Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance - Carl Sandburg..........Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject - John Keats .........Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge - William Wordsworth ..........Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand - Plato .........No man was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher. For poetry is the blossom and the fragrance of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language - Samuel Taylor Coleridge .........One demands two things of a poem. Firstly, it must be a well-made verbal object that does honor to the language in which it is written. Secondly, it must say something significant about a reality common to us all, but perceived from a unique perspective. What the poet says has never been said before, but, once he has said it, his readers recognize its validity for themselves - W. H. Auden ...........Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash - Leonard Cohen .........There is a pleasure in poetic pains which only poets know - William Cowper .........Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood -T. S. Eliot ..........Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason - Novalis...........He who draws noble delights from sentiments of poetry is a true poet, though he has never written a line in all his life - George Sand .........A poem is never finished, only abandoned - Paul Valery ........A poet is a bird of unearthly excellence, who escapes from his celestial realm arrives in this world warbling. If we do not cherish him, he spreads his wings and flies back into his homeland - Kahlil Gibran.............Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance - John Keats..........To be a poet is a condition, not a profession - Robert Frost........A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself - E. M. Forster.........Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo - Don Marquis...........Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things - T. S. Eliot ..........You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it tick. You're back with the mystery of having been moved by words. The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in - Dylan Thomas .........Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words - Paul Engle......... There is not a joy the world can give like that it takes away! Lord Byron

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Martin Alexander - UK / HK

Hunting for poems
Martin Alexander - UK

 


 I'm hunting poems in the jungle.
When I catch one I shall stab it with my pen
and stick it in my book with spit
and glue. I expect that it will wriggle
for a while, and snarl and struggle to be free.
That’s the sort of nuisance that a slippery poem can be.
 


Sometimes I see peaceful poems sleeping in the shade
and when I pounce they wake, bemused,
and find themselves stuck firm in place, confused,
and wonder how they got there. But it’s too late:
they’re stuck and find they have no choice
but resignation to their fate.
 


I’m sad when poems get away:
they let me catch a rippling glimpse,
a tantalising sense of shape and then
dissolve themselves in undergrowth.
I’m dazzled by a gleaming eye,
a graceful swerve, a rhythmic gait.
My fingers clutch the empty air
my pen stabs

 

sharp – there’s nothing there –
the poem’s gone and it’s too late.
 


But the ones that I like best of all
are those that seem compliant:
they let me toy with them like mice
then eat me like a giant.

 

 

صيد القصائد

مارتن ألكسندر - إنجلترا / هونج كونج

ترجمة : سيد جودة - مصر / هونج كونج

 

أصطاد قصائد شعرٍ في الغابة ْ

و إذا أمسكت بواحدة ٍ يطعنها قلمي

ألصقها في صفحات كتابي

بالبصق و بالصمغْ

أتوقع منها أن تتلوّى شيئاً ما

و تكشّر عن أنياب ْ

و تحاول جاهدة ً أن تهربْ

هذا ما يمكن أن تتسبب فيهِ

قصيدة شعر زلقة ْ

من إزعاجْ!

 

أحياناً أبصر بعض قصائدَ

راقدة ً بسلامٍ في الظلْ

إذ ْ أثب إليها تستيقظ متعجبة ً

فترى أنفسها في القيدْ

تتعجب في حيرة ْ

كيف أتت لهنا!

لكنْ بعد فوات الوقت ْ

فهْي الآن مقيَّدة ٌ

ليس لها أن تختارَ

سوى أن تستسلم للموتْ!

 

أحزن حين تفرُّ قصائد شعري منِّي

فأرى منها ومضاً يتحركُ

إحساساً يغريني بملامحها

ثم تذوب للاشيءْ

 

تبهرني منها عين لامعة ٌ

دورانٌ رائعْ

خطوٌ موسيقيٌّ

أمسك منها بعض خواءْ

قلمي يطعن في عنفٍ

لكنْ لا شيء هناكْ

هربت منِّي

لاشيء لأفعله الآن ْ

 

لكنَّ أحبَّ قصيدة ْ

هي ما تبدو متعاونة ً و مطيعة ْ

تجعلني ألعب معها كالفأرِ

و تأكلني كالوحش العملاقْ!

 

 
 

 

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