Trotting up to doomland instead of dreamland.
It leads way off into the distance where I see shores,
But I am truly desperate and afraid.
The more I move towards it the further the sound travels.

I cannot go back or forth
I remain in my position for what feels like eternity
My mind is still and I can’t stand this darkness

I am truly lost.

I find an alternative route, hidden on purpose,
I follow it to the very edge,
I see the moon shining down on me, comforting me.
I suddenly think,
And take a leap.

Falling, falling, falling.

All the way to sunrise.

Readmore

P: 160116

Up

1st Prize: You Look Best in Your Funeral Dress: Hugh Shepherd-Cross, Eton College

2nd Prize: Writ in Water: Jacob Andrea, Eton College

3rd prize winning poem in The Windsor Festival Youth Creative Schools Competition 2015

 

Rainer Maria Rilke

Du im Voraus
verlorne Geliebte, Nimmergekommene,
nicht weiß ich, welche Töne dir lieb sind.
Nicht mehr versuch ich, dich, wenn das Kommende wogt,
zu erkennen.

Ach, die Gärten bist du,
ach, ich sah sie mit solcher
Hoffnung. Ein offenes Fenster
im Landhaus—, und du tratest beinahe
mir nachdenklich heran. Gassen fand ich,—
du warst sie gerade gegangen,
und die spiegel manchmal der Läden der Händler
waren noch schwindlich von dir und gaben erschrocken
mein zu plötzliches Bild.—Wer weiß, ob derselbe
Vogel nicht hinklang durch uns
gestern, einzeln, im Abend?

Up

Sylvia Plath

34

Gold leaves shiver
In this crack of time;
Yellow flickers
In the shrill clear sun;
Light pirouettes
In ballet dress,
While blue above
Leaps the sheer sky.

-------------------------

Brief gold glitters
In the gutters;
Flares and flashes,
Husky rushes

-------------------------

And in that moment
Silent, cold,
Across the lawn,
Dull pools of gold.

(From The Journals of Sylvia Plath: 1950-1962): 34 is probably one the most beautiful, most sublime, most original of Sylvia Plath's poems. This alone should stand to testify for what soul of poet she was. Go, find and read this whole poem.

Up

Alexander Pushkin

I keep in mind that magic moment:
When you appeared before my eyes
Like ghost, like fleeting apparition,
Like genius of the purest grace.

In torturous hopeless melancholy,
In vanity and noisy fuss
I’ve always heard your tender voice
I saw your features in my dreams.

Years passed away, and blasts of tempests
Have scattered all my previous dreams,
And I forgot your tender voice,
And holy features of your face.

In wilderness, in gloomy capture
My lonely days were slowly drawn:
I had not faith, no inspiration,
No tears, no life, no tender love.

But time has come, my soul awakened,
And you again appeared to me
Like ghost, like fleeting apparition,
Like genius of the purest grace.

My heart again pulsates in rapture,
And everything arouse again:
My former faith, and inspiration,
And tears, and life, and tender love.

To Kern: Anna Petrovna Kern, née Poltoratskaya: February 11, 1800–May 27, 1879

Translation : Dmitri Smirnov

Up

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were gilded round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree:
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery
……………………………………………………
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
(Kubla Khan)

Up

The Enûma Eliš

When the sky above was not named,
And the earth beneath did not yet bear a name,
And the primeval Apsû, who begat them,
And chaos, Tiamat, the mother of them both,
Their waters were mingled together,
And no field was formed, no marsh was to be seen;
When of the gods none had been called into being.

Translation: Leonard King

 

W. B. Yeats : To an Isle in Water

Up

Down by the Salley Gardens : W. B. Yeats


Up

Victoria Valentine In Poets' Letter Magazine Archives Poetry Pearl

In Your Shadow

Across the bluff you danced
While I tiptoed in your shadow
Wavering as a flame in March eagerness
Hastening toward a fertile spring

Read on

 

Up

Ballad of Light : Munayem Mayenin

Read the Spanish Translation of this poem by Natalia Carbajosa
 

So long there is light
(That it goes straight)
You must know that
The Universe in which
It runs rushes and shines
Is definitely a finite thing
For straight line always
Comes back to its origin
Origin of the ballad of light

Now that we have set it out straight let us begin this
Song of light this ballad of light that once began being
The first ever poem of God is the light written out in
The duantum dark and it grew out of unimaginable
Stress and it ran and it rushed and it shined and shone

This is the ballad of light
This is the song of shines
This is the myth of la luz
La luz la luzna lusana luz
In la ciela this is la luz la luz

Beneath indefinitum pressures’ hold matters went
Deeper within for there was no otherwhere for them
To go so they went deeper and deeper to the core of
The core to the depth of the deep so that it became a
Thing being proposed to be called a thing solidaas

This is the swansong of light
This is the cielasong of light
The myth of la luz la poema
La luz la luzna lusana luz
In la ciela this is clair de lune

In solidaas matters remained not matters nor did they
Find states of being liquid nor gas nor power of sorts
They became thinner to the highest meaning yet they
Were more fluid than the energies we know so that
In solidaas they were as if condensed liquid-solid-gas

And this is the story of light
La belle sans mercy of light
This is la ciela spread of light
The myth the story the tale of
La luz la luzna lusana luz

And of this invisible dot beneath this indefinitum stress
Solidaas rolled turning round so fast that it could cut out
The hardest of steal or rock or gold or diamond or else-all
When the pressures were let go the burst that went out was
Bedazzling things splintered and rushed on fire all dashed

And this is the ballad of light
This is the southsong of light
This is the northsong of light
This is the eastsong of light
This is the westsong of light

And that is when the highest blooms of lights ran out ringing
And singing and shining and rushing and choral-clasping all
That it came to touch shining and ringing and rushing yet at
All times calling the dark to reach out to raise the song the song
The photons the waves the rays the sizes the shapes the runs

And this is the ballad of light
This is the belle of light
This is the swansong of light
La luz la luzna lusana luz
The lovesong of light la luz

And since the light goes all-ways straight and through all
Its songs are of waves and colours spectrum and particles
Matter or energy waves or swims it is the magic the poem
That God has written on the blackboard of the duantum
It calls out it shines it sings out and reaches illuminating

This is the ballad of light
This is the swansong of light
This is the clair de lune of la luz
La luz la luzna lusana la luz
This is the ballad of light la luz

And this is the ballad of light la luz la luzna lusana Ihana
Ihana this is the swansong of light this is the lovesong of
The soul that sings the soul of the dark the dark of the soul
The lit of the soul the luminous of the soul Ihana this is all
This is the ballad of la luz la luzna lusana clair de lune de lune

Posted on : October 14, 2014

Note about the poem: In the second set of stanzas in the poem words are used simply for their beauty and musicality. These words do not belong to any language; hence, the Spanish or French or English or other language words are not used as such but as mere words in cases with deliberate modifications. I invite readers not to treat them as belonging to any language so that they do not think there are grammatical errors, where they seem as such, they are deliberate, in them. See, this is, poetic licence! And because of this the second set of stanzas are not translated. The Poet.

Now, if you would read it in Spanish

Mientras haya luz
(Viajando en línea recta)
Has de saber que
El universo por el que
Avanza, corre y brilla
Es en definitiva algo finito
Pues la línea recta siempre
Vuelve a su origen
El origen de la balada de la luz

Ahora que lo hemos aclarado comencemos esta
Canción de la luz esta balada de la luz que comenzó una vez
Siendo el primer poema de Dios es la luz escrita en
La oscuridad duantum y surgió de un impulso
Inimaginable y corrió y se apresuro y brilló y refulgió

Read on

Translation Natalia Carbajosa

Up

Claire Askew

In the early days, when your feet still struggled,
each morning, to find themselves, you inhabited a city
that only made sense on paper. I, the flitting
white cane that guided you, steered us
through espresso daydreams on yawning streets,
beneath bus-shelters – we were both blind –
doe-eyed and awe-full among stricken gallery frames.

Read on

Up

 

 

Soul of light

Juan Jose Gomez-Cadenas


 
Some souls are smoke,
they whirl and vanish when you reach out,
Some souls are stone,
hard to the skin, petrified.

And some souls are shifting sands,
treacherous and false.
I have seen water souls,
(liquid and fresh and flowing)
and I have seen souls of fire,
burning like Troy in flames.

There are steel souls, sharper than swords,
and souls of precious wood, smelling of cedars,
But your soul is not made of smoke or sand,
stone, or steel,
water, wood or fire.
Your soul is made of light.

Yes, light, so serene,
as noon leaning slowly into the evening.
so innocent,
as a sweet flute, playing in the early morning.

Light, pure and naked, as the body of a baby, and yet,
old and wise as withered poet.

Light, spelling the Words,
that made up the Universe. Unveiling,
the colours of Life. A finch flies, a leaf,
turning yellow as Fall approaches, the shape,
of an angel hiding behind white clouds.

Light is beautiful, and if souls are mortal, as I believe,
if we are but sparks in the wide sea, then,
what sense for us, what meaning,
if not beauty?

Published on: 26/09/15

World Literature: Lugar, Natalia Carbajosa: Spanish Poetry

Poets' Letter Magazine Archives Poetry Pearl

 


 

Poetrimore

The Party at the Senator’s House
( Of an Imaginary Senator of an Imaginary Country)
 

It is the party at the Senator’s House that everyone
Is talking about in town out of town and down as
Well as up town mid and low and high town all is
Allwhere busy talking about the Party at his house

The Senator to declare whether he would stand up
To be counted first among his nation and everyone
Busy in formalities drinks in hands being served
By foreign porters waiters and waitresses politely

Readmore

Three Poems

Munayem Mayenin

Suddenly Silence Blooms

Suddenly silence seems so clear and spread out
It feels as though it is fully awash alive and sung
In lights transparent like a sudden clearing in a
Forest’s mid-heart-range as a space-lake in light

In a forest on a summer’s day where one stands
And finds only butterflies moist in sun lights
Flying quietly as their almost invisible wings
Glisten and endless impressions of their wings

And their beyond-eyes shedding of colour-dusts
And the silence opening this multidimensional
Static bloom in the blends of sounds and shapes

And you make a boat with your palms in the sun
And the silence becomes beautiful water in your
Boat still as your eyes holding skies in its depth

Matter-birds Dancing

There high up in the skies’ stormy turmoil
The dark hurried about tumbled up clouds
Suddenly stop like a silent sudden thump
For the wind simply lets go and vanishes

There weights of the water begins the flow
Downhill as if electrocution takes hold of it
Surge forth the contents of the clouds and
Feeding the thirsty arcs of space the silver

Aquamonds come downhill beneath the city
Lamp and the rain falls fast tirelessly constant
As if bent columns of golden files of paddy

Plants that touch down the ground glistening
Under the golden fire-lights of the lamp-post
The water dances as matter-birds on the road

He walks marking only humanity's higher lights

Nothing can eradicate this eternity of us that lives within
The human physiology’s impregnable depth of the forest
Nothing can wipe clean humanity off this thing that calls
Out its name in only connections and correlations forever

Dehumanisation shall never succeed for look at the scene
We come to watch a child dies in the poison-salt-waters
War and slaughter lawlessness and barbarity uprooted
Him and dead he floats a silent thunder onto the shore

The man in uniform of some Turkish Authority holds this
Thunder in his arms and carries the body as if he had
Himself died and his soul now dead he was carrying for
This is how he holds the child his posture is a scream a

Shamefulness yet resolute he carries the child as if to
Show that he was nurturing the most astonishing thing
Of all he walks marking only humanity’s higher lights
He walks as if pierced by the shame falling on his body

Because people are watching what he was doing and
He simply cannot sustain his body as if it would give
Way as if it would simply vanish for he was carrying
A dead child who ought to have been kept alive and

His weak legs limp along with arms holding the child in
Lights as if the world has gone dark as if this child’s
The centre of the lamp where he would gather all
The particles of lights and light up and wipe out all

That shame all that shame of letting a child die that
Simply is humanity united in one that he cannot bear
This shame these gazes on him of people looking at
This scene that he is carrying the child-proof of that
Crime yet resolute he carries the higher lights lights

Published on: 26/09/15

 

 

VI London Poetry Festival 2016: October 14-17

Get in touch for Poets in Residence for 2016 Festival, to read, to sing, to perform, to support, to volunteer, to join the celebration

 

 

 

 

The Candle Won't Blow Out Celebration of William Shakespeare 2016

There is no better way to celebrate William Shakespeare than reading his life's works

 

 

Hamlet

What a piece of work
is a ''man''! How noble in reason! how infinite in
faculties! in form and moving, how express and
admirable! in action, how like an angel! in
apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the
world! The paragon of animals!

Sonnet

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

400 years since the passing of William Shakespeare this year, yet he seems as young by as many years...................

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Candle Won't Blow Out Celebration of William Shakespeare 2016

 

 
 

 

The 
Earth

 

  The 
Moon

 

The Lake Eden Eye

 

 

 

 

The Window of the Heavens Always Open and Calling: All We Have to Do Is: To Choose to Be Open, Listen and Respond

 

 

 

Imagine a Rose-Boat

Imagine a rose floating like a tiny little boat on this ocean of infinity
And raise your soul-sail on this wee-little boat and go seeking out
All along feed on nothing but the light that you gather only light
Fear shall never fathom you nor greed can tempt nor illusion divert
For Love you are by name by deeds you are love's working-map

 

 

Only in the transparent pool of knowledge, chiselled out by the sharp incision of wisdom, is seen the true face of what truth is: That what  beauty paints, that what music sings, that what love makes into a magic. And it is life: a momentary magnificence, a-bloom like a bubble's miniscule exposition, against the spread of this awe-inspiring composition of the the Universe. Only through the path of seeking, learning, asking and developing, only through the vehicles and vesicles of knowledge, only through listening to the endless springs flowing beneath, outside, around and beyond our reach, of wisdom, we find the infinite ocean of love which is boundless, eternal, and being infinite, it makes us, shapes us and frees us onto the miracle of infinite liberty: without border, limitation or end. There is nothing better, larger or deeper that humanity can ever be than to simply be and do love. The Humanion

 

Poets' Letter Magazine Archive Poetry Pearl

About The Humanion The Humanion Team Home Contact Submission Guidelines
The Humanion Online Daily from the United Kingdom for the World: To Inspire Souls to Seek

At Home in the Universe : One Without Frontier. Editor: Munayem Mayenin

All copyrights @ The Humanion: London: England: United Kingdom: Contact Address: editor at thehumanion dot com

First Published: September 24: 2015