laughs
the knife in her hand
heavy with the memory of
meat
once there was water
once there was sun
she remembers
life
is diving down wanting
to drown but the body betrays
it bursts through forcing you
to unwillingly
breathe
—
Angie Werren lives (and writes) in a tiny house in Ohio. Sometimes she takes pictures of things in the yard.
(Watch Marie Craven’s video of “Night Court” on Vimeo)
Editor’s note: the text of the Erica Goss poem “Night Court” and her bio can be read at The Poetry Storehouse.
—
Marie Craven is a media maker and musician from the Gold Coast, Australia. She has been engaged in online collaboration since 2007 and has contributed to works with artists in many different parts of the world. Website: pixieguts.com
—
Marianne Paul is a Canadian novelist and poet who has recently taken a keen interest in minimalist poetry – primarily tanka and haiku – and has joyfully begun to explore her “inner child” by combining words with art. Learn more about her writing at mariannepaul.com.
There is never room enough
For a script so large with
Wanting it can’t collapse
Its cursive waves into the
Reverse of a beach. The margins
Overrun with riptides, scribbled
Conchs or scallops. Jellyfish umbrellas
Sail over consonants struggling to surface.
A delicate hand is required. A heart
That hemorrhages wishes
For your presence.
—
Joan Colby has 16 books including Selected Poems, The Wingback Chair, Ah Clio, Properties of Matter and others. She has published in journals such as Poetry, Atlanta Review, etc. and won many awards. Her latest book Ribcage won the 2015 Kithara Book Prize. Her website is joancolby.com
Na tara hankali
a inuwan muryan ki
Ko zan gane
abun da ya sa
Muryan ki ya fi muryan iskan
damuna sanyi da dadi
A ko yaushe da ya sauka
A cikin zuciya na
Ya na gina aljana
Ko ya aka watsa mun wuta
Ba ya kona ni
Saboda son ki ya daura mun
Zanin ruwan sanyi
—Saddiq Dzukogi
I explore the shadow
of your voice, sift its
shade for meaning
that I might discover
how it is that it surpasses
the cool, sweet voice
of rainy season’s breeze,
how it descends, sinks
into the heart, and there
creates a paradise, a safe
oasis, where sparks that fly
cannot ignite us, fires
cannot consume us, because
your affection cools
and quenches, wraps us in
its protection, cloaks us
in fine fabric drenched
with cool, sweet water.
—trans., Laura M Kaminski
///
Notes on translation:
This is the first poem by another poet that I have translated from Hausa to English; prior to this, I have only translated my own. It was a struggle at first to find the way to carry the sense of relief and renewal that “sanyi” — “cold” — conveys in Hausa, because in English the idea of a person or heart being “cool” or “cold” implies something else entirely, an aloofness rather than refreshment. I hadn’t given much thought to how a word might differ so between tropical and temperate climates before engaging with this poem.
I was able to find my way when it finally occurred to me to double-translate “aljana” — to translate the word as “paradise” and then add the additional phrase “a safe oasis” to bring the remaining connotations along into the translated version. I then went back through and added phrases in a few other places to pick up the rest of the implied meaning that the direct word-for-word translation left behind, until I felt the sense of the poem was as complete in the English as in the original.
When I sent the translation to Saddiq, his response was: you captured even the dew on the grass of this poem. I hope so; a poem this beautiful should not be stripped of its dew — it must be brought in its entirety, or not at all.
—
Saddiq Dzukogi is a Nigerian poet and the author of three poetry collections in English. He is also Poetry Editor for the online journal Expound. This is the first poem he wrote in Hausa, and he will be writing more.
Laura M Kaminski grew up in Nigeria, went to school in New Orleans, and currently lives in rural Missouri. She is an Associate Editor at Right Hand Pointing. More about her poetry is available at The Ark of Identity.
You ask me
to write about
you – a sonnet
or two;
I ask you
to encore me
alive – a bard
anew;
You say: I
soul you, seal
us – a lyrical
duel.
I offer you
a note, syncing
apiece – melody
mute.
You take me
tuned, to key
a story – frayed
loops.
—
Sheikha A. is the author of a short poetry collection titled Spaced (Hammer and Anvil Books, 2013), available on Kindle. Her poems have been published in numerous zines/anthologies, the track of which is kept on her blog Write Me, Saudade. She edits poetry for eFiction India.
Lime be your light,
bright citrus bite,
sans sallow,
sans shallow,
deep echo hush.
Light hissing and molten,
bliss to an albatross wing,
and sky kissed spring
on a rejoice for green.
—
Marilyn ‘Misky’ Braendeholm lives in the UK surrounded by flowers, grapevines, bubbling pots of sourdough starter, and always keeps dog biscuits in her pocket for her blind Springer Spaniel. She never buys clothing without pockets.
When the woman lounging in front of
Nu’uanu Pawn
waves a skeletal arm at me,
it seems churlish to refuse,
so I join her in the
stone doorway where she sleeps,
blanketless
in thick Honolulu night air.
People remember Ching’s Grocery,
they give me no stink-eye.
Clear back, back in time, I see
cats sleeping on prehistoric linoleum,
baskets stacked to the ceiling,
flowers, papayas, melons and cabbages in front,
a game of Go always in back.
I was the Queen of Go, she laughs.
but I’m still here.
—
Trish Saunders lives in Honolulu, Hawaii. She spent her childhood years in the pretty small town of Snohomish, Washington and credits excellent teachers (including her late mom) for her love of poetry.
A Chicagoan who sees Death on the way
may then and not an angstrom before
whisper their innermost Parking secrets
to an heir, their next of kin, to a lucky care-giver
on shift when the spectre appears. Locations,
special techniques. How to swipe the Mayor’s spot
for a week and avoid towing. Ten steps
to dismantle a metal parking boot,
and reassemble it, and so roll to drive
another day. Rumors about Big Johnny,
who can erase records when he wants to,
who can wipe those debts. The time you blocked
two lanes of Upper Wacker to get a haircut.
No spaces then, per se. When the offspring lean in,
one fader says, Wabash & Balbo—two bucks
for the long weekend. Three should you wish
valet service. He coughs half a lung out, croaks,
Ask for Murray, say I sent you,
say I told you before shoving off.
—
Todd Mercer won the Grand Rapids Festival of the Arts Flash Fiction Award for 2015 and was runner-up in the Palm Beach Plein Air Poetry Awards. His digital chapbook, Life-wish Maintenance appeared at Right Hand Pointing. Mercer’s poetry and fiction appear in journals such as: Apocrypha & Abstractions, The Camel Saloon, Cheap Pop, The Lake, The Legendary, Main Street Rag, Midwestern Gothic and Spartan.
The summer I found my two pet goldfish belly up,
like a fistful of dignity falling to sand, my mother
prayed for the tomatoes. She spoke chaos in tongues,
each convulsion meaning, “red,” “plump,” “juicy.”
That summer’s harvest yielded tomatoes so perfect,
they looked as fake as a virtuoso’s uncalloused fingers.
The hands of someone who takes showers and not baths.
My mother explained our good fortune: “I asked and
the Lord delivered.” She said He blessed us with this fruit
for letting the wall-eyed woman, with a pack of gum
and National Enquirer, cut us in the check-out line.
It was my grandmother who let the truth slip as she
sucked on her dentures. “Your mom buried Lily and
Sunflower with the tomatoes. They sure worked.
This BLT is excellent.” My mother meant “circle of
life” as a comfort, said we had made lemonade from
lemons. She buried my darlings like a tell-tale heart,
plagiarized an act of god from this domesticated rot.
—
Lauren Yates is a Pushcart-nominated poet who is currently based in Philadelphia. Her writing has appeared in Nerve, XOJane, FRiGG, Umbrella Factory, Softblow, and Melusine. Lauren is also a poetry editor at Kinfolks Quarterly and is currently a Poet in Residence with the Leonard Pearlstein Gallery at Drexel University. For more information, visit laurentyates.com.
