The second autumn of the Blockade was coming. Our second house was also bombed. Since it was made of wood, it burned down to the foundation. Not only clothes and some other things were lost in this fire, but most offensively, almost all our family photos and some documents – everything that was saved in the spring from the Petrograd apartment.
After that, we lived with some relatives of my father for a while. I don’t remember this period so much, although it foreshadowed the end of my blockade story.
It happened in a completely ordinary way. It’s just that one day after school, my father told us:
– Volodya, Alexey, we are leaving.
The mother and sister were already aware, the youngest was unconscious after another illness. And we lost contact with Ivan and Leonid a few months ago.
We decided and were going to drive fast, literally during the day. That’s how the Blockade and my childhood in Leningrad ended for me. I didn’t know if I would come back then or not, what my life would be like next. But there’s something left in that city, maybe it’s a part of my soul.
Rubina Anis is the Headteacher of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. She has obtained her honors and Master’s degree from the Department of Arts and Crafts, Rajshahi University.
+
What child ?
I Am Borne
Before During & After
Always
& Forever
Why Child ?
Yes , Speak and receive .
Every Step Begins .
As pollen upon the
wind
Unforgotten as rains
drench the reaching
upstart .
And cries above ending
find a sky full of Life
......................
Completed November 23, 2024
Saturday evening
by John Edward Culp
Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci’s statement “Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard” is circulating through the blood. That’s why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them. As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube. Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers. She is the recipient of many international awards. “Trees of Desire” is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems “Moon Circle”. She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists “Mountain Views” in Montenegro, and she also is a member of the Poetry club “Area Felix” in Serbia.
That day alone in Amsterdam, boats, bicycles, glimpses of tiny de Hooch courtyards and everywhere, tall thin houses reflected in canals, after Van Gogh, the Night Watch and many weeping Mary Magdalenes witnessing Descents from the Cross, I pass through the Red-Light District, ordinary and lethargic in daylight, elicit turning matter of fact; a few women in their windows yawn, sip coffee to begin their day; the pungent aroma of Mary Jane is pumped into immaculate alleys; on an impulse, I buy a little, fat and happy Hotei in the open-air market.
Eventually, I find the green shutters, my destination, Rembrandt’s house, and admire what he admired: seashells, swords, helmets, bones, busts and books. In his studio, it’s as if he stepped out for a moment, powdered pigments readied for grinding into walnut and linseed oils. Up the narrow staircase, on the middle floor for the group tour, a pleasant young woman inks and rolls his image through a wooden press.
In an odd tourist’s transference, we fall into a conversation over etching, Rembrandt and Amsterdam. She lightly touches my arm and offers me a generous smile and a print from the Master. I think I would very much like to kiss her, and I’m fairly certain she’d return the affection. Occasionally, I find myself missing her: we would live in a modest houseboat, skirmish over Dutch and American politics, pull prints all day from Rembrandt’s press, make love in Rembrandt’s bed. Instead, upon my return to Ohio, I send her one of my prints and, rightly so, never hear from her again.
David Sapp, danieldavidart@gmail.com
Biographical Information: David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, lives along the southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.
