hovering above
it sings
and spring erupts
down come walls
of gloom
of despair
a harbinger
of good tidings
waking at dawn
lighting the earth
fields flourish
flowers sprout
and hope
yes hope
fills the air
from To the Tue of “The Celestial by the River” III by Su Dong-po
I have long hated not owning my body
When does one forget worldly labor
Night deepens as wind calms water’s rippling silk
My small boat shall vanish from here
to travel life in rivers and seas
translated by Yun Wang
a young woman runs: for Aliona & Bucks
the sun overhead
heating the world
this autumn day
a young woman runs
her dog at her heels
her long blonde hair
pulled back
in a ponytail
bouncing in rhythm
to her strides
the dog lets out cries
twirling with joy
as they run
one afternoon receding
as another begins
bringing hope
to this old heart
that a new day
is not just coming
but is already here
on chosen ground
every day that passes
leaves a stain
that just won’t rub off
the sky overcast
bad weather creeping in
and my oh my
this living
gets harder
every day that comes
that goes
and here we are
standing eight
on chosen ground
Every Woman Knows Her Own Tree by Bejan Matur
When I came to you
I meant to unfurl my wings
Over the lifeless city
Built of black stone,
To perch on the branch of a tree I found
And call out in pain.
Every woman knows her own tree.
That night I flew.
I passed the city where darkness was afraid to go.
When shadowless, the soul was alone. I howled.
translated by George Messo
Fig by Birhan Keskin
You made me laugh, Summer, you’re my dream
I slept with you, with you I wake.
My insides are soooo big, the world
fits in, next to you.
O my spikeless, cornerless, lingering love
my self as withered as a summer leaf.
translated by George Messo
Ring of Bone by Lew Welch
I saw myself
a ring of bone
in the clear stream
of all of it
and vowed
always to be open to it
that all of it
might flow through
and then heard
“ring of bone” where
ring is what a
bell does
from Chicago Poem by Lew Welch
You can’t fit it. You can’t make it go away.
I don’t know what you’re going to do about it.
But I know what I’m going to do about it. I’m just
going to walk away from it. Maybe
A small part of it will die if I’m not around
feeding it anymore
Dear Joanne by Lew Welch
Dear Joanne,
Last night Magda dreamed that she,
you, Jack, and I were driving around
Italy.
We parked in Florence and left
our dog to guard the car.
She was worried because he
doesn’t understand Italian.
Pale Blue by Aslı Durak
Hold my hand
Not to carry me far away . . . no
My roots and branches
Will strain for distant clouds
Maybe my eyes
Are in that same pavilion of loneliness now
Let my face again be the statue of sadness
When you beautify me
Maybe
I’m a pale blue woman now
translated by George Messo
Leonard Durso 