2sDay Poems, Dr. Ezzat Abouleish, Forough Farrokhzad, international poets, iranian women poets, Karina Borowicz, Marick Press, Sin: Selected Poems of Forough Farrokhzad, The Bees are Waiting, The Maintenance of Public Order, University of Arkansas Press, Windows
A window to look
A window to listen
A window that reaches the heart of the earth
like the loop of a well at its very end
and opens towards the expanse of
this constant blue benevolence.
A window that fills the little hands of loneliness
with the nocturnal bounty of generous stars,
and it is from there that one can invite the sun
to the nostalgia of candelabra flowers.
One window is enough for me.
I come from the land of dolls,
From beneath the shade of paper trees
in the garden of an illustrated book,
From the arid chapters of barren experiences
of friendship and love
in the earthy lanes of innocence,
From the blooming years of anemic alphabet letters
on the benches of a tubercular school,
From the moment that children
could write the word of ‘stone’ on the blackboard
and the starlings fluttered away from the elderly tree.
I come from within the roots of carnivorous plants,
and my brain is still brimmed over
with the fearful calls of a butterfly…
Next up is American-born Karina Borowicz, who is known for her own poems as well as her translations from Russian and French.
The Maintenance of Public Order
The men are always pounding on things. It’s impossible to escape the obsessive whack and thump. Long past midnight a knot of men will perch on the neighboring tin roof and beat it with heavy sticks. They smoke without touching their cigarettes; the smoke invades my room and is backed into a corner by moonlight’s fist. In the morning my eyes are rimmed with salt and my body is bruised, having been batted between one stick and another all night long. Then the men slide off the roof like dirty snow, hoist the long sticks across the backs of their shoulders and hold them in place with both wrists, their smoked sausage hands dangling. At the first kiosk they stumble upon they’ll buy a couple more bottles.
The women-folk walk around. They measure their steps to the beat of the men’s sticks. In summer you can hear…
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