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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The sky is fitted linen

Mani Rao - India / Hong Kong

 

The sky is fitted linen, stretched over sealine without a crease, pegged to the spikes and jags of mountains, kingsize, navy, preparing to be sunshot, sooner than lovers can hide, no sooner than the taste of stars striking your lips, one by one stunned and falling to light.

 

It's all been said and yet, need, blowing between our lips, streams inside a tree. We flowed out of time and back so soon eating eggs our own. Through each other we pass like water.

 

At the sun to see how it never changes, at the moon to see how it does, algae slipping beneath our feet, roots travelling and dewdrops dying in visible speed. There is no such thing as a circular river.

 

Unlike bread, the body becomes softer with age. We tag our children with our names, store the plaits of our daughters, stash berries under rocks and look for them later.

 

Held in the fangs of a wristwatch, a well-worn path of a nail in our veins, heart-hammered time trail.

 

No matter who two are kissing, eternity arrives, jelly bean eyes black crystal balls. The longer we look, the more we recognize and anything we could say is too obvious. The songs we like are the songs we know, and every song on the radio is about us.

 

السماء قطعة من الكتان

ماني راو - الهند / هونج كونج

ترجمة : سيد جودة - مصر / هونج كونج

  

 الأفق قطعة من الكتانِ منبسطة ْ

فوق حدود البحر دون كرمشة ْ

مثبتة ْ

فوق رؤوس الجبالْ

كخيمةٍ كبيرةٍ

ولونها لون المحيط ْ

تزورها أشعة الشمسْ

من قبل أن يلوذ أيُّ عاشقٍ باختفاءْ

لكنَّ أنجم السماءْ

مدت ضياءها لكل شفةٍ عاشقة ْ

والعاشقون واحدٌ من بعد آخرٍ هوى

في سطوة الضياءْ

 

قد قيل هذا

غير أننا بحاجة إلى القبلاتْ

بين شفاهنا

بحاجةٍ لمجرى النهر في الشجرة ْ

حين سبحنا خارج الزمنْ

عدنا سريعاً في شجنْ

نمرّ من خلال بعضنا كما الماءْ

 

نراقب الشمس وكيف أنها دوماً بلا تغيرٍ

نراقب البدر وكيف يتغيرْ

أقدامنا على نبات الماء منزلقة ْ

تسافر الجذورْ

تموت قطْرات الندى في سرعةٍ مرئية ْ

ليس هناك ما اسمه نهرٌ بشكلٍ دائريّ

 

أجسادنا عكس رغيف الخبزْ

تزداد ليناً, وهناً مع الزمنْ

نلصق أسماءً على أطفالنا

ضفائر البنات نحفظها

وتحت صخرةٍ نضعْ

ثمار توت ْ

نبحث عنها لاحقاً

 

معلقون بين أنياب العقارب ْ

مسار مسمارٍ قديمٍ في العروقْ

طريق وقتٍ وزمنْ

كم عبرت فيه قدمْ!

 

ليس يهم مَنْ يقبل مَنْ

فحينها يأتي الأبدْ

عيناه كالفول الجيلي

ومقلتاه كالكريستال بلونٍ أسودْ

وكلما طال بنا التحديق كلما تعرفنا

وكل ما اسطعنا مقالتهُ

أوضح ما يكونْ

نحب ما نعرفهُ من أغنياتْ

وكلُّ أغنيةٍ

يذيعها المذياع أو نسمعها

تكون عنّا!

 

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