Festival Poetry
Parnassus. El próximo 26 de junio a las 21.00 h, la zona de Westminster i
Piccadilly (Londres) quedará invadida de poemas voladores de más de 100 autores
de todo el mundo (en más de 20 lenguas diferentes). Todo un precedente olímpico
para este 2012, cuyas Epinicianas literarias abanderarán el evento deportivo
más importante que existe. Más información en: www.rainofpoems.co.uk
Fiesta Mayor de
Terrassa. Con la participación de de diversos grupos musicales y con un gran
abanico de actividades, los festejos más importantes del municipio inundarán la
ciudad entre los días 28 de junio hasta el 4 de julio.
The 133rd birthday anniversary of the Poet of the East, Doctor Allama Mohammed Iqbal would be observed on the last 9th November, 2010. As we look through the lattice of history, we realize that the greatest hindrance in recognizing the excellence of a genius comes form his contemporaries. Iqbal was one of those rare geniuses whose excellence in the field of poetry as well as political thinking was recognized throughout the world in his lifetime. Iqbal’s poetry imbibed a new spirit in the people and he himself played a significant role in the struggle for independence of the subcontinent. He expected the youth to look forward and high, as they were courageous and brave like Eagles. Lets join hands and revive the idelogy of Iqbal. LITERATURA DEL MAÑANA has liked to publish, even beeing lately yet, this beautiful poem which talk and recognize one of the great poets of the country of our collaborator, the average poet Aymen Zaheer, Pakistan.
Yesterday night, in dream I fright, saw an aglow, stands below.
I am anxious, heart says inefficacious, the shadow is clear, Iqbal came near.
Holds my wrist, said, I am exist, what you give to my land? which I give in your hand?
He takes me away, a gloomy place and say, how many lives were rewards? for the land given by the lord.
I said, I don't know, he replied oh wow, thousand bloods were driven, how could you forgiven?
Where are my young eagles? who are born for struggles? who pull stars down from sky? who shelters on mountains and fly?
As I look over his eyes, his face down and cries, did you read my verses? in which you start rehearses.
I said no, he replied so, if you ever reads, you found various seeds.
Though if this land is spoiled? its mean you need great toiled. O' my eagles its time to stand? for the land which is your sand.
The weightless aspect of the actual poetry is showed in this book of Yamilka Noa
Echoes of Sorrow isn't a common poetry book. In there, six are the poems which basis the argument and a perfect resume of the lyric idea of Yamilka: When hope dies, Oh death!, Premature death, Black suffering, This is sadness and The secret of pain. In they, she explains an interesting mixture of self-suffering and metaphoric uses of posmodern poetry by the true essence of novísimos.
Hope
I alight
on weakness.
I'm a little butterfly
vulnerable
to losing my strength.
But I breathe,
there's still spirit,
there are colours
decorating my wings.
I'm not alone,
never alone.
About the author...
Yamilka Noa was born in Holguín, Cuba, and has also lived in Costa Rica (2002-2009). At now, she resides in London (England), where she is studying Digital Media Production at Thames Valley University.
Between other prises, she wons two mentions in the Nosside Poetry Prize Competition (2007, 2008), an international multilingual and multimedia award for previously unpublished work. She is currently working on The effect of insomnia to be published shortly.
smoky auburn hair, eyes shallow closed, music permeated, the atmosphere drawn by the colluding sound of a saxophone, dew down cleavage, exalted breathing a rapture, unravelled my conscious guiding me to solace..
About the autor...
Chris Lawrence (England, 1964) has written, for a number of years, novels and different screenplays. His poetry, was presented to the world on few years by the one of the new and best forms to made and promote the literature on today: Internet.
He published also in a variety of online magazines as Troubador21, deuce coupe, callused hands, and amphibi.us between others. At now, he is in process of publish a couple of poetry collections.
On the poem, which he like to share with us, show perfectly one of the finests war instruments of the bohem of XXI century: a metaphorical reply for a new poetry which didn't lost her music, but what it's approximating to new generations, aspects and methods of view this literary genre.
Today I perceive, something is black, Death air comes and everything is crack.
A flood came and made them sad, Kids cry because they lost mom and dad.
Every thing disperses on its way, Masses lost their lives everyday.
Jumping themselves on a boat, And save their life else to float.
Millions of hopes are drown, Left shadow which is still grown.
Look into their hearts and once feel, Distress surrounds and bed of roses steel.
In an instant, their lives turn into mess, Now they look for someone’s bless.
Sadness on their faces, show unending fear, Yet panic because of more troubles to bear.
Though suffering the ache in mind, Sorrows how to leave behind?
Time has come to stand and spin, A tough time we all have to win.
None will come to take care, We to help and to bring glare.
Do not remain as we are not late, Launch unity and become a gate.
Their awful life just like a balloon, We can refill it with happiness soon.
Just hear the voices once for all, You find recall after each call.
Deserve to give them a decent life, Possibly be completely without strife.
Sure this is a time of our test, Prove the humanity of our best.
Let's join and rebuild a country picture, Better than past and best than future.
Although the flood has passed away but it has left behind its defoliation and the magnitude of it is just starting to reveal the cataclysm it has created. In this poem I delineate the anxiousness of the flood victims as well as a wake up call to invoke and rebuild Pakistan.
For a second time in few weeks, our collaborator and poet, Aymen Zaheer, has sent us a new poem which it's dedicated a victims of the last august floods on Pakistan. Thus, from LITERATURA DEL MAÑANA, want to be with they in this moment, again.
Poetry is the word of the people, the sense and truth, the sincerety maked word.
Ángel Brichs,poet.
CALL TO A NATION
Ah, my crops swamped, My house overwhelmed, My luggage looted, My striving wasted.
My hands are abandoned, My eyes are inquired, My feet are trembled, Oh God, my kids are displaced.
Just a wild blues yonder; Abide on the head. Beneath flow of flood all over, Reaching rapidly closed to us.
I do not want anything, I do not need anything, But my kids are greedy, Nothing left to breed them.
Requisition on their lips, Desirous on their faces, Glitter Hopes and tears in vain, Anxious to cease their thirst.
Muddy water on the ground, Touching their bag of bones, How can I guard them? And put in under one’s wing.
O’ Nation, an innocence call to you, Act a small part of something, Which God has given to you? Just breed my kids and shelter them.
Still in a hope to see once again, A delighted life with full of fun, On my kids smiling faces; Though the generosity of God.
Alas, no one feel the pain; The pain burning inside my body. I wish no one can face it ever, A time I am facing right now.
Context/Background: The theme of my poem is a Call to a Nation in representing an inner voice of an old farmer who is affected by the flood in Pakistan. Whose family was displaced by floods; sit on a makeshift ground, as they just want to take shelter and breed his kids. My poem dedicated to millions of people like an old farmer who were affected by the great disaster in Pakistan, when the sky opened up and the monsoon rains flooded over one fifth of the country. They misplace, loss, disturb and now in a state of trauma and looking for a help from his nation.
Aymen Zaheer Information Technology & Computing Student Riyadh ( K.S.A.).
"Un optimista ve una oportunidad en toda calamidad; un pesimista ve una calamidad en toda oportunidad". Winston Churchill
Es todo un ejercicio de honestidad digno de apremio. Es toda una epopeya lírica que hará descubrirnos a nosotros mismos. Una odisea vital que nos enseña que la suma de diferentes formas de pensar, de creer y de ser no son un motivo -de excepción- que impida nuestra unión. El mundo de hoy clama por unirse, y en ese sentimiento de unión, en esa unidad, reside el principio más grande, que colma expectativas e influye a otros; un motivo real de coexistencia y de amistad: esa misma humanidad. Lo que nos hace ser y actuar como personas y, por consecuencia, humanos. Y, humanamente, ayudar a los demás; una ayuda que no sólo con medicamentos puede ser prestada, como nos muestran aquí Aymen Zaheer y Ángel Brichs, los dos poetas (ambos colaboradores de LITERATURA DEL MAÑANA; el primero pakistaní y el otro español), de credos y pensamientos distintos, que, se suman aquí para simbolizar la eterna unión de realidades antagónicas, unidas en este mundo cambiante para que, de alguna manera, pueda cambiar un poco más todavía.
LITERATURA DEL MAÑANA
_
Los poemas, que, ambos autores nos traen esta vez, son la mezcla de la buena voluntad y hermandad para una causa común: la ayuda a los damnificados por las inundaciones de agosto de 2010 en Pakistán. Escritos en formato bilingüe -inglés y castellano en el caso de Brichs- y en inglés -en el de Aymen-, es la primera vez que en LITERATURA DEL MAÑANA dos autores enlazan sus poesías para medrar hacia un mismo objetivo, hecho por el que cabe felicitarles, agradeciendo su apoyo para aquéll@s que más lo necesitan.
Ah, this is my country, I can’t believe what’s going on, The country which is blessed, By our forefathers blood.
Today when I saw, Hearts of my country men, Perplexed and trouble expressions, Under the sky without bed and board.
I hear the voices of children, The children who are the future, Crying and Scared faces, Sitting around the flood.
The ample waterway arose, And going like a slope, In which everything demolished, Mix up and become to overwhelm.
Ah, a time of sadness, Brokenhearted and in shocked, Everyone is in deep grief, Is this a disaster?
Five millennium had gone, From Harappa to Mohenjo-Daro, Indus floods, The ancient allegories call forth.
Today in need of a great spirit, A voice to memorize our slogan, To be united for this land, Save and safe our country Pakistan.
Llantos divinos lágrimas sagradas de templos, de panes.
From a foreign land We going to save their... We don't know well But our promises are them.
Un país se hunde, las casas se derrumban, se resquebrajan; y una tierra que llora escupe sus frutos: dolor, miseria, luto.
Whopering child when we arrived But we can't found their hearts Because only have had our medecines, At these moment, We were them They were us.
El gran río crece y el padre elefante no puede vaciar todo su lecho.
"Meanwhile the floods -Said us a woman- we can't move Our arms, legs, Further, heads also Believed in you, and after that You appeared on our village, We believe in you".
Todo ese agua que fluye por una Tierra hostil, salvaje.
Rest in the past our memory Our dreams; Only we've a truth, We've a sense But aren't not, Always, The class that we liked ourselves: The reality is a hardest than them. Only, at five thousand kilometers of distance On the left middle of the world We saw the suffering of them, And we understood Their fear, which only maybe knew by...
Cinco mil años que atrás quedan desde Harappa a Mohenjo-Daro, el Indo se desborda, los viejos mitos son invocados mientras esta Tierra, nuestra, explota. Y en sus cenizas recordamos esa frase marcial, categórica, como nuestro lema nuestras palabras las de Choudhary siempre, porque queremos vivir y viviremos... ...para siempre.
Notas:Allí por el año 1500 a.C., la antigua civilización que habitaba el Valle del Indo sucumbió por causa de unos cambios climáticos que hicieron variar el curso del río Indo. El mismo nombre de una de las ciudades, Nowshera que, según Habib Malik, miembro de la ONG británica Islamic Relief, ha quedado más destruida después de las inundaciones de las últimas dos semanas, interviene aquí como el título para un poema que representa una alegoría de ese cataclismo sufrido hace 3510 años; donde la numerología tiene una pasmosa coincidencia. Así pues, podemos relacionar la fecha aproximada del ocaso de esa primitiva civilización (1500 aC), con la cifra de muertos por las inundaciones ofrecida por el director de la Oficina Nacional de Catástrofes, Nadim Ahmed (1500 fallecidos). Asimismo, el tratamiento que se hace del topónimo Now-She-Ra, en inglés Now (ahora), She (ella), adopta su última sílaba (Ra), añadiéndole un significado metafórico que da sentido al conjunto del término que entraña el título. Ra, conocido también como Atum en el antiguo Egipto, navegaba durante las 12 horas de oscuridad para visitar a todos las provincias que estaban bajo su control. En ese trayecto por Nun, un término ancestral confundido, a menudo, con el Río Nilo, y que más bien se refiere al agua de la tierra, se enfrentó a Apep o Apofis, la serpiente que residía en esas mismas aguas. Una parábola que puede tener sus concomitancias con los 12 millones de damnificados que han producido las inundaciones de este mes de agosto de 2010 en Pakistán y, al mismo tiempo, una alegoría del cese de la lluvia, ya que gracias a las lágrimas de Ra, siguiendo a la Ogdoad (prole de dioses), surgieron el resto y toda la humanidad. Un Ra, que, al no poder cambiar el nombre de la ciudad que responde al título, viene a ser la reencarnación de Vishnú, un dios que posee un extraño parecido simbólico con su homónimo egipcio. Cabe saber que, la civilización del valle del Indo, gracias a la famosa ruta de las especias que unió las civilizaciones mesopotámicas con el reino de los Mauriya y los pueblos de esa región, y más tarde con la herencia helenística de los sucesores de Alejandro, el contexto que evidenciamos en este poema obtiene una naturalidad y realismo en la dimensión que, finalmente, convienen sus últimos cuatro versos, que atañen al lema del estado pakistaní (fe, unidad, disciplina) acudiendo, a la vez, a las otrora palabras que insertara Choudhary Rahmat Ali, fundador del Movimiento Nacional Pakistaní, en un panfleto publicado el 28 de enero de 1933: "Ahora o nunca: ¿vamos a vivir o perecer para siempre?" ("Now or never: are We to live or erish for ever?").
Our pakistani collaborator, Aymen Zaheer, has wanted to share with us these new poem, titled "Why I observe August 2nd". A poem which it's an especial form for cellebrate his 30th birthday that, within the birthday of other of our collaborators, the cuban poet Yamilka Noa, doing a perfect duo, in the two days where starts the August month; a event what we like to share on LITERATURA DEL MAÑANA as a funny summer surprise to our fans and readers. Enjoy it!
Why I Observe August 2nd
While sitting alone on seashore, in a beneath silent all over, vault of heaven start spreading, first blush of morning is on the head. The whole day passed till the end, lots of questions have bob up in my mind. It has been more than twenty years, Does it feel alike? When I start observed this day. Do I know the aim of this life? That is gifted to me, o’ soul just thinks a bit while, and asks yourself, Why you observed August 2nd? Unexpectedly I slept there and saw a dream, An Angel whispered in my ear, and said: happy birthday, Aymen, wear a crown on your head. A symbol of cheerful face, a bestow on the years, time fleets like water; to you the fresh teenage times, underneath your daydreaming, to become older and grower so speedy, somehow, after twenty years, spent in so much gladness; let’s observe your day. What God has given you today? See the gracious eyes of your Love, family and friends. They are here, for a big applaud. Ah! You cheer out more, make out more; one advice you could remember ever, always continue your hand to those, who are destitute and needy? This could be your aim of life. And thanks god to place your feet on each day.
Well, We've a new poem of one of our prefered online authors. As you know, Zaheer is a pakistan author who write poems on different sites and online communities. Now, he has surprised us with his new poem, "a song to hope" which We've remembered a famous latin phrase: "NIHIL EST".
Every day I bring to life
Every day I bring to life and think;
o’ soul set foot in, why you are astonishing
god added further fresh day,
of strive for my own entity.
Suddenly, silence surrounds all around;
wind whispers in my ear,
asking to ride on,
over land and touch the sky.
I felt in,
the beauty of the existing world,
smiling and singing a rhythm of happiness.
One more sea breath blows by way of my feet;
sunrise spread on the skyline,
touches my curly hair as I Stand,
to catch colors in my hand together.
Birds flying and nosing all over,
in searching of food and feeding their child’s;
is it wondering to see the artistry shade on the universe?
"The poetry of Zaheer wooping the past with his romanticism, and advance to the future by the newest aspects that he carry. Maybe he inspires the lyrism of XIX century, the wordgaming of futurism of XX century and then, He plays with the current poetry of the free verse, mixing the severity of eternal concepts and words, with a curtain of the expressive beauty and fast verse who gain the intense flavour of the descriptions same of Kipling".
O my beloved, if you assume about me, if someday you conceive about me; hold your arms on your eyes for a bit and I will be there in front of you. I am always in your surrounds, to spread happiness a-rounds;
I know you are intently busy now a day’s and got very enervate after having a work but still you can’t sleep at night the night which rolls you on unseen circles verily, annoying you to sleep from several day’s I know you don’t want to admire that;
O my beloved, it’s a true love as U and I, truly missing in last summer still I remember when we talk and crush out, when we walk and hang out; sunrise-to-sunset, we come close yearly, the love which we are bestow profoundly.
I think often of you from morning till evening about you in my silence, I find you in my words, I discover you thus ample pain boost in my vain, all in all, I don’t want to lose you
O My beloved, the rain just starts now the fountain melds with winds; and the winds with the stream moon light is beneath, dark night is distant and abysmal I gape into the night alone
While making a poem in spite, my white paper converts into red because of my eyes which is purely wet my eyes yet lucid, looking for you at my door-step all my vision meets with my beeline, I halt up all night, in emerging of your soul
O my beloved, you must be here to see that I am chasing a journey to actuate myself on ahead of it at least any path could change my fortune en masse, my poem is you and only you, Everlasting characters of words nevermore written
About the author...
Aymen Zaheer is a student of Bachelor of Science in Information Technology and Computing. He is from Pakistan. Any time ago, he has been writing articles and poems in english and urdu with a pen name's “Aymen Zaheer”. He join in someone network communities where he publish his texts. His moto is “service to humanity”. Maybe We can tell of he that is a one of the lasts humanists of XXI century; one vision of the society and cultural achievement that isn't common of whole people.
Our african collaborator, the writer and poet Senator Ihenyen, has sent to us five new poems which was selected from his volume of poems titled 'Colourless Rainbow: Poetry of My Childhood', forthcoming from Coast2Caost, Lagos. Others, centred on HIV/AIDS, was also selected from 'Ripples Across Lives'. We're enjoy that he visit us again, thing, We think, which will be cellebrated by our fans & readers:
OUR WATERLOO
They promised to repaint rainbow on the bloodstained wings of the butterflies they mutilated with their bullets and boots, The dreams they blew off with bombs of greed into ashes of despair
Like the clichéd thieves in the night They raged our hearts and stole our cherished dreams, Leaving us without songs or laughter
They told us they had seen with their bloody eyes A better tomorrow somewhere in the distant sky Their eyes of treachery so transparent of death. Our voices unloaded the bullets of silence Crying out for life in the pumping heart of June 12.
It was their waterloo
In the dewy dawn of democracy The vampires of the nights have become bees Buzzing around the honeycombs of our sweetened struggles Baptising their monstrous heads with the redeeming grace of our innocent blood innocent tears Our endless sweats…
It is now our waterloo
A PECULIAR HARMATTAN
…when the dust of harmattan begins to settle in the soul and the haze in the horizon veils the eyes of the earth I gnash my freezing teeth in the chilling wind Wondering if this harmattan could dry these tears, Like the wind blowing away the tides of purple-patched leaves Dancing around with emptiness.
Is it our despair that paint these leaves brown and yellow? Our pain that leaves purple patches all over, withering away in the dryness of this seedless season of searing sorrows?
Surely, it is the leaves of our hope That fall one by one in the dust-dyed wind, our hearts breaking apart by crackling twigs…
And like shriveled trees shedding brown harmattan tears Skeletons in tattered rags litter the dusty streets. Soon, the December fires will burn dried dreams again In this peculiar harmattan.
IF ONLY WE COULD SEE THE RAINBOW
I see the rainbow rising in the horizon As the enchanted eyes of earth run to the hills.
Wondering how many colours it would take to paint our world with such beauty such harmony such love…
BLOOD IN OUR HANDS
With his bloodstained hands and sobbing eyes About to stab himself to death He held the knife above his head "Drop the knife", terrified voices pleaded from a safe distance But not one hand was stretched towards him To give life the meaning he had stopped to see.
His grip tightened around the knife, Just as his eyes and lips shapened into pain Feeling dreaded like a dangerous disease Feeling empty like a shadow The fourteen-year-old boy finally dropped the knife Not on the forlorn floor flowing under his fragile feet But right into his own heart.
WE ARE THE VICTIMS
We are the victims not of an invincible virus hunting the blood of man We are the victims not of a dangerous disease unleashing death on us.
We are the victims not of HIV/AIDS wiping mankind from the face of earth like ripples of death spreading across lives.
We are the victims Victims of the virulent virus Victims of the violent virus unleashed from the diseased heart of this infected world we live in. Victims of a world too prejudiced to see that we are the victims and they, our virus.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR... Senator Ihenyen was born in Lagos in the 80s, but hails from Esan-West L.G.A., Ekpoma, Edo State, Nigeria. He writes poetry, short fiction and engages in literary research. Recognised by a U.K-based organization, Outspoken, in 2006 as ‘one of the significant voices in Africa pushing the boundaries of contemporary African Literature,’ he is a member of a number of Internet-based literary circles, such as the African Writer, Krazitivity and Ederi, among others. The late and respected Nigerian editor and critic, Okey Okpa, fondly called 'Foot', who was before his sudden death the Publisher, Coast2Coast Publishing, usually described the young writer as his ‘future Poet Laureate’ in 2008.
'Ihenyen was recognised by a U.K-based organization, Outspoken, in 2006 as ‘one of the significant voices in Africa pushing the boundaries of contemporary African Literature'.
While some of Senator Ihenyen's poems have been published in local dailies such as the Daily Times, New Age and Business Times in Nigeria, his early works have also been featured in international anthologies and sites published by the U.K.-based Anchor Books, Poetry Stop, Canada, and the U.S.-based Voices Network, where his poetry has been given special international recognition. In 2006, he participated in the British Council Crossing Borders Workshop with Dinesh Alirajah. Based on his use of language, imagery and experimentations, he had been featured as the true voice of Africa by Literatur ad Art. His poetry has over the years been widely introduced to readers, especially on the Internet.
Currently in a full-time Law Degree programme at the University of Benin, Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria, the author has completed "Colourless Rainbow: Poetry of My Childhood", a volume of poetry forthcoming from the Lagos-based Coast2Coast Publishing this year. He is currently working on his second volume of poetry centred on HIV/AIDS, "Ripples Across Lives".
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Las frases de nuestros autores:
«[...] Por fin acabaste y una inundación fría me pobló por completo. Te miré mientras me ahogaba en tu seminal líquido que me llenaba por dentro y al mismo tiempo me cubría. Te aletargaste y aproveché en ese instante, con la poca fuerza que me quedaba, arrebatarte los lentes oscuros, dos cuencas vacías y profundas aparecieron y como en un abismo me ví cayendo en ellas, entonces reaccionaste y por fin tu boca se abrió y tocaron mis labios que se abrieron más por el susto que por recibir tu aliento, una lengua bífida, seca, escamosa, se introdujo y expulsó sus gusanos que desde entonces viven conmigo [...]».
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