I beg your pardon Carmen

for crying more and more

remembering your pain

after his death.

 

22 y.o.

You were so young Carmen

and so pretty

I definitely love you Carmen

but you are dead

while I try to stay alive

with your ghosts

they  are mine now

forever and ever

till my death

but you are not guilty

please believe me

I would like to remain your

little boy

nestled in your arms

like a born kitten

covered in blood

your blood

*

 

Carmen

I am your motherless child

give me your sorrow one more time

Please try again

I (just?) want to be strong for you

only for you Carmen

don’t look at my face now

never

I want to be stronger

even if I am a weak person

as you probably know

Carmen

Carmen

give me your sorrow

nothing else

I beg you

on bended knee

*

 

 Beloved Carmen

life is  a black hole

without you

I would like to hear your voice again

closer to me

and your blow on my cheeks

and on my lips

I would like to forget your name

and my pain

I have loved you for a long time

in vain

today

I can’t reach you any more

with my tenderness

Beloved Carmen

the piano is dead

gone

definitely gone

*

 

Too often

the sky is grey inside me

closer to my heart

beating too fast

I was born on a windy day

the snow was falling in high flakes

inside my head

I always have a headache

thinking of the past

 

Time goes by

life is a clepsydra

*

 

Carmen

Thinking of you

is so difficult

but I can’t forget you

Facing your grave

makes me cry

Give me your arms again!

I don’t want to be a wise man

just follow your steps

right till the end

*I wish I were dead

could you understand

but

I don’t want to upset you

What to do?

*

Carmen

my sweet fairy

I remember your words in English

my mother’s tongue

the  music of my childhood

that I both hate and love

Sometimes I should love

to lose the French tongue

keeping  you closer to me

but this is an illusion

It’s so hard loving you now

crossing the beyond

*

 

Living with you

was a fairy tale sometimes

Now

I can’t reach you

my arms are too weak

and  evanescent

is your shadow

*

 

Carmen

so difficult

to find the rights words

to remember you

even in French

Doors are double-locked

Sweet Lady

I need your arms

to live a little bit

please don’t abandon me!

*

 

Words

only words

that’s all

Words

only words

nothing else

but

believe me

silence is better

silence

and your smile forever

*

 I would like

to have

a heart of gold

or

preferably

I would have liked

to have one

but it’s too late

I am now living

with  fear

with

…

fear

*

 

 Carmen

how deep

was your pain

how deep

is mine

thinking of you

Carmen

you are my love

but

you are dead

d

e

a

d

….

*

 Give me your arms again

to fight against death

your death

*

 

Carmen

sweet Carmen

give me your Cross again

I know it’s useless

but who cares?

this is a pact between

you and me

Sometimes

I feel misunderstood

since you’ve been gone

*

 

February, 28, 2018

 

Today

I’m 62 y.o.

Nothing else

White  my hair

and my heart

I try to live as well

oh yes

I would like

to be stronger

with death in my sights

*

 

 Hold me tight

sweet Lady

my life

is hanging into the balance

I’m always complaining

since you are dead

I am unable to

put one  foot in front of the other

my life sways

and sways

*

 

I stay

your dreamy boy

at least I try

in memory of you

but

it’s over

life fled

*

 

Carmen

What could I add to my pain?

I have nothing to say

I’m unable to shout

neither in French

nor in English

Sadness has no language

you probably know

Give me your own words

to fight again!

*

 

 I’m shivering

because I’m  coward

I beg your pardon

Mother

Is it enough?

Obviously not

I was expecting you

Maman

 

*

 Sweet Maman

my love remains the same

but

this is a song of death

how could I express

my pain?

 

Carmen

I want to forget your name

because I’m facing the past

but

whatever happens

I can’t

I can’t… 

Day is over

night is over

and

the world is closed

* 

 

Où es-tu Carmen

où te caches-tu?

Il y a si longtemps

que je suis à ta recherche

Il y a eu trop de sang dans ta vie

et trop  de douleur aussi

tu ne m’entends pas hurler

depuis que tu es morte

je ne retrouve plus

le chemin de ta tombe

je suis démembré

I don’t want to play hide and seek anymore

I miss you sweet Lady

*

 

Denis Emorine  is a French writer. He was born in 1956 in Paris. He has an emotional attachment to English because his mother was an English teacher. He is of Russian ancestry on his father’s side. Writing, for Emorine, is a way of harnessing time in its incessant flight. Themes that re-occur throughout his writing include the Doppelgänger, lost or shattered identity, and mythical Venice (a place that truly fascinates him). He also has a great interest for Eastern Europe.

His theatrical output has been staged in France, Canada (Quebec)  and Russia. Many of his books (short stories, plays, poetry) have been published in Greece, Hungary, Romania, South Africa, and the United States.

His first novel La mort en berne , 5 Sens éditions, was published in Switzerland, in 2017.

An English translation Death at Half-Mast is forhcoming in the USA https://www.experimentalfiction.com/

In 2015, Denis Emorine was awarded the Naji Naaman Literary Prize Lebanon (honor prize for complete work)

For more informations, go on his website  http://denis.emorine.free.fr/ul/english/accueil.htm

 

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Magdalena Garcia’s The Madness Inside My Head

 Magdalena Garcia is complex. Her new collection The Madness Inside my Head celebrates romantic love and raw sensuality while confronting us with the domestic violence and cruelty she has endured. She’s got determination to live and to care for her children, whom she makes a definite priority and refers to as ‘kings and queens.’ For their sake, and her own, she speaks out about child abuse and intimate violence, about looking to men hoping for the care and love she never found from her father as a child.

As many people may ask, ‘why didn’t she just leave?’ she replies, tellingly, in a poem: ‘bad love was better than no love at all.’

She encourages and patiently waits for loved ones to get help with their substance abuse problems and criticizes the damage she sees drug and alcohol abuse doing to those around her. Yet she acknowledges that she herself has struggled with an addiction – sex. Perhaps this shared experience is a source of compassion for her, helps her to love those around her who are addicted while still hoping that they get the help they need to change their behaviors.  

Also, a poem in the ‘Bad’ section suggests that she herself has not always been entirely honest with everyone in her dating life, and she can now own up to that without hiding it. That is courage – that she’s no longer afraid, not of the brutal men who have hurt her, or of being alone, or even of owning up to her own past. She can now revel in beauty and strength, her own, and that of her mixed Puerto Rican-Black heritage.

The Madness Inside My Head is conversational, with punctuation and varying sentence lengths. Garcia’s writing expands to reveals the depth of her pain and solitude when she’s got nothing but uncomfortable time to think, and bursts forth in staccato exclamations to highlight the urgency of her survival instinct during immediate danger. At other times, particularly in the first section, her rich, flowing language revels in passion and pride. She now knows the difference between an abusive situation and a mutually consensual, caring relationship, and has the resources to be able to choose the latter with joy.

There’s a trajectory towards hope in Garcia’s story: she leaves, or throws out, the men who harm her, realizes ‘there’s therapy in her future’ and becomes okay with that, sets up a safe and caring home for herself and her children, and gets the medical help she needs to live a healthier life. Yet, not every poem reflects that movement towards hope. At times, several poems in a row convey nothing but fear, rage, and graphic images of violence. This is realistic in that there are moments in life when we feel hopeless, and Garcia lets us sit with that.

And, Garcia honors the struggle of her fellow domestic violence survivors by refusing to allow her story to seem a simple and straightforward path towards healing. It’s not always so easy to ‘just leave,’ and she isn’t putting out a step by step guide for everyone, because that doesn’t exist. The book isn’t organized as a chronological memoir, but rather in sections: the good, the bad, and the ugly.  So, rather than leaving on a note of definite, prescriptive, expected triumph, we see the hope at the beginning, which draws us into the story and makes the book more approachable. Then the book reveals the life Garcia has survived, making her joy and pride all the more compelling.

The collection ends, as indicated, with the ugliest, most brutal parts of her story, leaving readers uneasy in a way that echoes the lived experience of many survivors. Overcoming domestic violence isn’t always a linear journey, but can involve making many attempts to finally end a recurring cycle of mistreatment.

I recommend this collection for all adults, not just survivors of abuse, but those who wish to deepen their empathy for those who have survived challenges of all sorts. Magdalena Garcia has a rich, thoughtful, and strong voice and is capable of deft writing on a wide range of moods and themes, and I would love to see more from her.

The Madness Inside my Head can be ordered here. 

Primary colours.

 

the mountains

were blue all over

and the grass was green

and white clouds

cast without shadow;

this picture

so simple, like a child

with poster paint, and sometimes

there really

are no words for the countryside

beyond speaking slowly

in primary colours.

 

we sat together

on the sheet

wooden pine, unvarnished since winter

and staining

with sunlight,

drinking our coffee

and eating

oatmeal toast

and marmalade. looking down,

across the hill

which made a lawn

and on which the grass flowed

windblown,

like the surface

of a rolling sea. one car, a silver fin,

patrolled the roadline, gifting us

with easy demarcation;

 

a way to decide

the end of land

and the beginning

of landscape

you can’t touch.

Continue reading →

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bethany W Pope has won many literary awards and published several novels and collections of poetry. Nicholas Lezard, writing for The Guardian, described Bethany’s latest book as ‘poetry as salvation’…..’This harrowing collection drawn from a youth spent in an orphanage delights in language as a place of private escape.’ She currently lives and works in China.

Stars In The Sky – SITS <— Title Of Poem (TOP)

It’s about nature’s beauty,

To spot how its twinkle.

It brings night time identity

Even when the old grow wrinkle.

Galaxy describe its multitude

This depicts the higher altitude

Stars in the sky.

 

It’s among the lights of creation,

As it’s competed with the moon and the sun

But, they’re different in terms of position

No matter the shot of the gun.

Truly, the appearance is at night

Which always remain bright

Stars in the sky.

 

It’s small and big in sizes,

With spectacular white radiation colour above

When stared there’s no wizzes

Sometimes, it expresses and depicts love.

Thus, when drawn to show

Like how the stream flow

Stars in the sky.

 

No Peace Everywhere <— Title Of Poem (TOP)

It a Biblical fact, nation will rise against nation

How true this is, due to rumours of wars

The cause of it commenced with demonstration

Individuals run but not too far.

Do you remember those you were?

No peace everywhere.

 

How about the stubborn child at home

Who disturbs the parent almost everyday

They wish after school, he doesn’t come

So as to have no words to say.

But, how can he stay there.

No peace everywhere.

 

The spectators at the stadium

How the level of fun turns to hooliganism

As if they’ve taken in spoilt colodium

Fighting each other like the inner organism.

Would you accept this here?

No peace everywhere.

 

The Sunset Drive <— Title Of Poem (TOP)

As I stand in front of the house

I spot the radiation of the sunset.

So I sit quietly and listen without the mouse

Because, they’re safe in the net

Imagine the moving cars on the road.

When they’re tune-in without the toad.

The Sunset Drive.

 

Guess what, it’ll be nice to get bigger headset

So as to jump and dance to the songs on-air.

But, sometime it’s also better to be on internet

That also makes good and fair

This program is also informative.

And it’s also interactive.

The Sunset Drive.

 

 

The above poem is specially dedicated to Sunny 88.7 FM program dubbed ‘Sunset Drive’. It’s often starts at 4:30 pm broadcast from Accra, Ghana. 

 

The Rain Time – TRT <— Title Of Poem (TOP)

Oh, mine! Oh, mine!

When the weather suddenly change.

It doesn’t matter whether one is at home

Nor the trend of its range

The rain time.

 

Oh, jeez! Oh, jeez!

Sometimes, the drizzle is like playing an instrument.

When one can hear it on the roofing sheet

It becomes intense moment by moment.

The rain time.

 

Oh, yes! Oh, yes!

Well, I can feel it when lying on the floor.

And the desire to sleep grips me

Even when there’s no open door.

The rain time.

 

The Natural Habitat <— Title Of Poem (TOP)

Imagine the fishes and frogs swimming together

Even in the midst of what seems impossible.

Nevertheless, they have course to cope with each other

In order to describe them as double.

The natural habitat.

 

Imagine the dogs and men living together

It paves the way to become more able.

Sometimes both can go farther

Good things come when one is so sensible.

The natural habitat.

 

Imagine the birds and the plane flying together

Each goes it ways to ease and ensure the possible.

The intervals make sure they don’t hit one another

Yet their sounds are very loveable.

The natural habitat.

 

 

The Cold Condition – TCC <— Title Of Poem (TOP)

Nature is often unpredictable.

So, it’s better to get ready.

Because, the weather is not stable.

Too much of its freeze can bring tragedy.

Man has no means to make option.

That’s why it’s good to pay attention.

The cold condition.

 

Some can describe its season.

Due to the alteration of the climate.

When passing wind and air chills, it’s the reason.

Even across the ocean, its affect the shipmate.

The newly born baby feels it shivers with emotion.

I guess, different races can’t embrace it sensation.

The cold condition.

 

Future of it seen remain uncomfortable.

          It’s determined by the concern forecasters.

Who have studied so they’re able.

Many of them are broadcasters

The certainty of it brings protection.

No matter the region of its concentration.

The cold condition.

 

 

The Thankful Heart – TTH <— Title Of Poem (TOP)

That part of human,

Which is quite symbolic.

And performs diverse functions.

Be it inward or outward.

The thankful heart.

 

It’s associated with man,

So it eschews what is diabolic.

Yet likes to express appreciations.

Which helps to move forward.

The thankful heart.

 

How awesome to know even in Oman.

Where some describe certain things a parabolic.

Often in gratitude we say congratulations.

Thus, above all others stuffs afterward.

The thankful heart.

 

EASTER SUNDAY

Church bells chiming

People climbing cobblestones

Mothers talking

Fathers calling little ones

Hush of voices

Sound of footsteps

Sunrise services begin

Mist of morning veiling treetops

Pinecone fragrance in the air

Joyous voices soaring skyward

Echo back from Mt. Tam’s edges

Weary walkers trudging downward

Children chasing butterflies

Backward glances, wistful smiles

Happy Easter, Tamalpais