EMPTY AND PEBBLED
--Cheops Beach in autumn
Naked we together again run
on our gold dust and pearls
beside the sleeping sea.
The waning sun beads our skin
while the wind smothers our lungs.
Every vagina is exposed,
a messy lagar where the wine is formed.
Any penis is Hermetical, closed,
an opaque clarinet.
Today the halves of the hinge
are rusty, stiff, and worn.
These times before,
nipple and prick would respond
to the air the sheen the motion
with alert anticipation.
These times before. But no more.
This is what this fall displays:
our lifetimes are pyramids
infinite at base
inexorable toward the point.
TAKE ME IN
“Take me in.” the poet prayed, “take me in.” The prophet hid.
“Take me in,” the poet said. “take me in.
No banker paid. “Take me in.” The soldier fled;
“Sink or swim,” the lawyer pled. “Take me in,”
the poet said, take me in.”
A woman did.
“Make me warm,” the woman cried, “safe from harm.”
The poet sighed. “Words are thin,” he did reply, “weak and thin.
But yet I’ll try. Weak and thin, but yet I’ll try.”
In the bin by page by page,
in the bin the books were laid,
inch by inch were set ablaze.
Line by line the match was lit.
Word by word
the poems all went.
“Now I’m warm,” the woman said,
“safe from harm. But poet’s dead.”
Poet dead?
Poet dead?
He lives on inside her head.
His words go on inside her head.
JENNIFER IN TWO VOICES
I know why the sky sings the blues – for you, Jenny, for you – atmosphere breaks down and cries. Once the wind must have had your voice: Wind makes my soul rejoice to hear you echo once more. Your precious beauty to preserve, earth freezes to its nerves in ecstasies of ermine. And the waves for you outreach – the sea begs up the beach, hands-&-knees its way in pride. And trees have honored you in gold, red carpet where you rode, jade ceilings and emerald floors -- nature’s learned your lesson well how to be beautiful: your appearance is your sermon.
I know why the sky sings the blues – for you, Jenny, for you – atmosphere breaks down and cries. (Across the landscape many-firred, atmosphere breaks down and cries,) Once the wind must have had your voice: Wind makes my soul rejoice to hear you echo once more. (urges us make love manifold to hear your echo once more.) Your precious beauty to preserve, earth freezes to its nerves in ecstasies of ermine. (Among the creeks and conifers in ecstasies of ermine,) And the waves for you outreach – the sea begs up the beach, hands-&-knees its way in pride. (in fields of foxes henna-furred – I hands-n-knees my way inside,) And trees have honored you in gold, jade ceilings and emerald floors (where moist warmth is plentiful, on jade ceilings and emerald floors.) -- nature’s learned your lesson well how to be beautiful: your appearance is your sermon. (Raven-eyed/lynx-face Jennifer: Your appearance is your sermon.)
Across the landscape many-firred, atmosphere breaks down and cries, urges us make love manifold. To hear your echo once more among the creeks and conifers in ecstasies of ermine, in fields of foxes henna-furred – I hands-n-knees my way inside where moist warmth is plentiful. On jade ceilings & emerald floors, raven-eyed/lynx-face Jennifer: Your appearance is your sermon.
AN ORDINARY LOVE STORY
If you are the vault, I
am the combination.
(a tux,
a mum,
a candled dinner)
If I am the match, you
are the conflagration.
(a kiss,
the cum,
those tangled
fingers)
If we are the watch, you
are the complication.
PEACE MEAL
…That night we dined. We had port and escargot
and music, and the candles kissed the wine, the
WE *I way
WERE *tried one
REFUGEES *to would the
WEIGHING --minds not on *hold or cargo, rosebud
INTO (the) pearls*her parted,
(PORT) or *eyes blossomed,
(pearled) FROM fine *in grew
(on) CHINA. *mine.
(her) OR toward
Fine food our (lips) barely touched-- SOME the
(like) OTHER sun
(dew) FAR in
(on) WHERE. my
(rosebuds,) Words chilled eyes,
(like rain on shipsail) in the air. kissed
(as from her port) Finely she said: we’re through. the
(she slipped) sun, And cried.
And I cried too. And then we left, as diners do
when they are finished.
Visual poetry from Grant Guy
Poetry from Patrick Sweeney
he was a scorpion sting away from a desert metanoia Night rain on Windsor Avenue sycamore trees awash in their own perfume the others haven't arrived, the silver maple waits with me he doesn't think they'll put snow fences up this year the tough knots of self-entanglement the dog has found his spot contemplating the potential lethality of today's activities football fields where I put my dinosaurs down for naps teaching me to pronounce Demosthenes say, Ethiopia, three times... I've been doing it all day! Don Juan's Reckless Daughter's here, and we get wine delivered to the front door pale green kitchen archive of shuffling slippers across the linoleum floor joining the general fate of all five-hour bus riders
Poetry from Kahlil Crawford
Refuge my words are my refuge; a place where I can build havens and monuments that are both mobile and stabilizing. time is impermanent; each syllable constitutes a tertiary universe independent of lack, yet significant. my refuge is open; sourced from a sacred space beyond the Gaelic imaginary.
Essay from Oghiloy Aminova
My Turtkul!
Independence! What a beautiful line of words! At its core lies a world of meanings and freedom. There is no greater happiness in the world than the freedom of an individual, a society, a nation. After the years of independence, many cities were built, parks, buildings and facilities were built, as well as many schools, buildings and dormitories for higher educational institutions. It is not an exaggeration to say that Uzbekistan has changed beyond recognition and has made progress.
In recent years, Tortkol district has developed like other districts and cities.
The lands of our Tortkol district lie on the shores of Amudarya. We have a very beautiful, poetic nature, kind and friendly people. These farmers of the old land have come down to the language of the country with their selfless work since time immemorial.
20,000 hectares of land in Tortkol district are cultivated. Now this indicator is increasing day by day.
Tortkol districts differed from other districts with their own characteristics. In particular, the hard work of the residents of this district, the equal love of books by young and old people, especially the fact that there are more poets in Tortkol district than in other districts, is recognized by the whole of Uzbekistan.
Tortkol district is the first capital of Karakalpakstan, scientists who spread fame to the world, most of the achievements in literature and art, culture and sports are also in Tortkol district.
The people of Uzbekistan have great respect and love for Tortkol district. Because Tortkol district has achieved a lot like its active young people.
Our district was established on July 3, 1927, and has been widely known not only in Uzbekistan and the world for almost a century.
In our district there are more than 22 mahalla citizens’ meetings, more than 15 village citizens’ meetings.
The achievements of our district are many. For example, six of our veterans who took part in the Second World War, 4 of our venerable mothers and fathers who are over 100 years old live in our district. About three hundred of our veterans working behind the front live.
This, of course, awakens special feelings of pride in our hearts.
Tortkol District Governor Rustam Shamuratov, Tortkol District Authority and citizens of Tortkol District have an incomparable role in the achievements of Tortkol District, which is such a beautiful country, loved and honored by such a country.
The mayor of Tortkol district R. Shamuratov has also contributed to the development of Tortkol district in recent years. In recent years, roads have been paved, new kindergartens have been opened, various confectionery brands, facilities have been built, and their role is incomparable in the fact that attention is being paid to the education of young people.
Abdulla Oripov, the national poet of Uzbekistan, the beloved poet of the hero of Uzbekistan, said about Tortkol district:
– Every time I went to Karakalpak land, which is like an endless desert, I was fascinated by its beautiful nature and I was satisfied with the hospitality of my aunt’s children. My visits to ancient and modern Tortkol were no exception. It is not an exaggeration to say that I wish Tortkol to become the pride of this country. In fact, it is not an exaggeration to say that the hospitality of our people and the beautiful nature of Tortkol surprised all our poets and writers teachers. Yusupov (People’s Poet of Uzbekistan and Karakalpakstan, Hero of Uzbekistan) Tolepbergen Kayipbergenov (People’s Poet of Uzbekistan and Karakalpakstan, Hero of Uzbekistan) Sirojiddin Syed (First Deputy Chairman of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan) also expressed very warm opinions.
We are proud to be the children of the Tortkol nation with such a bright future and a history of almost a century.
Oghiloy Aminova was born in Tortkol district of the Republic of Karakalpakstan. Member of the Writers’ Union of Argentina. Holder of the International Order of “Friendship”.
Photography from Kylian Cubilla Gomez
Photography from Isabel Gomez de Diego
