ＡＣＣ惠风国际双语诗歌
ＡＣＣHuifeng International Bilingual poetry
上海惠风文学
Shanghai Huifeng Literature
Ａnna keiko (china): To Dylan Thomas
TO DYLAN THOMAS
A drop of water
Dripping day after day
The creek became the sea
A ray of light
Shines year after year
A small seedling becomes a big tree
An encounter
A white sheet alike meets a coloured pen
Drawing a spring full of love.
Anna Keiko
Keiko, Anna (China), a Chinese poet, is editor of Shanghai Huifeng Literature Association and director of the cultural foundation ITHACA in China. Some of her poems were translated into 30 languages, published in more than 170 newspapers and literary magazines. She participated at several international poetry festivals.
此诗2021年5月14日刊载于意大利都灵“纪念狄兰 托马斯日“诗集中。
Courtesy of Hannah Ellis and Trefor Ellis
DYLAN’S DAUGHTER
They want me at the party
I don’t know them
they don’t know me
because I’m Dylan’s daughter.
Why can’t my husband go
alone
they’re his friends
his party
but no
they want me there too.
Can’t you ring
I’m indisposed, awful cold
a bug
a severe allergy
to their kind invite.
No hope
no good prevaricating
got to bathe
prink and pother
choose an outfit
and worse
be ready on time.
“By six, did you say ?”
“The earlier we get there
the earlier we can leave”
he lies
knowing the return trek
will be cold,
late
lengthy.
While I’m celebrating with
Prosecco and delicious food
he’ll be singing his heart out
with Welsh friends
last to go
befuddled and sung out
with me in tow.
Ah, well
better get ready
pronto
because I’m Dylan’s daughter.
AERONWY THOMAS
Aeronwy Bryn Thomas-Ellis (3 March 1943 – 27 July 2009) was a poet, writer and translator of Italian poetry and the second child and only daughter of the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas and his wife, Caitlin Macnamara.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aeronwy_Thomas
BY THE SEA
A wild wind is blowing under his pen
shaking words asleep on the seaside
of his mind watching the colors of lands
while the open sea and its fierce tides
are lapping the silence on the strip of sand
awakening his words and spelling the colors
of the river sides along the mountains
in the greenland of his dreams
Huguette Bertrand - Canada
(a response to Dylan Thomas' poem We Lying by Seasand)
French-Canadian poet and editor, Huguette Bertrand has published 38 poetry books. Her poems were published in printed and online international journals and anthologies and translated in many languages.
http://www.espacepoetique.com https://www.facebook.com/huguette.bertrand.9
Yellow Rose in winter
Shall I admire you from afar?
Shall I not bleed from your thorns,
nor be caressed by your soft petals?
Only to capture your beauty while you grow
tall and slender in the midst of frosty nature.
Shall I not touch you, to not suffer
the pain of watching you wither and fall?
Yes, I shall let you be, so you can cast
your bright and true colors upon me.
A delight for the eyes to see.
Like in a dream.
Antonia Petrone, Italy
(a response to Dylan Thomas' poem Clown in the moon)
Antonia Petrone is an American -Italian poet living in Italy. She has published with Pagine in Rome: Tracce (2015), Voci Versate (2018) and in the Anthology, M'illumino d'immenso (2019). In December 2020 she published her first collection of poems in Italian "Le Poesie di Antonia" and is working on her next collection in English, “Antonia’s Poetry Garden"
http://autori.poetipoesia.com/antonia-petrone/ - https://sindhcourier.com/contemporary-world-literature-poetry-from-italy-3/My Son the Lawyer Quotes Dylan Thomas to Give Me Courage
After I lose my balance and fall,
smashing my nose against the hardwood floor,
I slip in a huge puddle of blood,
try to stand up but my feet keep sliding.
I have always loved mystery stories,
read about people stabbed to death,
but never thought about the blood,
how the murderer could break his neck sliding in it.
After the hospital,
after the x-rays,
the EKG,
the four-hour drive to Binghamton,
after I teach my class, looking battle-scarred,
I think of my son who used to tell me
I should cut back and give up poetry,
proving that he did not understand anything about me.
When I talk to him on the phone he is shocked
to hear defeat in my voice.
I am always optimistic about everything
even in the middle of calamity,
but today I am brought low
by the recognition of frailty.
My son, the lawyer, the practical pragmatic one,
says how many women your age have a life they love,
work they love doing?
Later, he sends me a quote from Dylan Thomas.
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
I repeat the lines over and over to myself,
grateful to this son I was sure didn't understand anything about me.
Maria Mazziotti Gillan, USA
Maria Mazziotti Gillan, whose newest poetry collection is When the Stars Were Still Visible (2021) and more recent publication is What Blooms in Winter, is the 2008 recipient of the American Book Award for All That Lies Between Us. She is the founder and Executive Director of the Poetry Center at Passaic County Community College, Paterson, NJ. and editor of the Paterson Literary Review. She has been appointed a Bartle Professor and Professor Emerita of English and creative writing at Binghamton University-SUNY.
https://www.patersonliteraryreview.com/
Désir d'ailleurs
Le temps a séché
Nos lèvres
Et crevassé nos chairs.
Le soleil rouille les jours.
Des cailloux
Écorchent la terre
Où nos empreintes
Se frôlent.
Sandrine Davin
Sandrine DAVIN est née à Grenoble (France) où elle réside toujours.
Elle est auteure de poésie contemporaine inspirée des tankas, elle a édité 12 recueils de poésie dont le dernier s’intitule « Rouillure » chez TheBookEdition.
Ses ouvrages sont étudiés par des classes de l’enseignement primaire et au collège où Sandrine intervient auprès de ces élèves.
Elle est également diplômée par la Société des Poètes Français pour son poème « Lettre d’un soldat ».
https://www.plume-de-poete.fr/profil-membre/sandrine/
SENZA VOCE
Adesso non ho più voce per dire
le parole d’incanto della vita,
prigioniero dei sogni naufragati,
ma un canto mi pare di sentire
segreto tra le foglie che invita
alla pace del cuore dissanguato,
una nenia soave che accarezza
la stanza, che invita alla certezza.
MARIO RONDI
Mario Rondi vive a Vertova (BG) dove è nato nel 1949.
Ha pubblicato 25 libri di poesia, 5 di racconti, due romanzi, 2 libri per ragazzi, 5 sulle tradizioni popolare, da anni partecipa a mostre di poesia visiva.
I AM CRYING YOU, MORNING
Behind the horizon the light is spraying.
The sky tremble’s like a tear.
The winged summer wilts.
Through the algae’s a lonesome dew slides.
Trees hold empty nests in their hands.
I quietly sing birds psalms.
In the empty night, empty star is falling.
Empty gaze of water is still cloudy.
I read an exclamation of silence
and drink the morning blood stream aloud.
The morning is taking deep breaths.
With its soft palms of the hands,
the haze crumbles poems.
Heart’s beating is not quieter.
Unbelievable sobs, like as if it was dead.
PAVOL JANIK
Translated into English by Smiljana Piksiades
This virtuoso of Slovak literature, Pavol Janik, is a poet, dramatist, prose writer, translator, publicist and copywriter. His literary activities focus mainly on poetry. His works are translated in many languages and published in different countries.
http://thepoetsland.blogspot.com/p/pavol-janik-referencesit.html
Word Songs
I wander in the wonderland of words
where sounds can rhapsodize an inner flight
and seek to sing like skylark midst the birds.
To feel a lyric line is ringing right
that rose unknowingly from secret source
can send my senses soaring with delight.
What guides the reasoned rhyme’s creative course?
the urging of an enigmatic muse?
or might it be a fundamental force?
The words may dance or promenade in twos,
at times leap forth as in a lightning flash,
or shower phrases in prismatic hues…
When glimmers come but embers turn to ash,
there are no syllables with tongues of flame
nor tones that thunder like a cymbals’ clash.
Then I despair and falter in my aim
of catching rainbows in a verse’s net
and cry I should forsake the poet’s game.
Still oft before the dying sun has set
arises hint of inspiration’s spark
albeit faintest flickering, and yet
from out of what had seemed a moonless dark
is heard the distant music of a lark…
~ Harley White
Harley White (Spain/USA) is a born word-lover and has written works dealing in fairy tales, musical theater, many genres of poetry, and awakenings, as well as a book titled The Autobiography of a Granada Cat – As told to Harley White. For many years, she has been a follower of the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin and its practice of Nam Myoho Renge Kyo. http://www.dharmagateway.org/harley_poems.htm
The observant
I don't have tongue,
I'm not deaf just dumb.
All I have is two dark eyes.
I don't speak, just gaze.
My existence is unnoticed.
Yet I know much about life.
The truth and lie.
I know you think
I'm just a stupid guy
Timid and shy.
Oh my dear, i don't care
What you think about me.
Someone else opinion
Doesn't change me.
Life is to be lived.
Enjoy the serenity of the ocean.
Play with moving wind,
Yet be aware of
Cunning humans.
Afzal Sajjad Zafir
NOTE: I always felt that Dylan Thomas' poems are true reflection of life embedded in pleasant fragrance of nature. He was of Welsh origin and I feel close to him as I'm from a countryside, I can relate to his feelings connecting to a metropolitan life. His views about life and afterlife inspired me to write this poem.
■■ AsZ■■
Afzal Sajjad Zafir is from India. He's doing graduation in Accounting and Finance. He's a young poet , he started to write poems since class six.
https://www.facebook.com/Aszsrk786
Pitched Bird Calls
inspired by “The pine” Dylan Thomas
he celebrated
the pine and the breeze
and winds from the sea
for us
there is refuge
in the shadows
along the shoreline
that fill our pine grove
where we stop and listen
Neal Whitman
Pacific Grove, CA - USA
Neal Whitman lives in Pacific Grove, California, with his wife, Elaine. Often they walk the paths of the Asilomar Grounds one mile from their front door. Asilomar means “Refuge by the Sea” which they, indeed, they find there. Neal was took up poetry in transition into retirement and takes prides in that one of his poems was included in The Colour of Saying: Creative Writing Competition in Celebration of Dylan Thomas Anthology (2014).Per un attimo almeno
( a Dylan Thomas )
Per un attimo almeno sentire
impetuosa la vita inzupparsi
di luce le dita per poi innalzare
all’azzurro un canto.
Per un attimo ancora far risalire
il cuore alla bocca tanto da percepire
la schiva bellezza delle viole come
del dolore innocente il pianto.
Tra fuoco e sasso, per un attimo
ancora, tornare a essere corpi
impastati di sole e di tenerezza
bambina fino a flettersi lievi
verso l’incanto dell’altro.
DONATELLA NARDIN
Donatella Nardin è nata e risiede a Cavallino Treporti-Ve. Appassionata da sempre di scrittura, soprattutto poetica, ha ricevuto per questa sua attività numerosi riconoscimenti - circa 150 nelle varie graduatorie concorsuali - in diversi Premi Letterari. Sue poesie e racconti sono stati inseriti in raccolte collettanee di diverse Case editrici e in antologie di Concorsi Letterari, in alcune riviste di settore anche straniere, in siti web e in lit-blog dedicati. Alcune sue liriche infine sono state tradotte in inglese, in francese e in giapponese. In poesia ha pubblicato: per le Ed. Il Fiorino nel 2014 la silloge In attesa di cielo e nel 2015 la raccolta di haiku Le ragioni dell’oro, per Fara Editore nel 2017 la silloge Terre d’acqua e nel 2020 Rosa del battito. https://www.larecherche.it/biografia.asp?Utente=donatellanardin&Tabella=Biografie
Le quattro stagioni
Luce che avvolgi nella notte
la luna fredda e silenziosa
facendola del Sole sua sposa
Le stelle son testimoni
che la notte non è più buia.
Loro l'attendono per poter brillare
di luce rifulsa
come il giorno il Sole.
L' estate implora l' inverno
domanda la pioggia
che disseta la Terra
di pace e di amore.
L'autunno come terra fertile
coltiva il seme
che in esso si schiude
Le sue spoglie mortali
humus vitale
Con sacrificio
il seme feconda
inonda la terra
che di grano risplende.
L' inverno col vento l'accarezza
fischia tra i rami e fruscia il ruscello
ne esce un canto di pace
La primavera nasce felice
Nella culla terrena
le piante in fiore.
L' allodola, messaggero del mattino
annuncia la gioia delle quattro sorelle
figlie di madre natura.
Le stagioni cuciono insieme
la catena della vita
la corona dell' amore
Imma Schiena
Imma Schiena (Torino, Italia). Dopo aver terminato gli studi socio-economici, si dedica alla poesia e al teatro. Insegna e vive a Torino. È inserita in diverse Antologie tra cui I Grandi Classici della Poesia Italiana del 1900, Ali Penna d’Autore, 2013. È nella grande Raccolta di poesie e commenti liberi Perché tu mi dici: Poeta, Hogwords, 2014. Premiata in diversi concorsi letterari e al Poetry Slam Nazionale a Milano nel 2018. Dai testi si evince il suo impegno civico e sociale contro ogni forma di discriminazione.
http://www.genesi.org/autore-imma-schiena-392362.html
De diepten van de tijd
Als de zon de nacht verjaagt
en met licht en duister tekent een nieuwe dag
probeert hij de tekens te ontcijferen
die de wolken schilderen in de lucht
en als de nacht
van de dag de vermoeide ogen sluit
en van de sterren het licht aanmaakt
mediteert hij over wat kwam
en wat verdween
in de diepten van de tijd.
Germain Droogenbroodt
++++++
THE DEPTHS OF TIMEI move among the stars
Dylan Thomas
When the sun chases away the night
and draws a new day with light and darkness
he tries to decipher the signs
which the clouds paint in the sky
And when the night
closes the tired eyes of the day
and lightens the stars
he meditates on what came
and what disappeared
in the depths of time.
Germain Droogenbroodt
Germain Droogenbroodt is an internationally appreciated poet, translator, publisher and promoter of modern international poetry. As founder and editor of POINT Editions (POetry INTernational) he has published more than eighty collections of mainly modern, international poetry.
Germain Droogenbroodt organised and co-organised several international poetry festivals in Spain. http://www.alittlepoetry.com/droogen.html
Dylan Thomas, photo by Nora Summers
A quintessential star
A quintessential star comes only once in a million years.Born a scorpio sign, a life resembled exactly the scorpion constellation in the night sky. Dylan Thomas, a notoriety shaped by distinct brilliance.A legend exhibited by his magnificent genius,A drunkard tormented byhis shadow self.Had fate placed him in a wrong place at a wrong time, or fortune did not favor the Welsh's famous son?So many questions without answers.Pain may have been inescapable, but love was always plenty.Love found its way in his'Osiris, come to Isis’,'And Death Shall Have No Dominion' spoke of his rebellious soul even in the face of death.'The Map of Love’ granted a poetic licence for his adolescent indulgence, marking the culmination of rage echoed in 'Do not go gentle into that good night'.O darling Dylan Thomas,your magnificence and apocalypse glow every timewhen the scorpion displays in the starry sky. © Juliet PrestonJuliet Preston (USA): An artist by passion,a poet by heart, and an engineer by profession.https://www.facebook.com/juliet.preston.7Responding to “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night ...”
by Welsh Poet Dylan Thomas
Life entangled and fragile, it’s just a snap,
very short notice, please don’t face death.
If you accept death, you’ll be slithers feed.
Fight fiercely, bravely against death, for
I don’t want to mourn with your guilt.
Death is ultimately inevitable, your wasted
time, has blown by the wind. Do reconcile and
make peace with your loved ones. You need
to keep on breathing while the clock tick. No
one is exempt, young, old, bid life not death.
Stay afloat in the light and tell you’re sorry
before your ashes become a floating dust in
in the vast universe. Regrets..because of your
unfinished business. Rage, rage, rage, rage,
then go fight against the dying light.
Old age should fight as passionate as fire..
Rage, rage, fight against the dark to find light.
Don’t give up when soul on the edge of danger.
Do not go gentle into that goodnight, resist death,
if you can..we still have so much to catch up.
Have you dump your other woman, I don’t want to
see her, when I’m mourning. Face death with dignity,
you dirty old man. Dawn is approaching, your last
chapter is ending. Fight back the light to start anew,
a clean slate for your dear wife.
When confronted death, all folks differs in talks.
Young men, just starting his family, never thought
but wild carefree men on facing death, grieve for
his dear life. Regrets on frivolous time, if given the
chance, he’ll repent.
Coming closer to the chamber of death, a strong
wind blow, drown towards dark tunnel, where a
brilliant rays of spirit, glint on the snow. No time to
ponder, redefine what matters most. Life is worth
fighting for, even death is a sure dispose.
AIDA G. ROQUE
@aroque
Aida G. Roque, a retired Sped Teacher in Maryland, moved in Delaware, USA.
A bilingual poet/ writer hailed from the Philippines. Her books are widely published in the USA.
An International Multi-Awarded bi-lingual poet/writer recipient of Order of Shakespeare Medal.
https://allpoetry.com/Idaroque
Life is a war
(to Dylan Thomas)
Hurry swallows novels
Dreams chewed by history
From a dry and anxious womb
Someone broke the vase
Before the roses wither
The liquid from the orbits
Feed the love
We are in a field of mined words
Music explodes rips out hope
Break the eyes
The leaves remain green
Greens of withered hope
Green without a red smell.
I'm at war with life
Experiences with broken hands
Grab my shoulders
Life is a war
And I am the Glory
Daughter of Vitória.
I believe Dylan Thomas
was always at war with life
and "And death shall have no dominion"
Glória Sofia
Glória Sofia, is a dreamer as most poets. Born and raised in the city of Praia in Cape Verde.
Her poetry has been translated into more than 15 languages, and in 2020 she won a prize for UMPPL.
She collaborates with the online newspapers or magazines in the world. She represents Cape Verde in Immagine & Poesia Movement.
Her works have been widely published. https://gloriasvmonteiro.wixsite.com/gloriasofia
Embracing The Light
It was early one winter morning
when I first saw the The Light.
Dancing on quiet waters
in an old pond
built by my father
when I was a child.
It was mid afternoon one summer
when I again saw The Light.
Carressing the top of a verdant canopy
of an age old tree
that stood over the grave of my grandmother
who left us when I was still a child.
It was late one winter night
when I heard beguiling whispers
outside my window.
Beckoning me into the darkness.
Against the deadly chill of the night,
I ventured out of the front door,
as if in a trance,
just moving towards a direction unknown to me.
The moon was asleeep
While silence reigned in ebony stillness.
Then I saw it.
Piercing through the clouds
Like an arrow aimed at my heart.
I raised my hands
In awe
In salutation
In surrender
I raised my hands
to touch
to stroke
this blinding magnificence.
It had finally come for me;
my friend,
my lover,
The Light
GLORIA KEH
A response to Dylan Thomas' words 'Up your hand to stoke the light’ - from "Lift Up Your Face"
Gloria Keh began painting since childhood. Her late father, an oil painter, Martin Fu was her first art teacher. In 2008, Gloria founded a non profit charity outreach program using her art in the service of humanity. She enjoys writing poetry and lives in Singapore.
www.gloriakeh.com
Do not go gentle into that night…
Succumb not, fight
With rage,
With courage,
Delay inevitable death,
For every extra breath.
Your words Dylan,
In my mind I frame,
From these words
I sought and found
A truth profound:
Do not go gentle into the night,
Covid 19 sufferers of the pandemic,
With all your might, do this right,
Every single breath,
Fight, fight, fight!
But do not go gentle into the night…
Amita Sanghavi
Verses inspired by Dylan Thomas’s Do Not Go Gentle into the Night.
Amita Sanghavi teaches English at Sultan Qaboos University, Muscat, Oman. She loves poetry and believes Poetry and Art heal the heart and connect readers.
Youtube:
https://youtube.com/channel/UCTMONJJ4sJvV4zXbatD5-Qw
FB:
https://m.facebook.com/home.php?_rdr
THE HUNT FOR BEAUTY
Dylan Thomas lives with us
Time hangs from
the clock’s bent hand
the man with the keys locks the grille
he cuts strips from the light
beauty flows out from the gaps
and the image comes together
on the retina
Attila F. Balázs
As the author of more than a dozen collections of poetry and the translator of more than thirty books of poetry and fiction, Attila F. Balázs has received numerous awards and prizes in acknowledgement of his various literary activities. His works have been translated in 23 languages. As an invited poet, he is a regular participant of diverse literary festivals all around the world. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attila_F._Bal%C3%A1zs
Responding to:
Do not go gentle into that good night - Dylan Thomas
Այդքան արագ մի՛ հեռացիր,
թույլ տուր հրաժեշտ տալ քեզ,
գիշերն առնում է քեզ իր մեջ,
մութն է պատում մեր ուղին…
Այդքան արագ մի՛ հեռացիր,
թույլ տուր փնտրեմ քեզ բարձրում,
հեշտ է լույս դառնալը ձեր,
դժվար՝ մեր ապրելը առանց ձեզ...
Ցավ ու մորմոք, դառն ու ցուրտ
ամեն մի նոր անվան հետ
սառչում է արյունս երակներում…
Զանգեր անտես, ղողանջ ցավի,
ո՞նց վճարենք մեր պարտքը ձեզ,
ու լինենք ձեզ արժանի…
Այդքան արագ մի՛ հեռացիր,
թույլ տուր հրաժեշտ տալ քեզ...
Armenuhi Sisyan- writer, poet, dramaturge from Armenia. Author of 10 books, translated into 14 languages. Participant of various international literary festivals and programs, winner of several literary prizes, member of different International Writers Associations.
https://www.setumag.com/2019/10/armenuhi-sisyan-armenia.html
http://www.iwabogdani.org/2018/03/16/armenuhi-sisyan-armenia/
'Why do men think you can pick love up and relight it like a candle? Women know when love is over’ – Dylan Thomas
Relight it like a candle
Those times we flared so bright
we were afraid to lean in close
in case the whole world should suddenly catch,
the sparks that flew invisibly across tables
at touch of fingertip to palm,
that one slight breath should be enough
to sear through forests and foment new suns
Smoulder of exquisite spark,
stoking embers into flames
thorough light, ripped through
consuming until we tumbled,
spent, into welcomed dark
Those frozen nights we warmed ourselves
on one another, limbs coiled tight
to muffle out the cold, and just ourselves,
enwrapped, against the world
Lately, though, this flame dwindles,
and coals upon the grate lie still,
unkindled, as a thousand other selves
come crowding in to steal our warmth,
as merely 'making do’ and 'getting by’
replace the blaze that once made us dance.
We strive to reignite,
Pressing at ashes of regret,
A single spark leaps out from the dark,
flickers and blisters in the pale daylight,
No breath or touch can bring it back – and yet
the memory of that tender burn lives on.
Rebecca Lowe is a poet and organiser of spoken word events, based in Swansea, Wales. Her work has been published in many anthologies, both nationally and internationally, and featured on radio, podcasts and festivals in the UK, US and India. Her first poetry collection Blood and Water was published in November 2020 by The Seventh Quarry (https://seventhquarrypress.com) A further collection 'Our Father Eclipse’ is due to be published by Culture Matters in April 2021.
EL POETA LÍQUIDO
Homenaje a Dylan Thomas
Quién fuiste tú,
que naciste sediento del borde
dónde habitan las quimeras?
Y todavía estás aquí.
Tu profunda voz fluye
de la fuente al océano.
Tus palabras desbordan
las orillas mansas
y penetran las escarpadas.
En tu alma estaba grabado el deseo de un mar
que irrumpiera en la carne y el hueso.
Luces y sombras, vivos y espectros
viajaron derretidos en la savia
que corrió por tus venas.
La sed del poeta es lenta y persistente,
implacable como la marea.
Criatura salvaje de soles y lunas intensos, breves…
tu destrucción fue necesaria y vital.
Alejandra Miranda (2021)
Miranda, Alejandra (Argentina) Alejandra Miranda is a visual artist, writer and curator born in 1953 in Argentina. Director of Culture of La Paz, Argentina where she lives. https://www.facebook.com/alejandramiranda.artelatinoamericano?fref=ts
. . .
Sur les viscères
J’accroche mon ballotin.
Les syllabes de pas
Dans les mains.
Sur les marches de la cathédrale
Un orphelin évidé,
La seule flaque dans les alentours.
Les trilles de fils électriques
Hérissent ma peau.
Les épaules rentrées dans
Ma tête,
Une poule sans sa chair
Grillant le destin d’un pied.
Une fuite de tout sens,
Quelques tremblements
Et puis le ventre
Se serre contre la colonne vertébrale.
Le sac de mes os a chanté.
Viktoria Laurent-Skrabalova
(poème inspiré par la poésie de Dylan Thomas,plus concrètement par le recueil Ce monde est mon partage et celui du démon)Viktoria Laurent-Skrabalova est une artiste-poétesse franco-slovaque. Ses livres sont publiés en Slovaquie, en France et en Belgique. Elle participe à plusieurs revues littéraires (Florilège, Ce qui reste, Poésie Première...).
www.viktoria-lask.net/artiste
Dove un tempo la terra del tuo cuore
Dove un tempo la terra del tuo cuore
incatenava il mio braccio, danza il moto
di fibre del tuo spettro e sogno dipinge;
dove un tempo i rami intagliati
del tuo sangue d’amore parlavano lingua
d’arabeschi segni, il fiato sussurra
ricami di gemme per la nuova stagione.
Dove il corpo affondava, vortice di materia,
la trama scarnificata di giocosa fantasia,
là procede la signoria del tempo,
di pasto in pasto, voracemente tagliente,
e rapace digrigna nello stomaco cavo
la tua vertigine di vita.
Il tuo flusso di sguardo liquido
irrompe ancora e bagna la zolla infeconda,
purifica il resto digerito, mentre
intorno s’alza il coro dei venti
per portare alga in radice.
L’arido riposo è fatto umido
di lacrima in preghiera, stilla vitrea
partorita da bulbo oscuro.
Ripete il suo ciclo la nativa magia;
vi sarà linfa nel tuo seno grumoso,
vi saranno acquei respiri nei tuoi letti,
finché tutte le nostre fedi terrene si scioglieranno.
Responding to Dylan Thomas' poem Where Once the Waters of your Face
Cristina Costantini
Cristina Costantini è Professore di diritto privato comparato presso l'Università di Perugia. Oltre ad essere autrice di numerose pubblicazioni scientifiche, scrive poesie e racconti. Cura il proprio blog personale https://cristinacostantinicc.wixsite.com/mysiteIntroduction...
In thrall to the lyrical, immortal Dylan Thomas, l proffer a pastoral, poetical response to The Hunchback in the Park....
The Hunched Bark in the Park
Silent stillness abides inside Swansea's invisible, small hours.Time itself stalls within stonking Cwmdonkin's bucolic little idyll, till reverberating church bells toll in tuneful unison with musical imagination.Incognito night has nigh-on gone and morn's neon mien nears.Albeit unseen, an auroral aura all but appears as dread, dead dark dies.New-born dawn arrives then leaves shut-eye sleep in its winking wake.Switchback paths, redolent of atavistic fables, veer skyward; dandelion-lined, daisy-dotted, buttercup-capped.Magical phantasmagoria mosies mesmerically along these bunny-bonny fairy trails, 'twixt exquisite sward swathes, toward pixie-dust make-believe.Ever-verdant, über-vibrant, the vertiginous park's lea-lush evergreens are jumbled jungles, jostling ostentatiously for attention.Amidst ubiquitous baize, a blaze of kaleidoscopically-coloured flowers, juggles breeze-bussed bees, abuzz with pizzazz.Sepia-surreal amphibians beguilingly shimmy down a tinkling stream, afore plopping into their twinkling pond.Bestriding steeple-steep slopes, atop a copse picturesque, a fun-to-see fantasy bay-tree is reticence in residence.Aesthetically dressed, in resplendent Sunday best, that ancient Ent rustles, ambient amid rustic Shangri-La.From this bosky, bliss-blessed apex, the anthropomorphic tree creation perennially oversees summery serenity's ethereal scenery.Mayhap, poetic justice figuratively bequeathed him a more propitious and enchanting incarnation than in the Dylan-distant past.His transmogrified form, though ostensibly still twisted and listing, now seems adored not abhored, beloved not belittled.Pitch-black, aback his bewitching arch of hunched bark, perched bird balladeers twitter euphoniously at spectacular crepuscularityPray, hear here their sonorous, avian serenades around ephemeral daybreak.Listen too, to ghostly-voiced echoes of an erstwhile literary deity, our oh-so good bard.For, splendiferous wordsmithery, carved for perpetuity, upon a heaven-hewn hunk of riparian rock, is a piece of pathos, a poetic apotheosis, reminiscent of a bygone sage.Mark LyndonMark Lyndon is a retired teacher, performance poet/ singer from Swansea who runs events for local writers.Mark has had two poetry books published and appears in three anthologies.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03zyWkwId58Digital collage by Valeria Sangiorgi from an original photo by Nora Summers
Here in this spring, stars float along the void...
Dylan Thomas
NOTTURNO CON ASFALTO
Silente è questa notte, sotto la rada pioggia, la piazza del mercato
Sull’asfalto bagnato i lampioni esplodono in stelle raggianti
Dalle zone d’ombra guardingo occhieggia uno spacciatore
Lieve un profumo nell’aria la primavera si sta annunciando
NOCTURNAL ASPHALT
The market square is quiet tonight, under a light rain
On the wet asphalt, street lights explode in starry beams
From the shadows a drug dealer cautiously peeps out
A scent in the air gently announces the coming spring
VALERIA SANGIORGI
Responding to Dylan Thomas' poem "Here in this spring"
Valeria Sangiorgi ha realizzato numerosi lavori fotografici esposti in Italia ed all’estero.
La sua attività è rivolta sia all’autoanalisi ironica (Nudi di donna) presentazione a cura di Franco Vaccari 1995 Modena - che alle contaminazioni tra fotografia ed azione ( Living life in peace e Prima non ti conoscevo) incontri e abbracci con sconosciuti.
Dal 1994 in poi ha realizzato numerosi archivi fotografici tra questi: quello del primo Gruppo teatrale multietnico in Europa “Almateatro”. https://www.exibart.com/evento-arte/valeria-sangiorgi-narrazioni-nudi-di-donna/
LA MÁQUINA DE SER FELIZ
A DYLAN THOMAS
Happy birthday Mr. Dylan
in your sudden death.
Sorry, I can’t sing you…
At the moment.
Charly García diseñará
plateada y lunar
con forma de pez
La máquina de ser feliz.
Then… Once upon a time,
a little handsome boy
with all his beloved demons.
So… All the colour, all the love,
all the towns, all the humans,
all the countries… BOOM… Fallen
in the SECOND WORLD WAR!!
Aquí yace la hemorragia de los sesos
Bye, bye the pure oxygen
All the people sing:
New York, New York!
Beber por amor
beber y morir
vías del terror
ebrio Gales
Whisky de souvenir
«Post mortem»
María Calle Bajo
María Calle Bajo (España). Poeta y profesora placentina enfocada en la enseñanza del español como lengua extranjera y hacia la investigación en el ámbito de la ciencia literaria.
Semillas es su primer libro publicado (Buenos Aires Poetry, 2020).
TO DYLAN THOMAS
A drop of water
Dripping day after day
The creek became the sea
A ray of light
Shines year after year
A small seedling becomes a big tree
An encounter
A white sheet alike meets a coloured pen
Drawing a spring full of love.
Keiko, Anna (China), a Chinese poet, is editor of Shanghai Huifeng Literature Association and director of the cultural foundation ITHACA in China. Some of her poems were translated into 20 languages, published in more than 70 newspapers and literary magazines. She participated at several international poetry festivals. http://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2020/02/anna-keiko.htm
HALF-LIGHT – WITHIN THE WIND
Where leaves burn fire-green
and death disintegrates,
dispersed into the sea –
a soul I see.
Into the half-light
where the seas meet the shore
and holy streams
touch gently,
a breath between the nakedness
where light bends to show – light
– 'a candle between two hills’,
that speak… where love – exists;
where driftwood turns
in the age of existence
– floating by, steadily –
into the wind –
in rememberance of what was
lost and found in the zephyr –
re-imagining rebirth
from oceanic forces from within the wind.
Misty S. Milwee
Mysti S. Milwee is native american Cherokee Indian from Southside, AL USA. She is an international award-winner. She published poetess, translator, writer, screenwriter, and synesthesia artist (paints to music). She is the editor and publisher of Sequoyah Cherokee River Journal.
www.mystismilwee.wordpress.com
www.sequoyahcherokeeriverjournal.wordpress.com/about
The sunset glow above the forest
Leads me onward to my rest,
The sounds of merriment and love
Resonate from a family's nest.
As I pass by unseen, and unheard
Apart from, by a hidden bird,
An owl watching from his chosen tree,
There's little that he does not see.
Tom Higgins
Higgins, Thomas (U.K.) started to write poetry at the age of fifty five when he felt he had an urge to say something. He has written several hundred poems since then. He is an artist too. He lives in the far North West of England in what is called the Lake District.https://www.facebook.com/tom.higgins.90
The Force that Drives the Flower
(for Dylan Thomas and Peter Thabit Jones)
Into the wind
I recite a Dylan Thomas line:
“The Force that through
the green fuse drives the flower…”
and nearby, a petaled audience
of white lilies nod.
When I stop, they stop–
or is it my poetic imagination?
I repeat:
“The Force that through
the green fuse drives the flower…”
And their petaled nodding persists.
What are they trying to say, I wonder?
This time as I recite,
the hoots of owls ride the breeze
and the froth tossed from waves
blends with a nomad mist.
“The force that through
the green fuse drives the flower…”
I repeat in the wind
to the nods of my captive audience.
Copyright 2021 by Carolyn Mary Kleefeld
Big Sur, California artist, poet, and prose-writer Carolyn Mary Kleefeld studied art and psychology at UCLA and is the author of twenty books. Her writing has been translated into over 15 languages. Three of her books are available in bilingual and trilingual editions and her books have been used at universities and healing centers internationally. Her art appears worldwide in galleries, museums, and private collections. www.carolynmarykleefeld.com www.alchemyoracle.com
NAYMAN
Let me say nay
to all patterns
linking birth to death,
sleep to a thousandth life.
Let me say nay
to the scissors of the clock
cutting to sunder
at a second’s stroke.
Let me say nay
to her who’d mark me
in her book of hours,
unman me in some fashioned place
without grass,
without the blinding sun
to burn my loins
alive.
Let me say nay
to the return of comets,
the fixed turn of sky;
hold back the waving
flurry of the spray,
the cyclic fall of leaves
and burst of seeds.
Let me say nay
to my old foe
I wrestle with
from cock’s crow
to knell of bell
clappering at the croak
of sun
and quartering
of the madman moon.
Let me say nay
to the scythy
slicing of the days,
take his grinning skull
and split him up a tree,
duel with the guarding sword,
walk through the fire unscorched
and over the ice stretch
from Eden to the end of days
and blast the phoenix
back to flight.
STANLEY H. BARKAN
First published in The Blacklines Scawl (1976)
Stanley H. Barkan (U.S.A) Poet and Publisher, Stanley H. Barkan’s latest books include, Crossings, translated into Russian by Aleksey Dayen; Brooklyn Poems and Sutter & Snediker (2016); and Gambling in Macáu and No Cats on the Yangtze, both translated into Chinese by Zhao Si (2017). In 2017, he was awarded the Homer European Medal of Poetry & Art. American Representative of the art-literary Movement Immagine& Poesia.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanley_H._Barkan
HOMENAJE A DYLAN THOMAS
En las anotaciones:
el suelo sembrado de hojas nuevas,
muchachas amapolas con ropa ligera caminando por la calle,
el césped silencioso de una casa vecina,
mientras el sol abre puertas y ventanas. Todo eso
deja la interrogante de mis amigos muertos
que partieron igual como finaliza el resplandor de la luna
en la copa de los árboles.
Francisco Véjar
Francisco Véjar nació en Viña del Mar, en 1967. Es poeta, crítico, antólogo y ensayista chileno. Incluido en diversas antologías, tanto en Chile como en el extranjero, sus textos han sido traducidos al inglés, italiano, portugués, croata, y catalán. En 2006 la revista Poesía, dirigida por Nicola Crocetti en Milán, Italia, abordó su trabajo poético, desde Fluvial (1988) en adelante. La exégesis y traducción fueron hechas por Cristina Sparagana. Es así como ha publicado los siguientes libros de poemas: Música para un álbum personal (1992), Canciones imposibles (1998), País Insomnio (2000) y El Emboscado (2003). En 2008, publica La fiesta y la ceniza, Editorial Universitaria, Colección: El Poliedro y el Mar. En tanto, el 2009, da a conocer su libro de crónicas Los Inesperados, donde da cuenta de la vida y obra de Nicanor Parra, Jorge Teillier, Raúl Ruiz, Efraín Barquero, Pedro Lastra y Claudio Giaconi. En 2015, es seleccionado en la antología GIOVANI POESIA LATINOAMERICANA, traducida por el poeta italiano, Gianni Darconza (Raffaelli Editores, Roma, Italia). Un año más tarde, publica en España, Cicatrices y Estrellas (Huerga & Fierro Editores). Y en 2019, publica la antología “Poemas de la realidad secreta”, en la Editorial Visor, con selección y prólogo de su autoría. En la actualidad, es crítico de poesía de la Revista de Libros del diario El Mercurio.
http://www.letras.mysite.com/fv060405.htm
Rooks
(to Dylan Thomas)
It is rookery time again.
The birds collect in the beech trees,
clatter in and out of sober branches,
dash and crash
where the wind from the west
searches for their half done nests,
and hurls them,
mud, moss, old leaves,
all the winter debris
to the ground.
Thirsting to build
the rooks twist and soar into mad March skies,
a ratchet of raw, corvus caw,
linking them all.
Scatter black, ragged black, scrapped black,
latched black
on to twigs, snatched sticks
in a crowded chorus,
restless
in the rebuilding.
When the evening sky darkens
they quieten,
loiter round chimney-stacks,
flop onto the backs
of beech limbs to roost.
They wait for the fledgelings
they can urge
to branch
from nests they’ve restored,
give rackety tongue to a roof-fall of stars.
Carole Jacobs
Carole Jacobs and her husband, Allen, have lived on a small farm in West Wales, UK, for over 40 years.
In between looking after animals, gardens and family she has written short stories and poems.
“Journey Coat” a collection of poems about the Welsh heroine, Nest, written as part of Carole’s MA in Creative Writing, was published, as was her collection of Christmas poems, “Twelve Narratives”.
She continues to be inspired by the Welsh countryside around her.
Sei tornato
Di musica
che trafigge le viscere e il cervello
avvolge in un cartoccio,
di religione
che di dolore nutre e non-violenza
le anime tormentate,
di marziani
che affollano le secche dell’inconscio
mascherati da incubi…
mi parlavi entusiasta
e io scocciato allontanavo da me
quella molestia rigonfia di stravaganza.
Un fascio di luce bianca
uno scialle di raso rosso
un canestro di testimoni foschi,
suoni il violino
e t’inchini
e respiri americano.
Eppure giurerei che stasera,
tuoi il mento
il fervore l’essenza,
sei tornato
solo per farti gioco di me.
Marco Scalabrino
________________
You’ve returned
(translated by Tony Di Pietro)
Of music
that pierces the guts and the brain
it wraps in a cone,
of religions
that nourishes of pain
and non-violence
tormented souls,
of martians
that crowd
the shallows of the unconscious
masked by nightmares…
you spoke to me enthusiastically
and I scornful distanced
from me
that nuisance filled with extravagance.
A beam
of white light
a red satin shawl
a handful of shady witnesses,
you play the violin
and you bow
and you breathe american.
I would swear that tonight,
yours the face the fervor
the essence,
you’ve returned
only to make fun of me.
Marco Scalabrino ha pubblicato: PALORI; TEMPU palori aschi e maravigghi; CANZUNA di vita di morti d’amuri; LA CASA VIOLA; La puisia di / The Poetry of Marco Scalabrino. Ha scritto tre commedie: LU CARRUBBU DI TITTA, L’AFFARI BUSILLIS, B. B. & B. PARADISU.
Dans un poème pour une nymphe éméchée
La mémoire de tout mot est béante
Gagnant beaucoup à perpétuer
Une émeute dans la signification de toute chose.
D’ailleurs les mots ne sont pas du tout sûrs
De leurs sens respectifs.
De toute manière, chaque mot a son histoire héroïque propre,
Mais atteignant tous le nirvana.
Une fée distraite dira que les plus beaux poèmes
Sont destinés aux anges seuls.
Un autre jour, les mots ne feront pas d’histoire.
Bientôt un ruisseau fera son apparition
Il serpentera naturellement insensiblement.
La Beauté refuse d’apparaître
Avant la lente arrivée de la Substance.
Certes, ma religion ne sera jamais ma poésie
Mais si je pratique le mot comme un rite véritable,
Je n’en sacrifie pas moins à l’adoration de la femme,
Justement par des mots initiatiques.
Et l’amour est déjà sur terre une friandise de Paradis.
Né le 17 novembre 1944, à Fès (Maroc).
Doctorat d'Etat en droit public-sciences politiques-relations internationales, 3 décembre 1983, Professeur d'enseignement supérieur à la Faculté de Droit de Rabat, (Agdal), de 1985-1er août 2005.
A publié près de 200 livres, dont :
-Mama, Paris, Editions du Rocher,
-L’éternité ne penche que du côté de l’amour suivi de Dogme et friandise ou la pulsion du sourire et de Une femme à aimer comme on aimerait revivre après la mort, recueil d’aphorismes poétiques, Bordeaux, Editions William Blake and Co, 2002.
-Rûmi ou une saveur à sauver du savoir, recueil d’aphorismes poétiques, Bordeaux, W. Blake and Co,2009, 97 pages.
-Est peintre.
-ex-Président du Centre marocain de Pen International-Londres de 2009 à 2013.
PER ISPEZIONARE L’ERBA
PIENA DI CALCI E RITMI
DI ALTRI TEMPI
Manca all’appello
quella poesia del prato d’erba
ti prego leggila
perché io possa continuare
a trascinarmi dietro quelle parole esauste
a cercarne un ritmo
a sillabarle
petto contro petto
piede contro piede
vivi la mia vita
quando sono gioia
tu sii gioia
e assieme danzeremo il mare
Lella Borghesi
Lella Borghesi Godard è nata a Villanova di Bagnacavallo (RA).
Vissuta quasi trent’anni a Parigi, è ora tornata al paese natale dove scrive e disegna
Moglie del fotografo francese Maxime Godard.
Ha fatto alcune mostre e pubblicato dei testi in riviste letterarie cartacee.
Soy Medusa
Yo soy Medusa:
bella, antigua sacerdotisa del templo de Palas Atenea,
aquella quien tiempo después se tornó
el monstruo más fiero de tierras helénicas.
Tengo, al mismo tiempo, un tipo de sangre que dará vida
al hermoso Pegaso y al gigante Crisaor
Soy grande
Soy Medusa
Mi única falta hacia la divinidad fue haber nacido mujer
Mis cabellos ondulados, del color del oro
fueron la envidia de otras chicas
Muchos eran, además, mis pretendientes
Soy Medusa
Cuando ingenua ordené los preparativos
para las libaciones
fui violada, de forma salvaje,
por Poseidón, señor de los mares y las tormentas:
el más cobarde de los dioses
Poseidón justificó su vileza argumentando
no resistir el color de mis bucles
el aroma de lo virgen.
Soy Medusa. Había tenido noticia de los ultrajes de Zeus
hacia otras doncellas
ataques que el Olimpo encubrió
bajo la leyenda de capacidades seductoras, galantes
No pensé ser una víctima
de aquella misoginia que se transforma en mito.
Herida en el cuerpo y las entrañas
esperé venganza, una gota de justicia
Atenea, en cambio, coludida con los machos,
alegó la profanación de su casa
y maldijo mi supuesto descuido
Me obligó a llevar esta cabellera de sierpes
a volver inservible (cómo lo disfruto)
a cualquiera que se atreve a mirarme.
Me alegra:
ningún varón volverá a posar una mano sobre mi sexo
He jurado a muerte, la muerte del macho cabrío
Soy Medusa:
la condena tras el silencio bajo el silencio
la furia que se estudia con desdén en las aulas de escuela
la víctima y, tras la violencia, el fenómeno violento
Deambulo, discreta, bajo la humillación
de las cámaras y las estatuas de un palacio oscuro
Yo soy Medusa:
un día fui inocente
un día fui ultrajada
otro más me convertí en una revancha negra
Tuve una vida difícil
No hubo sosiego
Fui el mar y las rocas donde se estrellan las olas
No contento con ello, el destino permitió que una jornada
cuando contemplaba el exterior de una ventana del palacio
otro hombre, un cobarde de nombre Perseo
sacase una espada a mis espaldas
para cercenarme la cabeza
Soy Medusa
Teme si eres hombre
Despierta, si mujer eres
Estremécete Caos, agítate Gea:
Soy la sangre de la verdad
Y es posible que estos versos que ahora lees con ligereza
sean capaces de convertir en piedra tus viejos pensamientos.
_________________
Ocultamiento y des-ocultamiento
Cada mañana, después de preparar una taza de café
pienso en el ocultamiento y des-ocultamiento de las cosas
Pienso, inútilmente, mientras la taza humea
Las cosas parecen lo que son
pero son más de lo que muestran
Pongo una cucharada de azúcar, por ejemplo
mientras alejo una mosca del borde de la taza
Camino por una madalena proustiana
la sumerjo con anticipada delicia
(no en el té, pero igual funciona)
Me siento ante la mesa
Respiro: uno, dos, tres, dos millones…
La vida es demasiado seria:
nos queda el humor como recurso
Respiro: tres, nueve, tres millones…
El juego de béisbol de ayer llegó a las 18 entradas
Hay partidos que se extienden, así, en la vida
Respiro: uno, dos, cinco millones…
uno, dos, ocultamiento ad infinitum…
El secreto de los días, me digo
reside en extrañar a alguien, algo, sin necesitarlo
El secreto está en tomar la taza de café
sin perder el tiempo en la madalena
Respiro: uno, dos, uno, número capicúa
Reflexiono
Reflexiono
Detrás de este poema
se oculta algo importante
No soy quién para revelarlo.
Ulises Paniagua (México)
Narrador, poeta, videasta y dramaturgo. Ganador del Concurso Internacional de Cuento de la Fundación Gabriel García Márquez, en Colombia (2019). Ha sido considerado en una antología, en Rusia, como uno de los más interesantes poetas contemporáneos de Latinoamérica. Su obra literaria ha sido traducida al inglés, checo, griego, ruso e italiano. Ha sido divulgado en antologías, revistas y diarios nacionales e internacionales. Sus obras han recibido numerosos premios.
https://www.revistaaltazor.cl/ulises-paniagua/
RISATO
Viento, viento mío
Llévate estas hojas secas
Límpiame la vista
Sopla mi alma
Y si el cuerpo se resiste
Muéveme el suelo
Y si los ojos se me cierran
Arrójame espinas
Y si mi palabra es desafiante
Cállame con tus silbidos
Disculpa mi vocabulario
Disculpa mis pecados
Sólo soy una hojas más
En tus invisibles brazos.
Franco Barbato
Franco Barbato (1983-Santiago de Chile) es el fundador del Irrealismo Poético, movimiento ético-creativo que promueve el habitar poético del mundo, mediante el traspaso de la emoción contenida en el proceso creativo a la vida misma en su cotidianidad.
Ha participado en los festivales de poesía Poestate (Suiza-2019) y en el Sufi Festival (Bangladesh-2020) y actualmente es jurado en el Sahitto Internacional Award (Bangladesh). Además participa en poesía performativa en el Ticino Poetry Slam, donde ha ganado 2 veces.
Barbato ha colaborado con pintores, escultores, músicos, fotógrafos, artistas visuales de Perú, Italia, Rumanía, Suiza, Chile. Actualmente trabaja en la Casa de la Literatura para la Suiza Italiana.
Ros Bairneach
níl éinne anseo ag spréachadh
in aghaidh éag an tsolais
Rosbarnagh
no one here to rage
against the dying of the light
Gabriel Rosenstock
Haikuist
Gabriel Rosenstock believes in the interpenetrative power of haiku to bring us close to the mystery of creation, affording us a spontaneous glimpse into the life of things. Gabriel estimates he may have written over 30,000 haiku; he has, understandably, lost count. Gabriel is the author/translator of over 180 books. He writes in Irish (Gaelic) and English.
Ron Rosenstock
Photographer
Ron Rosenstock is a caretaker of the planet. From Iceland in the North to Peru in the South he has travelled the world and captured its fragile beauty. His approach to photography is Zen-like: his photographs come from within, from what he calls the transcendental source of creativity. Ron’s work has been shown in over 100 exhibitions around the world and he has published six books of photography.
Website: https://www.rosenstockandrosenstock.com/Abitudine
a Dylan Thomas
È strano, alla fine ti abitui.
Mi sono abituato a non vederti.
Mi sono abituato a non parlarti.
E ora? È buffo, lo so.
Mi sono abituato a non pensarti.
Mah l’anima no, lei non si abitua,
continua a cercare
i suoi frammenti d’amore,
li anela e li attende smemorata
per l’eternità.
Nadia Loiaconi
Nadia Loiaconi è nata a Torino il 1971, è laureata in Economia e Commercio. Docente di Economia, imprenditrice, manager di successo ha svolto per un ventennio l’Amministratore pubblico nelle maggiori Istituzioni locali. Esperta di analisi economiche e sociali, è autrice di diverse opere letterarie e poetiche, presenti al Salone Internazionale del Libro di Torino. Socia del Circolo degli Artisti di Torino ha collaborato con diverse Case Editrici, tra cui Edizioni Accademiche Italiane, Aletti Editore, I Libri della Nostra Terra, Lo Spettatore Libri. Al VII Concorso CET con Presidente di Giuria l’autore Mogol è stata insignita con il Diploma di Merito.
https://it-it.facebook.com/nadia.loiaconi
We watch the show of shadows kiss or kill
Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.
From: Our eunuch dreams, Dylan Thomas
This is the world, my Poet
now as once.
We are gathered behind the scenes
in an empty square at the keyboard tip.
Is it true our Life?
Is really red the poppy ?
I'm looking for the meaning
of this virtual love
that dyed white our hair.
Lost is the dialogue for dreamers
in perfumed nests of pilgrim souls.
Is this a journey in the time machine
or maybe a show with no happy end?
Claudia Piccinno
Guardiamo lo spettacolo dell'ombre baciarsi o uccidere.
In un gusto di celluloide rendere tutto l'amore una menzogna
Da: I nostri sogni eunuchi, Dylan Thomas
Questo è il mondo, mio Poeta
ora come allora
Siamo radunati dietro le quinte
in una piazza vuota in punta di tastiera.
È vera questa nostra vita?
È realmente rosso il papavero?
Cerco il senso dell'amor virtuale
imbiancante chiome.
Perso è il dialogo dei sognatori
in odorosi nidi di anime pellegrine.
Viaggiamo forse nella macchina del tempo?
O siamo in uno spettacolo senza lieto fine?
Claudia Piccinno è presente in oltre cento raccolte antologiche, già membro di giuria in vari premi letterari a carattere nazionale e internazionale. Ha ottenuto premi di rilievo in concorsi di poesia nazionale e internazionale,(tra cui una menzione d’onore a Parigi al 1st Word Literary Prize); il suo componimento “Nel blu” è riprodotto su stele in maiolica affissa sul lungomare di Santa Caterina di Nardò (Le) e su mille cartoline per il primo premio al concorso fotografico Pensalento. Sue poesie scritte in inglese e tradotte in spagnolo, cinese, arabo, azero, francese, turco, rumeno, polacco, serbo, sono state pubblicate su riviste cartacee nei paesi di pertinenza.
http://claudiapiccinno.weebly.com/
L' universo è selvaggio e colmo di meraviglie
Dylan Thomas
Le porte dell’Universo
Ho aperto le porte dell’Universo,
vagato tra le stelle
e ho riso come un folle
prima di cadere nell’abisso.
Ho errato,
seguendo le scie perverse
dei tuoi passi nell’oscurità
e ho trovato il pianeta anelato
senza acqua,
senza sale,
senza vita.
Ho visto montagne
e fiumi di sangue.
Mi chiedo, allora,
dov’è l’Impero che mi hai promesso?
Dov’è la luna della salvezza?
Il mio corpo è sfigurato, ormai,
non si può tornare a ieri.
Elisabetta Bagli
__________
The universe is wild and full of wonders
Dylan Thomas
The Gates of the Universe
I have opened the gates of the Universe,
Wandered among the stars
And I have laughed like a madman
Before falling into the abyss.
I have erred,
Following the perverse trail
Of your footsteps in the dark
And I have found the yearned-for planet
Without water,
Without salt,
Lifeless.
I have seen mountains
And rivers of blood.
I therefore wonder
Where is the Empire that you promised me?
Where, the moon of salvation?
My body is disfigured now,
You cannot return to yesterday.
Elisabetta Bagli è nata a Roma, vive a Madrid dal 2002. Laureata in economia e commercio presso l'Universitá degli Studi "La Sapienza di Roma. È la segretaria nazionale di AIM per la Spagna. Scrive racconti, fiabe e poesie. Le sue poesie sono state tradotte in undici lingue: spagnolo, greco, inglese, albanese, francese, serbo, rumeno, catalano, uzbeko, turco, bulgaro. Collabora con riviste digitali di tutto il mondo. È Presidente e membro della giuria di numerosi premi letterari italiani e internazionali. L’Ambasciatore italiano Stefano Sannino le ha conferito il Premio all’Italianità 2019 per la Cultura il 12 dicembre 2019 presso il Consolato italiano di Madrid.https://www.elisabettabagli.com/
TIHOVANJE
(za Dylana Thomasa Daya)
I pustićeš na sebe ljepljive poglede prezira i zavida od nemoći nevida
i očaje skupljene u grbače i zborane ruke
Pustićeš nevolje i muke
i svoje i tuđe.
Uprtićeš i što moraš i što ti drugi natovare na samare
jednako ođe ka svuđe
na svijet bijeli
jedan svima isti život cip cijeli.
Otimaćeš i mnogi će tebi
samljeveni u istome mlinu
do boga na istinu
do samoga kraja
pa kome karta do pakla a kome do raja.
Pustićeš sve niz vodu
kad sve i svi naposlijetku isteku i odu
i motika i kuka.
Al' zapamtićeš samo one tihe dane
kad sve ovo prođe
u kojima si imao sreće da nađeš neko svoje meče
ušuškaš se pod pokrivače.
I kad ti sve odjednom zastane i stane,
Postane besmislena buka
Katarina Sarić
_________
Rumore senza senso
(per il Dylan Thomas Day)
E permetterai alle immagini contagiose del disprezzo e dell'invidia
di lasciarsi trasportare dalla cecità difettosa
e la disperazione accumulata nella spina dorsale e nelle braccia rugose.
Consentirai le disgrazie e i tormenti
tuoi e quelle degli altri
porterai sulle spalle quello che devi,
ma anche quello che gli altri caricano nella tue bisacca
ugualmente qui come ovunque
in questo mondo vasto
la stessa vita per tutti, in tutto e per tutto.
Afferrerai la vita dagli altri e gli altri la prenderanno da te
macinati nello stesso mulino
finché non incontriamo il nostro creatore
fino alla fine
e qualcuno riceve il biglietto per l'inferno qualcuno per il paradiso.
Consentirai a tutto di cadere nell'acqua
quando tutto e tutti scorrono via e se ne vanno
ogni Tom, Dick e Harry,
ma ricorderai solo quei giorni silenziosi
quando tutto questo sarà finito
in cui sei stato fortunato a trovare il tuo orsacchiotto
da coccolare sotto le coperte
e tutto all'improvviso si ferma e si blocca
Diventando un rumore senza senso.
Translation: Juljana Mehmeti
_____________________
Katarina Sarić lives and creates between her native Budva and Belgrade.
She writes socially-engaged poetry, prose and essays. She is a writer, poetic provocateur and performance artist.
She is the author of 13 independent editions, represented in numerous co-authors, anthologies, collections, on all major regional portals.
Scientific works have been written about her poetry and prose. Her works were awarded, translated and published in the region but also on the global literary scene.
She's an activist of the Cultural Base Kunst, Podgorica and Alia Mundi, associations for cultural diversity, Belgrade. Artistic director of the community Vavilonska biblioteka/Library of Babel.
https://www.facebook.com/Vavilonskabiblioteka2020/
I SLEEP TO DREAM OF THE SUN
“I have longed to move away
From the hissing of the spent lie”
—Dylan Thomas
I sleep to move away
from the world of lies and wars -
the world of indifferent thoughts,
politics, and biological warfare.
I sleep to move away
from snake lairs and nightmares.
I sleep to dream of a happy day.
I sleep to dream of the sun, sea,
shore, and tranquility in the air.
The sun is in the middle of the sky,
the waves are caressing the shore,
and the sea is smooth and calm.
My father is placing me
on a big black rubber tube,
and I am moving up and down
with the gentle rhythm of the waves.
What a memorable and happy day,
if only it were possible
to make happiness, like sadness,
permanent by repetition.
What a day that I thought
had no intention of coming to an end.
However, it did, and I woke up
into endless nightmares.
Sepideh Zamani
Sepideh Zamani (born in 1973 in Iran) graduated from law school in 1999 before moving to the United States. Her work focuses on immigration, and the lives of ethnic and religious minorities under cultural cleansing. https://www.sepideh-zamani.com/en/home
The Spring Blown Freedom
(for Dylan Thomas Day)
In the appearance of spring
Mother nature like a pythie appeared to me
(She )Blows within the flowers her softly whispered secretely well guarded words
Flowers are blossoming all around and so are the most exquisite perfumed scenting roses and the cherry trees too
In the alleys of our magnificent Garden of Love
Here in between Cypress trees and rhodendrons flowers
I happened to seal my heart to yours and yours to mine forever until eternal life
In this very moment of eternity
I made the wish that Love would be sovereign
That Freedom will spread its wings finally
Here in between the dancing butterflies and the singing birds
A persistent cheerful nightingale and his partridge are chirping for (both) you and me
In Allegria
I feel the light caressing breeze surrounding us
Like the promise of a beautiful tomorrow…a Shining tomorrow...
Here and now a flamboyant rainbow
Appears to only augure the (coming ) light of freedom, Love
and Peace…
Nova Kerkeb
Kerkeb Nova (Algérie) Nova Kerkeb est née à Alger et a débuté l'écriture à l'âge de 7 ans, âge durant lequel elle écrit ses premières poésies. Elle a participé à des publications de documentaires à caractère économique. Elle est également auteure de deux recueils de poésies intitulés: « In souffrances tues» i.e Untold sufferings in 2015 et « …De rêves et de chimères de paix » i.e Dreams and chimera of peace in 2016.
https://fr-fr.facebook.com/novachka007/
JEDNA NOĆ U GRADU KOJEG SU ČUVALI PSI
Za dan Dylana Thomasa
Na raskrsnici
blato i polomljen putokaz
magla koja pokušava da iskopa oči
noć koja halapljivo pije krv
u daljini lavež pasa
kojeg prekidaju pucnjevi
kamenje koje je podrlo nogavice
polako se gnezdi u kolenima
počinje kiša
mirišu trešnje
još malo i moj je red
na mome potiljku više neće biti
samo rođeni dlanovi
_________
Una notte in una città sorvegliata dai cani
All'incrocio
fango e segnali stradali rotti
nebbia che cerca di scavare gli occhi
notte che beve il sangue
in lontananza abbaiare dei cani
interrotto da colpi di pistola
le pietre che hanno minato le gambe
lentamente nidificando nelle ginocchia
Sta iniziando a piovere
Si sente l'odore di ciliegie
E' quasi il mio turno
Non ci saranno più dietro il mio collo
Solo palme nate
Dušica Mrđenović è nata nel 1990 a Sombor (Serbia). Scrive e traduce poesie. Ha partecipato a diversi Festivals di Poesia, ed è presente in molte riviste letterarie di poesia. Finora ha pubblicato due libri di poesia: Solo in noi (2015, editore Gramatik, Belgrado, Serbia) e La fine di un atto drammatico (2020, editore Anoa, Belgrado, Serbia). La sua poesia è stata tradotta in lingua russa e macedone.
Editore: https://nigdine.com/
Niko više ne piše pisma
Za Dylana Thomasa Daya
Niko više ne piše pisma
i uopšte, ne vjeruje u stvari pisane rukom.
Ja ne mogu da se sjetim kad je to počelo
i kad smo počeli da se hranimo bukom,
ali koverte sam rasula po sobi
i evo već sedmi dan kako pišem,
često zaboravim da spavam,
ponekad da pričam i dišem,
ali pisaću uvijek bez straha,
bez velikih očekivanja,
živjeti se može i s ove strane,
bez bespotrepnih skrivanja.
Puls mi je takav da mogu da preskočim
i večeru, hladnu večeru za jednu osobu,
mogu i da se na ljuljašci sjećanja zavrtim,
sve za jednu malu generalnu probu -
ali ne mogu da odustanem
od pisama, onih pisanih rukom,
i neću da prestanem
da borim se s hordom i bukom.
A niko više
ne piše
pisma,
i uopšte
ne vjeruje
u stvari bez smisla,
kao da one nijesu spasile svijet.
________
Nessuno più scrive le lettere
Nessuno più scrive le lettere
E in generale, non crede nella scrittura a mano.
Non ricordo quando questo è iniziato
E quando abbiamo iniziato a nutrirci di rumore,
Ma ho sparso buste in tutta la stanza
Ed ecco il settimo giorno che scrivo,
Spesso mi dimentico di dormire,
A volte di parlare e respirare,
Ma scriverò sempre senza paura,
senza grandi aspettative,
Si può vivere da questa parte,
senza inutile nascondiglio.
Il mio polso è tale che posso saltare
la cena,
una cena fredda per una persona,
Posso anche girare sull' altalena del mio ricordo,
tutto per una piccola prova generale –
Ma non posso arrendermi,
non posso senza lettere scritte a mano.
E non mi fermerò
Per combattere l'orda e il rumore.
E nessuno più
Scrive le lettere
e in generale
non crede
nelle cose senza significato
È come se non avessero
salvato il mondo.
Aleksandra Lekić Vujisić e nata nel 1979 in Podgorica, Montenegro. Aleksandra è professoressa di lingua inglese, a scrive poesie e prose per bambini e adulti. E’ stata pubblicata e ha vinto premi a concorsi letterari in Montenegro e all’estero.
Chew your bread and taste your wine
一一inspired by Dylan Thomas's poem "The Bread I Cut"
In the bread that you have cut
There were oats that improve blood circulation
Heavy fruit
Strong wine
A man's blood was boiling
．
In the bread that you have cut
The oats drifted in the wind
There was a burst of enthusiasm
The undulating imagery
Rich nutrients and live examples
．
In the bread that you have cut
There is "light shining where there is no sun"
The taste was to die for
I chew your bread, I taste your wine
I have a desire to...
Jinquan Hu（China）
Hu Jinquan, he is a famous artist of poetry and calligraphy, the vice-chairman of the China Master Calligraphy and Painter association, the vice-chairman of Hong Kong Federation of Literary and Art Circles, and the honorary chairman of China Qi Bai Shi Art Research Association.
The song of the bottle
----- To Dylan Thomas
All gifts in your body as god made
were hollowed out, evacuated by golden fingers of time
Before the sea gale to reach the shore
Barley, corn, grains and oak
return to mountains, forests and fields
Air, rain and snow
sucked into the clay pot of sky
The warm rich wort melts
embrace the soil like bubbles
Rhetorical marks and ink
erased to make paper empty white
From abyss an echo
the waves rolling in to greet you
On the love bed of water grass
covered by half moonlight
Fell a deep slumber with weightlessness
in "that good night " eve
" The heart is sensual, though five eyes break."
All things were written in the stars，So you obey -----
The rain pouring
drowning your dreamland
The strong sound of a falling star
hits the ground
Pushing you into another scene
the new journey starts
drifting silently, and
everlasting.......
Sue Zhu (New Zealand)
*According to the records, Dylan Thomas died suddenly on November 9, 1953 after drinking 18 glasses of whiskey. He was only thirty-nine years old when he died.
Sue Zhu, New Zealand Chinese poet, artist and organizer of international cultural exchanges, she is a director of the NZ Poetry and Art Association, honorary director of US-China Culture and Art Centre, an international award-winner. https://atunispoetry.com/2019/11/21/sue-zhu-new-zealand/
Leggendo Dylan Thomas in treno
a Sue
Ore in treno per attraversare quest’isola
che si ripete nella sua straordinaria normalità
e quasi non mi accorgo di una madonna:
ne veglia oltre tetti e alberi la pristina identità.
La conta di ogni pecora e di ogni agnello
ridesta in me il bisogno di sfrondare ambiguità
che senza tregua invadono e sul più bello
sfibrano la forza che guida l’acqua in rocciosità.
Seguo sterile questa rimonta ferrosa
e muto non so dire alla rosa avvizzita la verità
che respinge ogni ipotesi pericolosa.
Arriva rallentando il treno nel cuore della città.
La luce fissa della torre taglia il buio,
sfilano davanti a me artefatti di un’altra età:
l’ora che traduce il rantolo in rosario
cerca il binario morto della mia tracciabilità.
Marco Sonzogni ( New Zealand )
Marco Sonzogni (OMRI) is a widely-published and award-winning scholar, literary translator, poet and editor based in Wellington, New Zealand. He is a Reader in Translation Studies with the School of Languages and Cultures at Victoria University of Wellington. He is a deputy director of the All Souls Poetry club.
http://lericipea.com/premio-alla-carriera-2018/
The Gothic Arch
A Gothic arch within a limestone wall
enclosed a door. It opened from the lane
on mornings that unfolded, tapering
away as I set foot inside to stare
at the benevolence of bush and tree.
The ever-rolling hills made me feel small;
I longed for winter flakes to fall again
so I could tumble with them, spiralling
in snowball-fashion, landing in my lair
with baubles made of ice all over me.
As bracken fronds unfurled, a yaffle call
swept through the hollows of the park’s terrain.
I caught its echo from my oak-branch swing
as I bobbed up and down on waves of air
above the ripples of a bluebell sea.
I sought out herds of deer. The stags were tall,
with pointed antlers for inflicting pain.
I huddled in the long grass, wondering
if there were does with offspring nestling there,
within this dappled land of reverie.
The wind brought shiny conkers as each squall
released another airborne paperchain
of rainbow leaves. Jays started burying
their acorns; beetles scuttled, unaware
that they were part of childhood’s harmony.
That Gothic arch within a limestone wall
still frames the door that led me from the lane
to golden mornings when a dream took wing.
Night adds a strand of silver to my hair
as moonlight shines a beam on memory.
© Caroline Gill 2021
Caroline’s poem, 'The Gothic Arch’, was sparked by this short phrase from Dylan Thomas in 'Poem in October’:
... a child’s
Forgotten mornings © The Dylan Thomas Trust
Caroline Gill is due to have a first full-collection of poems published by The Seventh Quarry Press (Wales) in 2021. Her 2012 chapbook, The Holy Place, shared with John Dotson, was published by the same press in conjunction with Cross-Cultural Communications (New York), and launched at the Dylan Thomas Birthplace in Swansea. Website: www.carolinegillpoetry.com
E mi lascio attraversare
dai luoghi e dalla luce
in un angolo nel mondo...
Resto immobile
per qualche istante
faccia al sole
spalle al muro
mentre l'ombra avanza inesorabile...
Ma resisto, m'inondo di sole
come se fosse miele
come se volessi bere la luce...
Sono un corpo,
materia nel vuoto dell'aria.
Cerco un angolo nel mondo
dove essere viva...
Per sentire la vita
resto in ascolto
tese le corde dell'anima
in attesa silente...
Daniela Feltrinelli
Daniela Feltrinelli è nata a La Spezia dove vive e lavora.
A Maggio 2018 ha pubblicato il libro di poesie Isole vicine, Agorà&co, dedicato al paesaggio marino del Golfo dei Poeti, nel 2020 pubblica L'Incanto dell’onda. Partecipa assiduamente a concorsi letterari e reading di poesia.
https://www.unilibro.it/libri/f/autore/feltrinelli_daniela
Has the sun set already?
responding to Do not go gentle into that good night
Has the sun set already?
Just over my garden?
On my grounds or all around?
On top of the newly built sky scraping
Apartment complexes? Which call upon
Announce the evening, so early
Way earlier than before! An evening suddenly
Upon the blazing day! Scorching day!
Its just the beginning of May!
No twilight in sight!
No magic of golden-pink-red sky?
Has the sun set already?
Past the guava tree
Where the parrot hallabaloo used to be!
Into the endless row of houses!
Has the light disappeared and the night descended
And its going to be night
For a long time!
Thankfully, bewitchingly
Nights have their own dark magic!
Darkness casts its own night time spell!
Just last night, past mid night
The cloud cover, thick blanket
Tore apart revealing supernatural dance
Of light with dark! Hand in hand
Cloud and moon! Entwined in spectacular dance!
Awakens my soul, like steppenwolf
looking for the prairies, for savannah
wild howl! Strange embrace!
Magic glimmer! White shimmer!
Visible only after the sunset!
But has the sun set already?
Over my part of the world
Where my heart is and thoughts stuck?
What a weird world we live in?
A circle of dreams
Destiny and hope!
Is it sunrise time?
The daily spectacle
Around which life is tied
Politely asks us to be clock bound!
Dear Galileo, they did not believe you
When you said, how punctual
Is mother earth!
How steadfast on her orbit!
And I am always late!
But has the sunset already?
-------------------Pankhuri Sinha
Pankhuri Sinha is a bilingual young poet and story writer from India, who has lived in North America for 14 years. Two books of poems published in English, two collections of stories published in Hindi, five collections of poetries published in Hindi, and many more are lined up. She has won many prestigious, national-international awards, has been translated in over twenty two languages. Her writing is dominated by themes of exile and immigration, gender equality and environmental concerns.
https://www.facebook.com/pankhuri.sinha.56/
sweettalking the fairy
(for Dylan Thomas Day)
o, fairy who makes that master write poems
my call is clear, no ceremony,
having sharpened your wings just drop in,
even if you’re wet from the rains
your tea is made, coffee if you wish
and if you’re cold, your wings frozen from the snow
my wine is warm, so is my home
we could even make it springtime
my window is open
my room fragrant with roses
or come in summertime if you wish
let it be scorching hot
let’s share an ice cold water melon
spread your hair across my room
o, fairy whomakes that master write poems
come with your sharpest wings
my secrets are sacred
ı wont tell anyone that you’ve been here.
yeşim ağaoğlu
Ağaoğlu, Yeşim (Turkey) Yeşim Ağaoğlu is a poet and artist born in Istanbul. Her poems have appeared in various anthologies, and her published books of poetry have been translated into many languages. She frequently participates in international literary and poetry festivals, as well as gaining recognition internationally as a contemporary artist.
yesimpoetry.blogspot.com
yesimart.blogspot.com
@ Hai An
A voice fades from a far-away city
A poet fears for closeness, except when drinking whisky
Fear for every rational nerve in his skull
The poet charges ahead
Tears open the sun and moon’s shifting womb
Waking flowers to the stem of life
Again and again, you sow the cursed seed
Sucking marrow out of every second of every hour
You light up the delirious city
Your tears rising with the earth
The rim of your eyes clenching darkness
Into an exile air of sweat and blood
A foggy London, a bustling New York
A whole season watches over
A tearful and touching soul
I enter the threshold of your cruel heaven
Replace your form
With I, repeatedly
Separating warmth from light
(tr. by Jinjin with the author)
Hai An, pseudonym for Dingjun LI, born in Taizhou of Zhejiang province, PRC., now serves as a Chinese poet and translator in Fudan University, publishing his poetry books including Butterfly & Dragonfly (Europe, 2020) and Dylan Thomas: A Critical Reader (2021), Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas (2021),
OH DYLAN DYLAN
Oh Dylan, Dylan boy
oh Dylan Dylan,
non ti conoscevo
ti ho letto e riletto
imparato a memoria
mi hai fatto paura
gonfio di alcool com’eri :
diciotto whisky 18 ti vantavi,
ma sono tanti, ma sono troppi
e tu ne sei morto
Maxime Godard
Maxime Godard né en 1949 - Photographe
Nombreux portraits d'artistes et d'écrivains.Epoux de Graziella Borghesi.https://www.paris-art.com/animals/TOWARDS A NEW LIGHT (to Dylan Thomas)
Like you I too walk in a strange scorching noon.
The two of us walk towards a life, dreambound!
Give me a cup of wine, let my soul be filled.
Let our souls be filled and we will stand still-
Beside the summer field only to feel.
Our thirst for rain remains unquenched...
If you come back, come back to me again.
You will see drops of rain start falling...
Let rain reign us with her soft touch.
Let the soil be prolific in grain like a woman-
Let the light of desire be fascinated with new sight,
Let sorrows vanish and let pages of a new diary open for us.
Thus a new world be born out of destruction.
Poem by Roni Adhikari (Bangladesh)
Adhikari, Roni (Bangladesh)
Roni Adhikari is a poet, Journalist and the editor of two little magazines and a sub-editor for the newspaper The Daily Kalbela, Bangladesh. He has published three books : poetry and short stories.
https://www.facebook.com/roni.adhikari1.
ＡＣＣ惠风 国际双语诗歌
ACC Huifeng International Bilingual Poetry
国际双语诗歌总顾问:
Germain Droogenbroodt(比利时)
诗歌艺术顾问:Lidia Chiarelli(意大利)
荣誉顾问：Maria vnuck (美国)
国际翻译顾问：Stanley Barkan（美国）
绘画顾问：巴巴拉（列支敦士登）
媒体顾问：朱全胜（美国）
主编：Annakeiko（上海）
执行主编：桂清扬（杭州）
副主编：洛芙（台湾）
编辑：jacek wysocki（波兰）
编辑：Mohammad Reza ghazali（伊朗）
中文编辑：夜未安
欢迎加盟
我们期待有知之士愿为公益文化事业做贡献的翻译编辑人才以及优秀的团队合作，欢迎企业和个人赞助。 2021年2月1日
邮箱：13817061426@163.com
ACC Huifeng International Bilingual Poetry
General Counsel:
Germain Droogenbroodt (Belgium)
Poetry Art Consultant: Lidia Chiarelli (Italy)
Fiction Consultant: Maria Vnuck (USA)
International Translation Consultant: Stanley Barkan (USA)
Painting consultant: Barbara (Liechtenstein)
Media consultant: Zhu Quansheng (USA)
Editor-in-chief: Annakeiko (Shanghai)
Executive Editor-in-chief: Gui Qingyang (Hangzhou)
Deputy Editor-in-chief: Luofu (Taiwan)
Editor: jacek wysocki (Poland)
Editor: Muhammad Reza (Iran)
Chinese Editor: Ye Wei'an
You are warmly welcome to join in cooperation, particularly those elites and teams who enjoy superb vision and insight in translation and translation editing endeavor and are always ready to contribute to public welfare cultural undertakings. Corporate sponsorship is mostly appreciated.
February 1, 2021
Mailing address: Room 1604, Block No. 4, Lane 190, Tingkang Road, Huinan Town, Pudong New District, Shanghai, China.
https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rkcXLfCELrgqRzI9oQSMew
https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/mQsAsSxFKZnxaa2GPGOPXA
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