Four Poems

By Chinese Poet Yuan Hongri

Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

Soul an Invisible Muse

Open the eyes of your soul

and you will encounter your many souls

In timelessness, as if the sun and moon never set or rise

The world is only a book, phantom-like

The soul an invisible muse

Before the words were born, you were a giant

From the kingdom of gold who know not yourself.

灵魂是隐形的缪斯

睁开你的灵魂之眼你将看到无数个自己

没有时光之飞逝犹如日月从未落下与升起

世界只是一部幻影之书而灵魂是隐形的缪斯

在词语尚未诞生之前你曾是黄金之国的巨人不知何谓自己

A Flying Saucer of Giants

Day by day the lightning in my body is waking up

And flying to this mortal world, dark night like iron

Seeking the Devil’s head, to make him into a skeleton of hell

And to repay time with gems

The python’s body will become a golden bridge

Towards a giant city of the morrow

Standing out against the sky, like clouds rising, gathering,

And an interstellar spaceship on my palm,

Like flying saucer of giants

Flashing miraculous brightness from another galaxy

天外之星系的闪烁灵光之巨人之蝶

我体内的闪电正在一天天醒来而飞向这个黑夜如铁的尘世

寻找魔王的头颅让他成为地狱的骷髅而偿还那一枚时间之宝石

那巨蟒的身躯成了一座黄金之桥而通向明日之巨城矗立于天际云蒸霞蔚

而我手掌之上一轮星际之飞船犹如来自天外之星系的闪烁灵光之巨人之蝶

Heavenly Temples and Towers

I rode a heavenly camel towards a desolate desert,

a jade bottle poured the sweet dew of the Kingdom of Heaven

from which emerged a lake, an eternal spring that never dries up,

and giant trees in prehistoric times grew

Their branches and leaves rustled in the garden of phoenixes and birds

The song of birds was music, it intoxicated the clouds

Colourful pebbles grew into huge gems in the dreams

That transformed into heavenly temples and towers.

一座一座天国的殿宇楼阁

我骑一匹天国的骆驼来到一座无人的沙漠

一只玉瓶倾泻天国的甘露汇成永不枯竭的泉水之湖

于是生长出史前的巨树枝叶婆娑宛如凤鸟的花园而鸟鸣如乐让时光醉了天空的云朵

而一粒一粒五色透明的沙砾在梦境里长成巨大的宝石长成一座一座天国的殿宇楼阁

Fragrant and Amaranthine for Thousands of Years

One day I will return from outer space

on a red cloud and bring a giant picture scroll.

My lines of lightning songs will flutter gold greetings from a prehistoric giant city

The mountains that have been sleeping for hundreds of millions of years

will become transparent

and the lights will be brilliant, like five-coloured gems

And the songs of my soul will blossom from me

like the fairyland flowers of the Kingdom of Heaven,

that remain fragrant and amaranthine for millennia

千年芬芬不谢

有一天那天外的我乘一朵红云归来而带来巨人的画卷

我的一行行闪电之歌将飞舞史前巨城的黄金的问候

那沉睡亿万年的山岳刹那间透明而光芒灼灼若五色宝石

而那骨骼里的灵魂之歌盛开如天国的仙葩之千年芬芬不谢

Bio:      Yuan Hongri (born 1962) is a renowned Chinese mystic, poet, and philosopher. His work has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada, and Nigeria; his poems have appeared in Poet’s Espresso Review, Orbis, Tipton Poetry Journal, Harbinger Asylum, The Stray Branch, Acumen, Pinyon Review, Taj Mahal Review, Madswirl, Shot Glass Journal, Amethyst Review, The Poetry Village, and other e-zines, anthologies, and journals. His best known works are Platinum City and Golden Giant. His works explore themes of prehistoric and future civilization.     Yuanbing Zhang (b. 1974), who is a Chinese poet and translator, works in a Middle School, Yanzhou District , Jining City, Shandong Province, China. He can be contacted through his email- 3112362909@qq.com.  Address:No.18 middle school Yanzhou District ,Jining City, Shandong Province, China  Yuan Hongri  Phone:+86 15263747339 Email:3112362909@qq.com

Email:3112362909@qq.com Hongri Yuan Phone:+86 15263747339

Address:No.18 middle school Yanzhou District ,Jining City, Shandong Province, China

Wishing everyone who celebrates a very happy Easter and Passover and beginning of spring, or fall if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere.

First, a special shout-out to the Yiddish Theater Ensemble (Berkeley, CA) for the invitation to view a Vimeo video production of Sholem Asch’s 1906 play God of Vengeance, directed by Bruce Bierman, translated to English by Caraid O’Brien. We announced this play in last month’s issue and it represents a creative triumph of translation of live theater to the virtual environment. Everything between the actors and actresses, from a slap to a kiss, was cleverly conveyed through highly coordinated gesturing from within tiny Zoom boxes. Whether you see this play, concerning a socially questionable Jewish family determined to marry their daughter off well, as a tragedy or a tale of the daughter’s empowerment, you will likely agree that the Ensemble carried it off with passion and energy.

This month Synchronized Chaos’ contributors explore themes of escape and presence. How do we escape, or try to escape, the world around us, and when and how do we choose to stay present and experience and learn from situations we face?

Mark Blickley, in an ekphrastic poem inspired by Belgian photographer Inge Dumoulin’s image, comments satirically on the artistry of a man who has ducked his head under a table.

In the same spirit, John Robbins’ piece explicates why someone slips away from the world into the bar for cocktails. Stephanie Johnson reminisces about lunches and wine shared among expatriate women in Turkey, in an enclave they created for themselves away from the local culture.

Dan Flore also writes of disconnection: how our minds, and varying mental states, can separate us from each other. Even when we’re physically near each other, we’re not always on the same wavelength.

In a different vein, Canadian poet Allison Grayhurst’s pieces embrace the merging of individual identities into the partnership of marriage. Rather than escaping into one’s own space, her speakers join with others at an intimate level and choose to embrace the uncertainty, risk, and joy that can bring.

In his poem, Christopher Bernard mourns the loss of someone he deeply loved with an ironic, poignant image; while John Culp illustrates the process of change and personal transformation, something that can happen when we choose to stay present and hear the lessons life has for us.

Sonia Das writes of childhood, home, and memories, while Alan Catlin presents a stream-of-consciousness look at cultural nostalgia and musings on the fragility of life. Dave Douglas celebrates the joy of playing and connecting with a little autistic girl in a piece he submitted for Autism Awareness Month in April.

J.K. Durick’s pieces also probe the effects of time: our memories, what we put away over the years and what (and who) we bring out again to remember. Drifting down memory lane can be an escape, but choosing to remember can be a way to be present in your life, deciding what’s important.

In other pieces, Allison Grayhurst illustrates people healing from loss. South African writer Abigail George’s impressionistic essay also processes a loss: the speaker mourns and struggles to understand the end of a relationship she had with an older male writer. As part of this, she reflects on her life journey, relationships and writing and what she brings to her personal and artistic lives.

J.J. Campbell also points to themes of loss and loneliness as his middle-aged speakers reflect on their lives. Yet he finds space to mention what he enjoys as well: friendship, caring, and the joy of artistry for its own sake.

Michael Johnson presents various characters in persona poems who are unafraid to be themselves, including a Native American woman proud of her heritage and a girl comfortable in her own skin and ready to have fun.

Mark Blickley presents a rather unique character who helps a boy cope with his father’s impending death and his mother’s misplaced anger. Kahlil Crawford also writes of mortality, commenting through a single image on what we can leave behind us when we depart.

Bangladeshi poet Mahbub brings us short pieces from speakers hoping to escape their lives, or who find themselves unable to get away from their realities. Nigerian poet Daniel Ezeokeke’s speaker turns to history and academic study as an escape from the trauma of war and violence.

Nigerian writer Chimezie Ihekuna warns in his screenplay about the psychological dangers of developing an obsession with horror and violence as entertainment. Bruce Mundhenke speculates on the mysteries and hidden dangers of Internet technology, also an obsession and escape for many, in a piece evoking the Trojan War.

Samara Hayley Steele uses the Free Britney Spears movement as a cultural touchstone in an essay where she hopes that ‘celebrity culture’ will become more than a mindless diversion. Perhaps the increased awareness of some social issues that we gain through watching celebrities’ lives will inspire us to liberate non-famous people as well.

Chinese poet Hongri Yuan and translator Manu Mangattu continue to craft poems illuminating a celestial world in which some may wish to escape.

Chris Butler tackles real world issues through surreal poetry: humans’ rapacious fingerprint on our planet, melting glaciers, rising seas.

Australian poet Nathan Anderson transmutes the language of his poetry into a jumbled concoction to convey the mindless monotony of oppression and the futility of assuming the world operates according to simple manufacturers’ instructions.

Other writers play with words and language to express mood rather than literal meaning. Mark Young’s poetry sounds resolute in its opacity and J.D. Nelson’s lines flow together in a poetic rhythm. Jack Galmitz showcases a ‘gallery’ of ordinary folks in plain language, to show that writing can be intriguing without being incomprehensible.

Chimezie Ihekuna contributes a piece of bold determination. He will not escape difficult situations or surrender to them, but will persevere in the face of any obstacle.

Synchronized Chaos Magazine is happy to have persevered throughout the time of Covid-19 with you. We are always flattered by the number and diversity of submissions we receive and encourage readers to leave comments for the writers and artists.

Tired

    

     Gone
like desolation chambers stalled down Main Street, housed in broken palaces, eaten by wolves. Said to be happier without stone and flame, said to be sleepless over trenches and hand pumped electrical diodes.

Screaming into the void.

She said she would not follow anymore. She said she had been made as constellation. She said she could not stand upon a single foot and would not wear a skull upon her head to seat her holy houses.

How can it be that standing straight and staring into emptiness has become a criminal offence?

How can it be that wishing to be sold as soil is open to the breaking pace of move and move and move!

How can it be that as she speaks she goes on loosing threads throughout her eyes until she simply sits and contemplates, finding enlightenment in figures of silver and gold?

How can we sit on grasses weightlessly and worthlessly, speaking tongues, waiting for projections to arrive in their abundance, screeching and embracing as they come and go at our command?

Wait I cannot see your eyes, I cannot walk this mezzanine and stride too perfectly without these tired lips.

How do you preach and wake so naked in the house of holy blood and money, slaked of thirst and waiting for the broom to help you sweep the floor?

Help me end this endless gloom, help me weep upon this stone, this sand that broke from stone.

      Gone I said.
Gone.

One Hundred and Fifty Thousand Dollars

Bloodshed
against this vast canal
wearing aimlessly the
notion of hereditary opalescence

Martyr    Martyr    Martyr    Martyr

Hear the drip-drip-drip
of iron clad boats
carrying these serfs
addressed to ridiculous
superfluous
whatever
whatever
whatever

Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red yellow pink green. Redyellowpinkgreen. Redyellowpinkgreenredyellowpinkgreenredyellowpinkgreenredyellowpinkgreenredyellowpinkgreenrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrlpgrlpgrl………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Martyr   Martyr    Martyr    Martyr

Manufacture both 3 and 6

Take electrode and hide beneath
systemic happenstance
probing find
triangulation through
lips
lips
lips

Take car battery and sit within
consultation reply
injecting fluid
locate triangulation
here
here
here

Take speed velocity and live without
pliable elbow
sitting malformed
love triangulation
now
now
now

A Jaw Complete

Slack rope and add to evolution
slip and fall
as metallurgy
leads the acid break

                                    Stymied without skin
                                    rocking on the bell
                                    as shore
                                    and shoreline
                                    please the carnivore

Lamp shine and water slip
sanded on the edge
positive
against
negative
against
positive
against
negative

                      Repeat Ad infinitum 

Sadhu Dreams

Are you waking
tired Sadhu
have you seen the emblems
falling from their perches
take your ribbon
hang it from the
bent spoke

Are you silent
waking Sadhu
have you touched regression
and its parted lips
place the emblem
by the river
dancing
as a bird

Bio: Nathan Anderson is a writer from Mongarlowe, Australia. He is the author of the poetry book Deconstruction of a Symptom (Alien Buddha Press) and has had work appear in Otoliths, Gone Lawn and elsewhere. You can find him at nathanandersonwriting.home.blog or on Twitter @NJApoetry. 

All Aboard

Nero fiddled;
I play Slither io,
Rome is burning again…
ID2020,
The Trojan horse of today,
Preview of coming attractions,
A reset is on the way…
A chicken in every pot,
How could anyone lose?
There is no time to think,
There is no need to choose,
Only one train,
Only one track,
So then,
All Aboard!
Where this train
Is bound for,
Not even the engineer knows…

an old friend
 
had an old friend
that swore she
would never talk
to me again email
me this morning
 
wanted to know
if i was still alive
 
i get the feeling
she was hoping
to never get a
response
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a miserable death
 
just woke myself up
with a fart that smelled
like some animal met
a miserable death
 
that's the problem
with going to bed
before the sun
comes up
 
nothing good happens

before fucking noon
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
where the smoke smells like roses
 
i want to live in a world
where david bowie and
tupac are sharing a laugh
over drinks in some neon
laced psychedelic bar
 
still alive
 
making music
 
keeping people questioning
all reality
 
where the smoke smells like
roses and success is the last

thing anyone thinks about
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
an uncertain world
 
uncertain times in
an uncertain world
 
your soft brown skin
always has a way
of calming me down
 
two steps back from
that proverbial ledge
 
destiny is there for
those that need to

believe
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
i was never meant to enjoy this
 
i don't complain
about the pain
any longer
 
the pills don't
work
 
and so far,
my liver hasn't
asked or begged
to quit
 
i figure these are
the days where i
am supposed to
learn that i was
never meant to
enjoy this in the
first place
 
and as bitter as
the truth is,
 
it only makes you
strong enough for
the next mountain

of pain

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is currently trapped in the suburbs plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Terror House Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy and Dumpster Fire Press. You can find him each day on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)