Makata Vol.8: May Issue

Tanka

with the open-and-shut
of my eyes
the bad dream vanishes . . .
a shaft of moonlight
on your bare shoulder


he brings pretty trinkets
dazzling baubles
from his journeys
but all I’ve really wanted
is ever, only, him


midnight
the den alive
with the flash of lightning
this breathless realization
that I love you


moon mist
shines through the window
and over the bed
this my only company
while you are gone

(previously published in Modern English Tanka)

© Aurora Antonovic

Aurora Antonovic is a Canadian editor, writer, and visual artist whose work has appeared over four thousand times in publications spanning twelve countries and five continents. She is a recent Pushcart Prize nominee, and haiga editor of Simply Haiku. She is also editor of A Little Archive of Poetry, a publication that seeks to promote the love of verse in all forms. Aurora recently illustrated Marie Lecrivain's chapbook, The Painter, available through Lummox Press -- http://www.lummoxpress.com/newlp.htm



FEARS

Ah the terrors that visit us by night
that do not hide from daytime
those not inspired by greatness
no unknown continent trodden just on the border
nor a loyal foe
openly searched on a fence
or the amazing eclipse that leaves noon in shadow
or a terrible Lord of Armies
in deserts burnt by the sun of adventurous peoples
ah fears the little fears of little men
not fears the little fears that were
in their manner the honour of an animal
naked in the enormous extension of things that had no name
no to being alone and standing
between an immense field and an immense sky
no to the shadow decorated by phosphorescent eyes
to death by night
between the teeth of the most beautiful animal on earth
a death of man
no, to the fall propitiated by thunderbolt
to torrent the avalanche the fire of the earth
or to the other fire promised under the earth
ah the fears not created
by a terrible god out of the forest
nor a medieval relative with his retinue of witches and fetuses
no, the cold sweat face to face sword against sword
arrow against winchester dart against spear
death has changed the words
it isn't the certainty of a burning rain
or the forecast an insect takes among roots
finally also a good cause like the old plague
ah the fears you know
and that are mine exactly those
do not hide under the bed
do not need the cracking of wood the howl of anything
haunt our dreams with faces and notes
they sleep and walk with us
drink nourish always return.


JOY AND FALL

First harmony there I saw you, it wasn't necessary
to look about parts of your entire kingdom but there I saw you
and I didn't want to pause at your border, your border
that is in simple things full for your waving shadow.
How delicately, light in light, core of the day,
you become corporeal or choose a candid shape
when you lend us your eyes
and how an eternal love takes us by the hand
towards your creature, there where you are indeed,
alive, the infinite dance,
the very complaint of what exists.
All high serenity is your vase and each one
declares a new colour yours. It's april
of a year that doesn't count for you and however
a sweet warmth led you here by my side. I was only
a certainty this morning and the foam of sleep
and the sides of the day were cancelled in me.
I only asked, ran to your contagion,
so that a breath on the cinders that powdered things
lighted a world of carbuncles again,
amethysts in the air ... the many features
of your bright glass windows, where do they come from?
from what deep abyss or public abyss and exposed,
from what other time hardly visited,
hardly glanced in the fire of fire?

There is no worse fasting than that within you.


RIMBAUD'S EYES

Blue, barbaric. Today soft trills
sing for you and in the literary workshops
the voice of the parrot gets thinner: moved
it sweetens the Great Glances, their confectioner's lesson.
On this side we pray for you kneeling before a wolf:
how beautiful a science is a room looking onto darkness
and man, that inconstant scholar,
is only a few steps that come along and go.
Today when teachers of letters have forgotten everything
the convicted know about you
and the vagabond who, at the risk of being smashed by cars,
stops the metaphor of this tread to pick up the miracle
of a leaf, without reaching an explanation,
today when the lift-men scarcely
rise above the others,
today when this mad substance appears smothered and defeated,
as it always was, as it is always going to be,
floating on the waters of numbers;
today when casinos have settled in your virgin forests
and disco music sounds in all thundering Africas,
today when on 88th street and Broadway a horrid so and so shows you
printed on the T-shirt, smiling at all the American Glory,
today when you, bound in leather with golden letters
are exhibited by dentists in their libraries
and the swift drug-dealers honour you their way, distributing poison
along the streets of the world,
today when walls fall and all posterities collapse,
today when History that old foe,
laughs at us saying it doesn't exist,
as in your time the Devil repeated;
today when the soft muscles of the representatives
can throw thousands of sturdy foreigners,
if they want, into the sea,
today when the shy democracy
proved to be more effective than kings,
today when finally we all become good
and the pink, black, yellow and copper coloured
banquet of life lifts its radiant glass, beyond
the charitable groups attempting the sonnet,
through the bookshelves swept by dust and secretaries,
without typing or voice or hope or reason,
geographies go across two thick and powerful lights
surrounding the Earth like a ring.
Not because of the symbol but for the glance
you are like the plastic god which the scared one hangs from the wall
so that those Eyes follow him around the house. For us
the minimal ones, for us the few, for us the weak,
who only want to remain idle, your eyelids are
always open, disdainful brother,
Jesus Christ the Terrible,
today when it's shameful to be hungry
they keep on looking at your wild lanterns all the same.


LET EZRA POUND SPEAK

If you have nothing to say keep silent
let Ezra Pound speak
from the shadows the splendid old man
from the fine water line
the magnificent old man
shows you the genuine banknotes of his fortune
and all shine legitimate fish
of an infinite river which indeed
never stops.
If you have nothing to say keep silent
the high gentleman the variegated ladies
who lived and died and were born for this only cause
cannot allow by their side
the stuttering of a dwarf
the limping of a false purse
denouncing that the gold of their verbs
lacks that thin water line
that savage finesse the impecable spot
not adorning the head of a written animal
-which goes through the paper only for an instant-
but comes out of the bottomless animal
of the live viscus where royal blood runs
-that one where red comes from-
and beats outside like a monster of light
like an image without other chapel than every thing
of every universe possible or impossible
which could indeed be adored
standing and without veils without altars or anything
-not even acolytes-
under the name of our lady of veils
crowned by manure and nerves
of eclipses and novas O you
tall and short sublime malicious
poetry reigning over the extended night
and the narrow day.

© Luis Benitez

Luis Benítez was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina (1956). Member of the Latin-American Academy of Poetry, the International Society of Writers, the World Poets Society, the Argentinean Society of Writers and the Argentinean Foundation for the Poetry. He has received the tittle of Compagnon de la Poésie, from La Porte des Poétes Association, France. His 9 books of poetry, 2 essays and 2 novels were published in Argentina, Chile, Mexico, Uruguay, USA and Venezuela. Between another local and international awards, he has received: La Porte des Poétes International Award (Paris, 1991); Biennial Award of the Argentinean Poetry (Buenos Aires, 1991); Amalia Lacroze de Fortabat Foundation Award of Poetry (Buenos Aires, 1996); International Award of Fiction (Uruguay, 1996); Primo Premio Tusculorum di Poesia (Italy, 1996) and 10me. Concours International de Poésie, accesit (Paris, 2003).



THE CROWS ARE GONE

In the morning
the stone was flung
as the crows sang.
I felt a noose
when I heard their
cry of a song.

My hand was quick
in judgment and
I missed the mark.
The crows shouted
while I felt shame.
They sang no more.

Now I miss them.
In solitude
my hand holds no
stone from the ground.
The crows are gone.
Where? I don't know.


LOST CITIES

I could never
find you, always
living in lost
cities, where the
sun never rose
and the moon did
not grace the sky.

I could not hear
your laughter. I
could not see your
smile. The cotton
balls in my ears
and the blindfold
in my eyes did

not help. In lost
cities I made
my home. I had
no neighbors. I
was all alone.
You were lost there
too just like me.


TIME TRAVELER

Friendly,
She said she knew me
From before.

But this
Was our first meeting
I told her.

Perhaps
The old woman was
Not crazy.

She could
Travel in time and
That was where

We met.
If I could travel
In time,

I would
Know what she meant. But
I can't.

© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
West Covina, CA



Reinkarnasyon sa Eleksyon

Di makakatulong ang pagbibintang,
'yan ang sabi ng aking magulang,
hindi ko nga naman kasi nakita
kung sino ang kumukuha
ng kabang pinaghirapan
ng mamamayan,
kaya bakit ako magbibintang?
sabagay wala namang kasiguraduhan
sa mga ganoong usapan,
dahil magaling namang sumimple
ang iba diyan,
ang sigurado ko lang,
mula noon pa man,
walang kakupasan,
pagkatapos ng halalan,
bilang pa rin ang balota ni tatang,
kahit sampung taon na siyang namaalam!


Sa Pagkubli ng Mahapding Bakas

Muling naramdaman ang signos
Nang marinig ang nangingiming ngiti,
Taon din ang gumapang
Kunwa¢y abala sa kawalan
Upang mabura ang lumuluhang kasaysayan.

Kilala ko yaong pakiramdam
Sa mangilan-ngilang pagkakataon
Ng pagbulong nitong abang dumadabog
Sa aking kaibuturan,
Pamilyar sa akin
Ang bawat tikatik ng ugat sa aking pulso
Ang pagdaloy ng tila nagmamadaling dugo,
ang di alintanang pagpasok
ng iyong larawan sa aking isipan.

Naramdaman ko na ang pakiramdam na ito,
Ganitong-ganito, bago mahulog
At masaktan.

© Zig Madamba Dulay



Pagbabalik sa Liceo

Minsan lang dumaiti sa pagitan
natin ang luha't ngiting umukit
sa hubog ng katawan at tumalop
sa upak ng kamusmusang supil.

Bunton ng alaala na aking binilot
sa ulo at kuwaderno ay kimkim;
mistulang puntod ng tulirong ako
na aking inutas sa naliligirang silid.

Tigib ng kabog ang aking dibdib
habang tanaw ang kupas na pader
nitong paaralang saksi sa bulakbol
at bungisngis na ugali ng katoto.

Mamamangha ako sa kamuwangan
nitong mga bohemyong noo'y lihis;
kapilas nito ang ngaligkig sa idlip
at punong malalabay sa panaginip.

Mangangalisag ako sa tinimplang
tuwa't pait ng muling pagtatagpo
sa simbahang gayak sa sampagita
at ngiwi ng bulag na mang-aawit.

Matutulala ako sa mapusok na asal
na nakatinggal sa unipormeng kupas
kahit nagpaumanhin sa balat-sibuyas,
'mantalang nangisi sa katalong maton.


Palaboy ng Bulihan

'Sanlibong araw akong
di naliligo. Ang antot
ko'y bakas ng sumpang
ako'y iyong pandirihan.

'Sanlibong gabi nang
binasag mo ang pusong
umaaso na ipinagkanulo
ng aking grasang damit.

'Sanlibong araw buhat
ng nagkaapo ang kuto't
langawin itong ulong
noo'y hinahaplos mo.

'Sanlibong gabi akong
nagutom sa pag-ibig,
nagtitiis sa tirang
tinapay at palamig.

'Sanlibong araw akong
lagalag. Atungal ko'y
mas matunog sa Anahaw
tuwing madaling-araw.

'Sanlibong gabi akong
nagbuntung-hininga,
nilasap ang alipusta
ng iyong lalamunan.


Ngalan mo'y tinatawag ko sa walang hanggang langit

Ngalan mo'y tinatawag ko sa walang hanggang langit,
nananalangin na madurog ang balakid
gaya ng matandang imperyong sumilang at bumagsak.

Dinig ko pa rin ang iyong yabag sa aking pinto
na parang umuugnay sa mga tuldok ng pagkainis--
ang kasamaang nagtulak sa iyo palayo sa akin.

O, kapalaran...bakit mo hinayaang ako'y magdusa?
Bakit ginagaya ng mga uwak ang mga gabing alulong
ng aking pusong pinaslang, ng aking sugatang katawan?

Ipinagbunyi ng maton ang iyong kapusukan
nang iwan mo akong patay sa ilang.
Ang mapagmalaki't akalang hagap ba'y tunog-nakakaawa?

Ngalan mo'y tinatawag ko sa walang hanggang langit
kung hidwaa'y bumalot sa kapwa araw at buwan.
Hihintayin ba nating magsimula ang pagwawasto?
Ngalan mo'y tinatawag ko sa walang hanggang langit.
Nakikita mo ba: kumakayat ang sinag sa iyong mukha,
pakiusap ko'y magbalik ka sa aking mainit na yakap.

© Dennis Espada

Dennis was brought up and educated in Laguna, Philippines where he consume at least one ballpen per month. For him, literary writing is a chance to speak openly and uninhibitedly. He is a freelance writer and journalist.

URL: iyolo.blogspot.com



Halad kang Maureen

Gabi-ing mainiton,
Ilalom sa mga bitoon,
Sa mga gangis gilaylayan,
Sa mga aninipot gisayawan,
Kalami ikatulog,
Nga ikaw ang kadulog,
Katam-is sa imong dughan,
Halandungon nga unlan,
Nga sa gugma gaduyan,
Gabi-ing langitnon,
Sa ilalom sa mga bitoon.


Ode to Maureen

A warm and dark night
The stars shining brigfht,
Crickets singing,.
Fireflies dancing,
How nice to sleep at even tide
With you here at my side,
Sweet is your bossom,
Soft, noble pillow,
Love's hammock in a meadow.
What a heavenly night
Under stars so bright.


Monkayo

Tun-og ug bugnaw,
Gabi-ing malinaw,
Diri sa kalasangan,
Sa mga gangis ug baki giharanaan,
Aninipot nanagsayaw sa kangitngitan,
Katam-is unta sa pagbati,
Kun wala lay dag-um ang kinabuhi,
Kun sa boroka di lang unta magpitnatyanay,
Ka angay gyud unta maghigugma-ay.
Ka-anugon sa kinabuhi,
Sa dili oras nawakli,
Ka-anugon sa kamingaw,
Sa lasang nga bugnaw.


Monkayo

Cool and moist
Evening's rest,
Here in the forest,
Crickets and frogs in concert serenade,
Troops mof ireflies in the darkness prance,
Sweet would have been life's feeling,
had there been no gloom in living,
If only there were no senseless killing,
If instead there would be neighbors' loving,
A life is wasted,
Death came before it crested,
How sad to lose the stillness
of the forested coolness.


Ngano

Nganong imo mang gitalikdan,
Ang gugma'g pasalig.
Nganong imo mang gibiyaan,
Ang akong parayig.
Imo mang gitiaw-tiawan,
Pagbati gisaktan.
Gitakpan og dagum,
Akong paglaum.
Ang gugma dia gihapon.


Why (Ngano)

Why have you deserted
My loving and hoping,
Why have you rejected
My affection and caring.
You were only playing,
Hurt my whole being,
Dark clouds, I grope,
And cling to my hope,
For I love you, inspite of everything.

© Manuel Lino G. Faelnar



Basho at the New Year

Now is the new year come
a time of feasting and of making merry
yet this poor old house
has a larder filled only with potatoes and apples
Nevertheless
I am rich
for I have potatoes and apples
Oh! I also have tea!


Fulfillment of Being

Heaped on the floor two
piles of clothes
on the bed two
bodies entwined
ardor fading
the sweaty heat radiating
away


This Love

I had given up on love, when I saw her before me;
Yes, there she was sitting quite demurely before me.

I spoke to a friend and told him I’d seen love was around;
He laughed at me and said, “Oh sure, she’s standing before me.”

The moon was rising in the east, I told her I’d found love;
And in her pale silence I knew the future before me.

In the glow of the candle I met my love face to face,
Gazed into her eyes and the light grew brighter before me.

And I, Akikaze, have seen many years, asked many questions;
But always it is this love, which is the answer before me.

(previously published in Lynx, October 2005)


In the Woods

After the soft spring rain, I went for some fresh air in the woods;
What a delight to see the deer and turkeys there in the woods.

A hellish week this was of working long hours for the man;
Came the weekend I beat feet, played solitaire in the woods.

To meet God in a Cathedral on Sundays is okay;
Yet I’d rather smell His scent and breathe my prayer in the woods.

At the ball I consent to being stuffed into a tux,
But in the back of my mind I see me bare in the woods.

How long ago was that luscious, sensual summer day
When we went off together as a pair to the woods?

The autumn leaves blow in the wind, yet where are the answers?
Akikaze spurns such things: there’s no despair in the woods.

(previously published in Lynx, February 2006)


The Creepers

Around the swing have grown
The creepers; stilling it
And making it like stone,
Where you and I did sit.
Our lives are trapped today
By the seeds we have sown --
Let’s run away!

© C W Hawes

C W Hawes is a human services worker who divides his time between Minneapolis, Minnesota and rural northeast Iowa. His muses are Whitman, Millay, Basho, Issa, the Imagists, Takuboku, and Rumi. He holds a bachelor’s degree in history and political science and a Masters of Divinity degree. His work has appeared in Carnelian, Lynx, Simply Haiku, Lilliput Review, Amaze, Makata, and The Ghazal Page, among others.



Ang Pakikipagpunyagi

Bagama’t malaya bilanggo ang isip
Sa bangis ng takot na mula sa hukay;
Ang hapong katawan ngayo’y ginigipit.

O’ kasalanan ba maging taga-akay?
Ng tunay na batas pilit pinapatay;
Bagama’t malaya bilanggo ang isip.

Sa minsang pagsigaw, paghingi ng gabay
Ang naging kapalit hapdi n’yaring latay;
Ang hapong katawan ngayo’y ginigipit.

Mata’y piniringan ng pighati’t lumbay
Bibig binusalan tinunggab ang tibay;
Bagama’t malaya bilanggo ang isip.

Tinanikalaan ang paang pangsuhay
Ginapos ng luha itong mga kamay;
Ang hapong katawan ngayo’y ginigipit.

Pano pa aalpas hustisyang mahalay?
Kung ang nag-aabang ay banta ng lamay.
Bagama’t malaya bilanggo ang isip,
Ang hapong katawan ngayo’y ginigipit.

© Rey Tamayo, Jr.