Poetry Books
By
Kritya publication
See the link
International Poetry Festival
- Kritya2010
|
|
|
Ink runs from the
corners of my mouth
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
~Mark Strand, "Eating Poetry," Reasons for Moving, 1968
What better way of representing what poetry is all about? The
ecstasy offered by inspired poetry is unparalleled. It is solid
sustenance for the mind as well as the body. Caught in the magic
of words, you tend to forget the pangs of the stomach. Or is it
that in a transcendental state, your physical cravings are
trifled? Well, at Kritya, it remains our vested goal to
introduce the best of poets and poems to you, our dear readers.
It is with that mission that in every issue we strive to bring
poems from all parts of the world, so at Kritya we are a world
by itself. Thinking from that angle, it is evident that poetry
is indeed an excellent tool for forging strong relationships.
This has been proved by our experience with the Kritya poetry
festivals, which bring together not only poets but those from
its sister arts as well. People meet, interact and leave the
best of friends. And the warmth of that friendship is something
unique.
More »
|
|
|
|
I'm
caught in your headlights
so I know that you can see.
But you are not swerving.
Just crash right into me.
You feel like steel
and caress much too hard.
Breathing like an engine,
I'm caught on your shards
Elan Pavlinich
*
I am not here.
Cease being.
Gravity shifts
and my soul slips
out of my lips.
How kind it is
to let my body
sleep. All she
ever wanted.
Lisa Zaran
*
Tipu didn't call me
he didn't call me alone
nor did he call you
My coming
And your absence
in not being here
Was Tipu's part relevant after three centuries?
The great warrior died fighting with British army
He couldn't be a phantom
But could form into a deity
By calling us together here in this land.
Dushyant
*
Should I say
I am lost,
far from home,
as the masters
say from
their exiles?
I am glad
to be walking
high above
a village full
of strangers.
Peter Waldor
More »
|
|
|
|
How to
approach a book-universe ? To open The Master and Margarita is
to enter a microcosm which has its own laws, the only way to
travel in it is to let go and allow oneself to be dragged down
into its ever-changing atmosphere and bubbling, deep waters,
dark as lightening. You will not drown, you are offered the
pleasure of flying dangerously over abysses but never be
swallowed by them. The rigorous structure of the narrative, its
multiple threads intertwined in an clockwork manner, support
with ease the explosive material and furious freedom. The
punching satire, sometimes hyperrealist, others surrealistic, of
Soviet bureaucracy, society and literary life and the basso
continuo of the narrative on Jesus and Pilate are the exact
counterweight which balances the whirling fireworks of scenes
which levitate or fly away in a pulsating rhythm as Margarita on
her broom.
Which specificity makes the reading of this book an unique
experience of continuous
Vicky
Slavuski
More »
|
|
|
|
Letters
from Prison
Take out the dress i first saw you in
look your best,
look like spring trees
Wear in your hair
the carnation i sent you in a letter from prison,
raise your kissable, lined, broad white forehead.
Today, not broken and sad-
no way!
today Nazim Hikmet's woman must be beautiful
like a rebel flag...
Do not live on Earth
Like a house tenant
Or visitor to the countryside
Do live on Earth
As if the world was your father’s house
Trust in love, land and sea
But trust Man before other things
Give your love to clouds, machines and books
But love Man more than other things
Do feel the gloom of a dry branch
And a lifeless planet
And a lame animal
But feel the gloom of Man first of all
Let all the goods of earth
Nazim Hikmet
More »
|
|
|
Here lies
Rasul Gamzatov.
--------------------
My elder brother died twelve years ago
Upon the battlefield of Stalingrad.
My aged mother nurses still her woe
And goes about the house in mourning clad.
And there is pain and bitterness for me
In knowing I am older now than he.
*
If every loving thought and look
Became a lyric line,
Ther'd be no bigger poetry book
On themes of love, than mine.
But still the book is small-what's worse,
I'm writing nothing new:
Whatever time I have for verse
I'd rather spend with you.
If in this world a thousand men
With love for you are smarting,
Know that among those thousand men
*
Am I, Rasul Gamzatov.
If to your love
one hundred men
Enrol as willing martyrs,
Among them seek the mountaineer
By name Rasul Gamzatov.
If ten fine fellows you entrance,
Among those glad to barter
Their fortune for a loving glance
Am I, Rasul Gamzatov
Should but one lover seek your
hand
With fearless, peerless ardour,
Be sure the man's none other than
The mountaineer, Gamzatov.
More »
|
|
