poem

Jan Mainzer is a senior lecturer in Art History at Marist College in Poughkeepsie, New York.  Jan has been at Marist since 1993.  Her research interests focus on the history of the relationship between "craft" and "fine art."  She regrets she hasn't written poetry since the 1970's.

 

The Golden Masks of Trebenishte, Republic of Macedonia


Masks: Three Fragments

1. you think
    you know
        me
    better
    each day
            but
    all you see
    is a display
    of masks
    from my
    collection
 
2. i put
    them on
    in the
    darkness
    turned away
    from the
    moonlight --
    the world
    has never
    seen what lies
    under
    my disguise
 
3. a glance in
    the mirror
    reveals
    nothing...
    sometimes
    i wonder
    what
    my face
    really
    looks like
(Spring 1971)
 
 

In the poem below Dennis Brutus relates an incident that occurred in Sharpeville near Johannesburg on March 21, 1960, when South African policed opened fire, killing 69 civilians.  Demonstrators were protesting the establishment of apartheid pass laws which restricted movement of non-whites.  In addition to those killed, 176 were wounded with 63 people shot in the back.  Over 13,000 were jailed.  Dennis often referred to this event as radicalizing him to act on behalf of the poor.

 

Sharpeville

Remember Sharpeville
bullet-in-the-back day
Because it epitomized oppression
and the nature of society
more clearly than anything else;
it was the classic event

 

A Soldier's Poem For His Comrades

Submitted by Marilyn Turkovich on Tue, 02/16/2010 - 10:38am

 

Sunset Vigil

Staff Sergeant Andrew McFarland

 

The news is spread far and wide
Another comrade has sadly died
A sunset vigil upon the sand
As a soldier leaves this foreign land

We stand alone, and yet as one
In the fading light of a setting sun
We've all gathered to say goodbye
To our fallen comrade who's set to fly

The eulogy's read about their life
Sometimes with words from pals or wife
We all know when the CO's done
What kind of soldier they'd become

The padre then calls us all to pray
The bugler has Last Post to play
The cannon roars and belches flame
We will recall, with pride, their name

A minute's silence stood in place
As tears roll down the hardest face
Deafening silence fills the air
With each of us in personal prayer

Reveille sounds and the parade is done
The hero remembered, forgotten by none
They leave to start the journey back
In a coffin draped in the Union Jack

 

Staff Sergeant Andrew McFarland wrote this poem upon learning that his eighth comrade had died in 24 hours.  After 27 years in the British Territorial Army with three international tours McFarland never remembered losing so many in such a short time.  Read more of McFarland's poems at: http://voiceseducation.org/content/reflective-writings-and-arts.

 


Please Contribute to Peace

Submitted by Marilyn Turkovich on Mon, 11/09/2009 - 8:24am

 

A message from Yunus Havaida:

"I attach herewith a poem, Please Contribute to Peace written last month.  This I have included in my book titled The Whole of Life is a Struggle.  The bilingual book is presented in English and Urdu, a language spoken in Pakistan. I pray almost every day for the welfare of the people belonging to every nook and corner of this global village, irrespective of class and creed."
 
               Please Contribute for Peace

               Yunus Havaida


                We have not lost our hope
                for peace,
                We are not tired -
                as yet,
                while struggling
                for peace.
 
                Peace is the requirement
                of the day - for which
                noble persons strive.
 
                Please do not forget
                the heavoc of wars.
                Everyone must contribute
                towards peace.
 
                East and West must evolve
                ways and means for
                maintaining peace.
 
                Definitely war is poison
                and peace is a medicine.
 

Mr. Yunus Havaida is Chairman of the Urdu Sindhi Adabi Foundation.                               
                                    
                       
               


Painting by Jimmie Durham

 

In school I learned of heroic discoveries

made by liars and crooks.  The courage

of millions of sweet and true people

was not commemorated.

 

Let us then declare a holiday

for ourselves, and make a parade that

     begins

with Columbus’ victims and continues

even to our grandchildren who will be

    named in their honor.

 

Because isn’t it true that even the summer

grass here in this land whispers those

     names.

And every creek has accepted the responsibility

of singing those names?  And nothing can

     Stop

the wind from howling those names

     around

the corners of the school.

 

Why else would the birds sing

so much sweeter here than in other lands?

 

Jimmie Durham, “Columbus Day” in Sojourners, October 1991, 12 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jimmie_Durham

 


(1921-2003)
Shahnaz A'lami was born in Esfahan. In 1954, one year after the Shah's coup d'etat and the overthrow of Mosaddegh's government, she left Iran and resided for many years in former East Germany. Berlin was her final home until her death in December 2003. Among her many and varied cultural roles, she ran an Iranian School, where pupils are taught Persian language and culture.


Magic Suitecase

I took with me a suitcase,

light, very light,

Two or three sets of baby clothes,

A white georgette dress,

An indistinct photograph of my mother,

wearing a headdress,

And a complete list of traditional things

for the Noe-Rooz's celebrations, (1)

Lest a single thing should be forgotten;

These were what I had,

or rather, people thought I had,

in my suitcase

With which I left the land

of the generous sun.

My suitcase was,

or rather, people thought it was,

very, very light;

But what a big mistake!

You must have seen the shows

of professional magicians;

They put their fingers

up their sleeves,

And take out whatever you may name:

Birds, rabbits, kerchiefs of all colours,

Sometimes a crystal jug,

Sometimes a piece of stone,

Fire, water, soil,

Flowers, thorns and many other things;

So was my empty magic suitcase.

 

Now it has been almost a lifetime

That from inside the same suitcase

I have been taking out anything I want:

Wonderful springs of Isfahan

And its exhilarating groves

in the outskirts;

The colourful autumn of Shiraz

And the fragrance of its orange trees;

The ancient ruins of Persepolis; (2)

The Baghestan Mountain

with its historical inscriptions;

The Palace of Princess Shirin;

The poor village of Cham in Na'in; (3)

The tattered dress of Fatima,

a peasant little girl,

And a flock of other children like her,

Who are all in the same suitcase.

 

I take them out;

I sit and talk with them;

I live with them;

And the moment someone appears,

They all run back into the suitcase,

The very suitcase which people think

must be very light

and almost empty.

 

When I make my will

I will ask for my suitcase

to be buried with me.

No doubt they will say:

"Her life was madness;

And her will is foolish!

What sort of will is that!

Who needs a suitcase

in the other world?"

 

Let them say whatever they like;

After all,

who does know the secret

of the professional magician of love?

 

Is it not true that love

is the astrolabe of God's mysteries? (4)

 

(1) Noe-Rooz, or NowRuz, the Persian New Year's Day (21 March in the Western calendar) is followed by twelve days of celebrations and visiting relatives and friends.

(2) Persepolis was the ceremonial capital of Darius, Xerxes and other kings of the Archaemenid period. Baghestan Mountain, near Kermanshah in western Iran, has on its face a bas-relief depicting Darius I, with captive chiefs and a record of his reign. In the same province was the palace of Shirin, an Armenian princess who is said to have been the wife of khosrow Parviz (521 - 628), one of the greatest kings of the Sassanid period.

(3) Cham is a village near the town of Na'in, famous for its carpets.

(4) The words in italics are part of a famous couplet from the "Masnavi" of Jalal-od-Din Rumi, one of the greatest Persian Mystic or Sufi poets, who is also known as Mowlavi. He lived a good part of his life in Konya in Turkey, where his tomb is a shrine for a dervish sect known as "Mowlaviyyeh".

 

 

Yadollah Royai (1931-    )
Born in Damqan, northeast of Iran, Yadolleh Royai is the poet of the New Wave or the Poem of Imagination. He is a graduate of college of law and human sciences and he has worked for the state television for several years.

His poetry renewed debate about the relative value of form and context in modern Persian poetry. Yadollah is careful to produce unity in his poems. His sea songs reflect French symbolism. He moves to exotic marine landscape and creates glorious lyrical images, focusing mostly on symbols rather than metaphors in image building. His lyrics are and deeply imbued with Persian mysticism.

 

Marine

Silence seemed a flower bouquet
In my larynx.

The melody of the coast
Was the breeze of my kiss and your open eye-lid.

On the water, the bird of the wind,
Was disturbed in the nest of a thousand sounds.
On waters
The bird was restless.

The sound of the wet thunder, 
And the light, the wet light of the lightening,
Built a mirror in the water
With a luminous frame out of the sea flames.

The breeze of kiss and
Your eye-lid and
The bird of wind,
Grew into fire and smoke
In my larynx
Silence was like a flower bouquet.

 


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