Poetry Books
By
Kritya publication
See the link
International Poetry Festival
- Kritya2010
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I really
missed that feeling of richness we had enjoyed when we were
together, we had assembled there to talk abut exile and trauma,
but learned to love and live in harmony. I had felt that the
positive power we were getting from each other was the real
source of our richness. Richness is something which is very
different from the material richness created through coins and
bricks.
This richness was always felt by our Devotional poets in the
presence of God and God’s people. This richness can be felt
through arts, poetry, and literature if we learn to see with
eyes filled with love and harmony. I am really thankful to all
the poets, participants and artists for creating that charisma
during Kritya 2010. Now I do understand the feelings of that
officer from the Income Tax department. He had felt the richness
of the journal Kritya, but as one always dealing with money in
cash, he could only visualize that richness in the form of
coins. Though his feeling was right, his understanding was
faulty.
Rati saxena
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*
Something has changed
in me.
Whatever it is
I cannot touch.
But I feel it
deep inside,
growing,
listening to the clicks of the clock,
like it knows the time
to spring loose
on you.
Stephen Jarrell Williams
*
Enter weakened at the door, aware
that centuries of sentence press
down on you.
Expect pain: the tattoo on your index
finger as you scan through a text
of raised typeface.
Browse for natural light. Ditch
it for the bulb flickering like static.
Lose your eyes to the art:
Aditi Machado
*
The shout
stamped itself on the mind
Its surefire stammer
a collective contribution
to world culture
A nation known by what
it shouts.
Inside and outside
Parliament,
on fetid street corners,
Wayne Amtzis
*
and Many more
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The Pre -
Islamic odes or what is collectively called in Arabic "Mu'alaqat"
are long Arabic odes. They are seven , though other opinions say
that they are nine or ten by adding two or three other poets.
They are considered the best of Arabic poetry written in Arabia
before Islam. "Mu'alaqa" or plural (Mu'allaqat) can be literally
translated into English as "the suspended odes", since, due to
the immense appreciation of them, they were hung on the Ka'ba
curtains in Mecca. The Arabs were so interested in poetry and
valued it to an extent that they considered the poet as the
tongue of the tribe and the defender of its dignity and heroic
image. As a result, the Mu'allaqat were written in gold and hung
on the Ka'ba curtains. That is why, they are called sometimes
"the golden or gilded odes". These poets lived and prospered in
the sixth century AD. The earliest of the seven was Imru'
Ul-Qais, who is known as the best and first poet who composed
the Arabic ode (qaseedah). These odes have no titles; but they
are named after the names of their poets
Safaa Sheikh Hamad.
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Sibilla Cumana, Domenichino
You are a Maenad, androgynous and divalent,
you pure gesture and gaze
seize your body since it seems, you feel coming from it
because
for you
the body is psyche
the body is the unconscious
You: drives
Restless, said
source of stimulus in continuous flow, your blood
endosomatic thought
your love, an emotional, joyful
madness
potentially petrifying
*
Pulcinella,
Hasta or Mudra,
the postures of your hands are your mind
suffering
you build yourself only from your gesture,
hand with fingers spread, or lock
you, deep emotional and suffered isolated tendency
how you bare to put your Self in clear?
Die Welt
Eleonora Matarrese
Blessed is the one who does not follow the labyrinth,
but the light of Nature.
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Dalai Lama
More from Ocean of Melody
*
Her outward smile she gave,
Alike to all the guests;
And yet her eyes did give,
The youth a fonder look!
*
Deep in love, I pleaded,
If e'er she would be mine;
Yes, forever, said she,
For this life and the next!
*
To meet the maiden's wish,
The Dharma I forfeit;
To the cave retire,
The maiden's heart I break!
*
The youth, it seems, did fall,
Into a hornet's nest;
Seeking her bed and rest,
Teachings were what he got.
*
My life I did offer,
If you have no honour;
The turquoise on your head,
Cannot be my witness.
*
The smile and look you give
Are but to steal my trust;
If from your heart you care.
Take thou the vow of love.
*
Secrets kept from parents,
I shared with my sweetheart;
Since her friends were many,
My foes soon heard them all.
Translated
by Lhasang Tsering
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