MAKATA Vol.12 : Jan-Feb 2011

A New Life

Wrapped in silent shadows
wistful and gentle you explore
a myriad unconscious colors
conscious dreams of value in store

soft and sweet are your words
enveloped in love and darkness
slowly noiselessly they flow
in poetry that always sparkles

The path is always strenuous
t’is easy to feel from your sphere
your strong heart beat from afar
striving always to burn clear

but if you lift your gaze high
you will feel my daring hand
that seizes all of you from afar
to rise gently over the land

far from clamor truth ensures
your eyes a vision of the bright
trusts me your care as we weave
new life within a harmony of light

© 2011 Alessandro Pinto
Translation Ute Margaret Saine



Una nuova vita...

Avviluppata nel silente buio
assente e adagio esplori
miriadi di colori inconsci
consci nel sogno dei valori

madide e dolci le tue parole
oscure e avvolte d' amore
piano senza rumore fluiscono
di poesia che mai muore

il cammino e'sempre difficile
facile nel tuo sentiero sentire
da lontano il tuo forte battito
in affanno per il suo ardire

ma levando alto il tuo sguardo
sentirai con azzardo la mia mano
che da lontano tutta ti agguanta
con dolcezza facendoti salire piano

visione e i tuoi occhi nel chiarore
lontano dal clamore il vero ti addita
d' esser accudita da me nel tessere
con il tutto in armonia una nuova vita.

© 2011 Alessandro Pinto


~~~


Pollock’s Way

Apparent chaos
felt and moving
a gentle unconscious
mind felt elsewhere

an abstract hand
emotions that function
a myriad directions
brought from ether

transmute into color
the pain of the soul
dark stain of a tear
dying on canvas

a woven vision
of narrating lines
transmuted into threads
fulminant ideas

pulled down from heaven
in trembling strokes
from ardent gods
used to the sublime

completing the vision
secret to the eye
a game or a chance
so reason replies

the dream is the goal
as the flames ascend
tend toward the sublime
wend the poet’s way.

© 2011 Alessandro Pinto
Translated by Ute Margaret Saine



Il sentiero di Pollock

Caos apparente
si sente e muove
l' inconscio soave
altrove la mente

mano astratta
adatta emozioni
miriade direzioni
l' etere la tratta

mutano in colore
dolore dell' anima
oscura la lacrima
sulla tela muore

narrano le linee
visione tessuta
in fili tramuta
idee fulminee

dal cielo sottratte
i tratti frementi
di dei ardenti
al sublime adatte

la visione e' completa
secreta allo sguardo
un gioco o un'azzardo
la ragione decreta

e' il sogno la meta
fiammata ascendente
al sublime tendente
per la via del poeta.


© 2011 Alessandro Pinto


~~~


A Sparrow and Paradise

A constant racket
I can hear it still
I move close to track
sharp trembling shrill

cautiously I peer
from my dark recess
while inside me a fear
I stifle and repress

you wretched sparrow
tell what do you find
in this scrubby thicket
earth and filth combined

your song opens up
a voice of pure life
a broad happiness
for me in my strife

you’ve come from afar
to tell me sweet and kind
of her disappearance
in beauty sublime

my drop of bitterness
in your message subsides
I must be glad for her
whatever fate provides.

© 2011 Alessandro Pinto
Translated by Ute Margaret Saine


Un passero e il Paradiso

Strepitìo continuo
lo seguo mi avvicino
lo sento appieno
quel fremito fino

dalle scuri spio
adagio e con cura
mentre reprimo
e lego la paura

piccolo passero
misero che cerchi
tra il fogliame
la terra e gli sterchi

voce di solo vita
che adita il tuo canto
una felicita' ambita
a me che son nel pianto

vieni da lontano
per dirmi con dolcezza
e piano che la sua dipartita
e 'giunta nella sublime bellezza

la goccia del mio dolore
muore sul tuo dire
gioire adesso solo posso
di questo suo divenire.

© 2011 Alessandro Pinto




LIGHT APPROACHES

The light approaches
and the world is beautiful.

My eyes do not lie to me.
I’m hopeful like the trees.

This sunny afternoon
the horizon is my window.


LET US WANDER

Let us wander with ease
through unnamed towns.
Let us not drag our feet.
The winter rain
stopped. We have a full day
ahead. I want
you to come and join me.

Do not be sad. Let us
show our faces
with smiles. I would not want
to look back and
see you in tears on this
winter’s day. I
want to share some wine with
you, spend the day,
talking to each other.

Let the winter storm come.
We could walk to
a warm place. We could sleep
happily, if
only for just a while.


THE WORDS IN THE POEM

Do you stand over your poem
and hope the words make sense?
Do the words seem like ants
running away from fire?
Do the words end in death or
do the words find resurrection
before they turn to dust?

© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
West Covina CA



Ang tunay na OFW sa buhay at pagkatao

Madalas aking nababasa
Sa pahayagan, sa internet at sa mga balita
Pangkaraniwang nangyayari sa kinalalagyan bansa
Isa na namang OFW ang naging biktima at buhay na nasira

Walang magawa dahil may napirmahang kontrata
Magtitiis na lang para sa umaasang pamilya
Kesa ang makulong at walang magawa ang embahada
Humingi man ng saklolo baka mas lalo pang lumala

Yan ang mga pangyayaring di alintana
Ng mga kapwa Pilipino na di naranasan mangibang bansa
Na ang turing sa OFW magpadala lang ng kinikita
Di ramdan ang pagod at hirap para ang iba ay mapasaya

Maraming katanungan na kailangang may kasagutan
Sa mga suliranin na aming nararanasan
Minsan naguguluhan mahirap maintindihan
Madalas napapasama at di nauunawaan

Sana sa amin ay huwag manghusga
Dahil hindi lahat ay gumagawa ng masama
Ang iba nama’y kapit sa patalim para sa pansamantalang paglaya
Sa huwad na kalayaan sa kinalalagyan bansa

Marami sa amin ay mga biktima
Inaalipusta at sinasamantala
Madalas sobra-sobra sa trabaho at walang magawa
Reklamo ay di pansin kahit kumakalam ang sikmura

Sa amin kayo ba ay nagtanong
Kung kami’y kumain na o di kaya’y gutom
Maayos ba ang trabaho o kami’y nakauwi na
Malusog ba kami o may sakit ng malala

Mga simpleng katanungan aming inaasahan
Mabigyan kasagutan ang aming mga karaingan
Matanggap na ito ay bahagi ng pagsubok sa aming kapalaran
Ang katotohanan sa buhay ng mangibang bayan.

Aming hinihiling ang inyong pag-unawa
Dasal na kami’y ligtas at malayo sa disgrasya
Makapiling muli ang pinakakamahal na pamilya
Na tanging nagbibigay pag-asa sa aming pakikibaka

*OFW- Overseas Filipino Worker

© Noel Malicdem
Al ain, United Arab Emirates




A Second

A second of scorn
Turns years of affection
Into enmity of eternity.

A second of innocent love
Turns two souls
To oscillate, live and die together
In all fair and foul.

A second of opportunity
Transforms penury
To disproportionate property.

A second of mistake
Puts life at stake
And debars one
From any give or take.

A second of adversity
Makes diversity to know
What is unity?

A second of carnal burst:
Relationship exhibits no trust.

A second of ejaculation
The world is sitting
On the volcanic mouth of
Population explosion.



Believe me or not

Believe me or not
I speak as I suffered
But not preach
The world has been
Only to those
Who are happy and glee.

On the mistake of others
Don’t show your teeth
And to be laughed at
Don’t give any width.

Once they come to know
You are a beggar and you beseech
Men are such a bee
They would suck the left over blood
Like a leech.

So this is a lesson
One must learn and teach
Even in poverty looks like a rich
For this you don’t need
Any investment and fee.



Cut-throat

Man, chief justice of animals,
To dictate stringent sentence
On their innocence
Punishment in all cases
And will be no less than death,
Only nature of death will differ
As per the belief
And religion of human beings.

In the name of religion,
Divide men themselves
Into different factions,
Scapegoat they their scriptures
For their own atrocious activities.

Even in sentencing slaughter
Some say we are kind
As we prefer to eat
The meat of those animals
Whose throats are
Chopped off in one go
Thus making their death
Only momentary painful.

Some say believe we in brutality
As we prefer to chew
The mutton of those animals
Whose throats are cut
Slowly and steadily
Thus arousing pain
And tantalizing them for death.

They take enjoyment
Of peculiar and bizarre
Song and music,
Emanating from the animals,
Gasping for death,
And thereby relish
Nibbling tallow and sucking the soup
Inside the shank of wholesome
And palatable flesh and bone.



Cruelty

Cruelty like sediments into water container
Even inadvertent stirring spoils
The serenity and sanctity.

It suffers from insomnia
Unleash its irritation of sleepless night
On orphan and weak.

People are poor by kind
And rich by cruelty
As if goddess of learning herself

Were blessing them
To deliver the speech extempore.

Everyone is embodiment of explosive
All we need is to light one spark:
Calling wrong a wrong
And get ready to sing a swan song.

A group of trigger happy youth
Making to and fro of road
Like venomous bees around honeycomb
Provoking and tantalizing to say something
All you have to do is to stir up the nest
And they would do their best
Better we know the rest.

Intolerance on rampage
And tolerance victims of stampede
Now none trembles with fear
All shudder with anger
The strong with one
But the weak with all cylinders.

Gone outside to seek entertainment,
For week-end refreshment
Wife suffered molestation
I suffered frustration
We flavoured hot juice of insult
Returned home with hurt inside heart.


© Vivekanand Jha
a poet and research scholar from Darbhanga, Bihar, India. He is Diploma in Electronics, Certificate in Computer Hardware and Networking, MA in English, and is also doing Ph. D on the poetry of the noted Indian English poet Jayanta Mahapatra from Lalit Narayan Mithila University Darbhanga. He is son of noted professor, poet and award winning translator Dr. Rajanand Jha (Crowned with Sahitya Akademi Award, New Delhi). He is the author of four books of poetry: Hands heave to harm and hamper, Spam: A Satire on E-Sex, Songs of Innocence and Adolescence, My Poems Falter and Fall and Time Moves Clockwise Only. Among others...



Snapper

(from the Clandestine Photographic Delevopment Unit)

He was in the eye of the lens.
He peeped behind the curtains at me.

I didn't rap out.
It wasn't on its toes
as a third-degree rummage.
I was developing him for the trump
in whatever roll-in-the-dust that would be.

He's flipped my empty-name to the Macebearer.
Object lesson -
an abacus of cosmopolities
footfall the mall
with a creep at their heels.
I generalizeed in a stretch-a-point huff.

from The Spooks poems



Judgement From A Government Tower

This idea’s a stickler.
We pose eight lens adjustments
For the hunt
Of a spring-balanced plutocrat.

He teases himself
From a silver-shaped car
In June-sweated drizzle.

Mr. Ceasefire trickles,
Potshotted through the neck
Three times.



Kuwait Student In Paris

Oversea streetful of tightrope gauche
In between which a man for the day.
He pauses as dropsical fiddles clangour
On corners filled with angles
A noise like catswail in his ears.
And Mr. V’s walking is a big-pocket walk
Acquiring streetlamps, puppydogs, and a university
Where the public people the elevator, rising
Symphonically to look at the street.
However glossy the smirky martyr’s garishness
He is still and only the epitome.
Deep-dyed trees shake this time of year
Geo-political
Spooked for Halloween or history
And The Army are topping the avenue
Seeming sip-hungry for oil
A local poet spoons a word-river into their mouths
Busking to civvies picnicking in a nearby cemetery,
His eyes locking on V.
V. saw the spectacle and stirred;
His dolphin sexuality slips between sexes.
Under the heat of his memory, dunes flicker
A foreskin is peeled back
Exposing tenderness, he stretches
Like a ticking clock, rear-sways
Whips to writhe (and race).
As a matter of fact the drama is artificial.
He will have him as a waystage
And will communicate in the silence of touch.


© Christopher Barnes, UK
in 1998 I won a Northern Arts writers award. In July 200 I read at Waterstones bookshop to promote the anthology 'Titles Are Bitches'. Christmas 2001 I debuted at Newcastle's famous Morden Tower doing a reading of my poems. Each year I read for Proudwords lesbian and gay writing festival and I partake in workshops. 2005 saw the publication of my collection LOVEBITES published by Chanticleer Press, 6/1 Jamaica Mews, Edinburgh.



Sonnet To A Pilgrim Soul
ДУША ПАЛОМНИКА
Сантьяго Б. Вильяфаниа

Когда утром появится золото солнца
И глубокая темнота благородно отступает,
Воздух наполнится музыкой света
Тебе никогда не почувствовать ее ритма.

Когда утро расправит свои теплые в золоте крылья
А алмазное небо безмолвно в глубине
Смотрит вот там и наслаждается с твоими глазами предметами,
Которые ты просто видишь в своем дремотном сне.

Что-то не сочувствую тебе несчастный влюбленный паломник
Если мир в душе в смиренном состоянии.
Время придет, когда их глаза затуманятся
И они тоже разделят ту же самую участь.

Пустая раковина рассыпится в пыль
Когда наши солнечные дни уйдут в прошлое.

Translated by Gennady Novoselcev, Russia