|| Antonino Caponnetto ||

 

 

Antonino Caponnetto was born in 1950 in the Sicilian city of Catania (Italy). Since 1981 he lives in Mantua. His most recent poetic collections are: “Agonies of the Light” (2015), “The Necessary Dream” (2017), “Before Anything Else” (2018). For Pellicano cultural association he directed the international series Poetry by the Planet, where he edited the first publication in Italian of the poems by the Romanian poetess Elena Liliana Popescu and by the Kosovar poet Fahredin Shehu, as well as he was the translator of an anthology of poems by the Colombian poet Fernando Rendón. He currently collaborate on the new series Unusual and Imaginary Unpublished of the Project October in Poetry.

 

 

 

RISE, SON, IT’S DAYTIME…

 

Rise, son, it’s daytime

See? The future is right here and now

You are alive, free

and you’ll die as the poet says

of life and not of time

so wear sturdy shoes

welcome in your bag

the little you will need

it’s time to leave

Let’s go, let’s go, son

 

 

FIRST MEMORY: THE SKY’S LIGHT BLUE…

 

First memory: the sky’s light blue.

Then many faces with a friendly look,

faces tanned by the sun, smile at the child.

 

Childhood and youth, eternal time

of my ancient land and of an enormous,

borderless at that time, summer.

 

In the orange grove, I touched lightly

the shimmering, green leaves.

I bear in me that locked away

summer in my life.

 

Other summers, other places and battles

to be aware of myself among others.

But my staying in the world

is in that eternal summer.

 

In the colors of the sea, deep chasm swallowing

as a ravenous ogre the bodies of the runaways,

in the colors of the sky lies that eternal

 

summer, only as the soul’s peace is

for those who die by water.

In the light that blinds

the pupil of the alive.

 

(English Translations by Alessandra Bava)

 

|| Einar Már Guðmundsson ||

 

 

Einar Már Guðmundsson (b.1954) is a gifted novelist, short story writer and a poet, as well as a dedicated activist with a social vision. He is one of the most widely translated Icelandic authors born in the post-war period. A storyteller with a lyrical perceptive and humorous style, his work charts the growth of urban culture in the capital and the larger-than-life characters that it spawns. 

Guðmundsson has received numerous awards and recognition for his work, amongst them the Nordic Council Literary Prize in 1995, The Norwegian Bjørnson Prize and the Scharnberg Memorial Award in Denmark, The Karen Blixen Medal (an honorary award from the Danish Academy) and The Guiseppe Acerbi Literary Prize in Italy. 

In 2012 Einar Mar Guðmundsson received the Swedish Academy’s Nordic Prize, dubbed “the little Nobel”, for his contribution to literature. The Swedish Academy Nordic Prize was created in 1986 to celebrate the Swedish Academy’s 200 year’s anniversary. It is awarded to individuals in one of the Nordic Countries that have made remarkable contributions to literature or Swedish language.

 

 

 

If I was a damaged TV

 

If I was a damaged TV

I would most certainly

cause more disturbance

in your lives

Translated by Michael Dean Óðinn Pollock

 

 

Middle-aged couple

 

They hang around in the living room

like a sandwich but there is nothing

between them except the contentment

that separates them.

Translated by Bernard Scudder

 

 

Poem for Christmas

 

The innocent lambs of the Bible

become lambchops at Christmas

Translated by Michael Dean Óðinn Pollock

 

 

Poem for my sweetheart

 

After approximately 2000 years

when archaeologists dig up our bones

perhaps we could make love in the National Museum

Translated by Michael Dean Óðinn Pollock

 

 

I just can’t stop

 

I just can’t stop

at the corner of your lips

even though they are red

like traffic lights.

Translated by Michael Dean Óðinn Pollock

 

 

The Russian Revolution

 

The Russian revolution

is like a family album that

we thumb through without knowing who

took the photos and it’s even

doubtful who they are of

only one thing’s certain:

Frankenstein came to power in the end

Translated by Bernard Scudder.

 

 

Science fiction

Don’t ask

if life exists

on other planets

until you’ve

made quite certain

that it exists on this one too

Translated by Anna Yates

সবাই বেঁচে থাকে কেন?

-খালিদ মোশারফ

 

এত ছোট গাছ, এত বার ডাল ভাঙ্গা হয়েছে
এত ছোট গাছ, এত বার পাতা ছেড়া হয়েছে
এত ছোট গাছ, এত তৃষ্ণা পেয়েছে
এত ছোট গাছ, এভাবে বাঁচতে শিখেছে।
এত ছোট গাছ, এভাবে তাকাতে শিখেছে
এত ছোট গাছ, বুক উঁচু করে দাড়িয়ে
এত ছোট গাছ, বেঁচে থাকার কি যেন অর্থ খোঁজে
এত ছোট গাছ, সহ্য করে কিভাবে?
এত ছোট গাছ ,শীত লাগে শীত রাতে
এত ছোট গাছ, ফের কুশি গজাবে
এত ছোট গাছ, কাঠ হয়ে দাড়িয়ে
এত ছোট গাছ আবার ছাগলে পাতা ছিড়ে খাবে।
এত ছোট গাছ, সূর্য পানে তাকিয়ে
এত ছোট গাছ সূর্য তোমার পানে তাকিয়ে
এত ছোট গাছ কি যেন নিয়ে দাড়িয়ে
এত ছোট গাছ ছোট জীবনে সীমাহীন কষ্ট ছাপিয়ে
কষ্টকে কি ডেকে নেই দুহাত বাড়িয়ে?

|| সালমা তালুকদার ||

 

সকালটা ভারী মিষ্টি,

বেলকনির হাওয়ায় খোলা চুলগুলো যেমন বাতাসে দোল খাচ্ছে,

তেমনি অবাধ্য মনটাও কোথায় কোথায় উড়ে বেড়াচ্ছে!

ভাবনার রাজ্যে আমিই তো একমাত্র সম্রাজ্ঞী।

 

ভাবছি, ভেবেই চলেছি,

কালো চুলে আজকাল সাদা প্রলেপ পরেছে

মগজটাও কেমন ভোঁতা হয়ে যাচ্ছে!

ভাবনা গুলো আর ডাল পালা ছড়াচ্ছে না।

 

দুঃসহ স্মৃতিগুলো আপনজনের মতো, আশে-পাশে ঘুরে বেড়ায়

চোখের সামনে অতীত দৃশ্যমান হয়ে,  সামনের রাস্তাটাকে শ্মশান-ঘাট সাদৃশ্য মনে হয়।

মনে হয়, সুনসান শ্মশান ঘাটে আমি নগ্ন, বিধ্বস্ত

ভাবলেশহীন চাহনীতে শুধুই শূন্যতা।

 

ব্যাস্ত রাস্তার সব মানুষ গুলো তখন

হিংস্র শকুন রুপে আমার নগ্ন শরীরটাকে খুবলে নিতে ব্যাস্ত।

উৎসব করছে ওরা,

কেউ হাত ধরে টানছে, কেউ পা ধরে, কারো মুখ স্তনে, কারো যোনীতে।

 

কেউ চুষে খেয়ে ফেলছে ঠোঁট,  কেউ রক্তাক্ত করছে কান

প্রতিটা অঙ্গ, প্রতিটা মুহুর্ত; কামনার আগুনে দগ্ধ প্রতিনিয়ত।

আমি কি মানুষ ওদের কাছে?

নাকি শুধুই এক খন্ড মাংস!

 

প্রকৃতির অভিশপ্ত নারী দেহ!

পুরুষের তীব্র, লোলুপ দৃষ্টি থেকে যার মুক্তি মেলেনি কখনো

বেঁচে থেকেও প্রতি মুহূর্তে যার মৃত্যু ঘটছে ?

হায় নারীর জীবন! হায় দীর্ঘশ্বাস! 

 

যে দিন গেছে, তাই-ই কেবল ফিরে ফিরে আসে।

আর যন্ত্রণা কাতর হৃদয়ে রক্ত ক্ষরণ ঘটে।

কি করেছি আমি?

কি অন্যায় ছিলো আমার?

 

নারী দেহের ভাঁজ গুলোতে পুরুষের নির্মম চাহনী

পাশবিক অত্যাচারের ইতিহাসে বিপর্যস্ত আমি, আজ বেলকনিকে মনে করি কারাগার,

ব্যাস্ত রাস্তাকে মনে হয় ধূ ধূ শ্মশান ঘাট।

আর পুরুষ গুলোকে মনে হয় নেকড়ে, হায়না, শকুনের দল।

 

আজ আমি চিৎকার করে বলতে চাই, আমি মানুষ, মাংসপিন্ড নই!

আমি মানুষ, ভোগ্য বস্তু নই!

আমি মানুষ ,বলির পাঠা নই!

আমি মানুষ, আমি নারী,  শুধু একখানা মাংসপিন্ড নই!

OLD TIMES

Olimbi VELAJ (1971) was born in Mallakastra, Albania. She studied in Tirana and Sofia. Velaj is author of the lyric volumes Çastet vdesin nën akrepa orësh (Moments perish under the hands of clocks), Tirana, 1998; and Qenia pasdite (Afternoon existence), bilingual volume (Albanian-English, Tirana, 2003. Her poetry is published in 15 languages, in Balkan countries, in Europe and Azia in some of literature magazines and anthology. She has been in a number of poetry festivals and she has nominations and awards for her poetry. Velaj translates into Albanian contemporary poets.

Velaj works as a lecturer in Albanian Literature of XX century, Creative Writing and World Literature of the Nineteenth Century; she is Head of Literature Department, Faculty of Education “Aleksandër Moisiu” University, Durrës, Albania. Currently she is teaching Albanian Language, Literature and Culture in University of Belgrade, Department of Albanology.

Velaj worked as a journalist in cultural issues from 1993 till 2008 and she was one of representative journalist during transition, after communist regime in Albania. As a journalist she has published widely in cultural heritage and folklore. During 1997-1998 she had a research fellowship in Sofia University, focused on comparative studies on Ballads of the Balkans. Her PhD topic (2012) was “The Albanian ballad in the inter-Balkan context”. Her research interests are in areas of oral based literature and poetry, ballad theory and folk songs.

 

 

OLD TIMES

By Olimbi VELAJ

 

You too remember

Those old times

With naïve calls and postcards

Summer, like an apocalypse, had flown away

Over our bodies and dreams

Waiting, overwhelmed with anxiety

As embassies creaked under screams

I cannot forget your conviction

And the pure light

Under that sky of departure hours.

Then rains came back

Our longing grew distant

And anxiety kept fading

Like an ice cube with melted corners

Senses experienced other moods

And impressions became vague

Like thirst going out of attention

Now I remember you quite accidentally,

Unconsciously, as if you were a participant

In a ritual anniversary where reason cannot work.

 

English translation by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj.

 

 

JULIO PAVANETTI (Montevideo, Uruguay, 1954)  is a Poet and a Cultural Promoter. He lives in Spain since 1977 and is founder and President of the international poets association “Liceo Poético de Benidorm”.
Honorary Vice President of the “World Organization of Poets, Writers and Artists”. Cultural Delegate for Uruguay of “Hispano-American Union of Writers”.
Director of the poetry collection "Azul" of Enkuadres Publishers, Alzira, Spain.
Director of the International Poetry Festival “Benidorm & Costa Blanca” (FIPBECO). Honorary Member of the American Academy of Modern Literature (USA).
Member founder of the Student Academy of Contemporary Art in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Member of the “Association of Spanish Writers and Artists”.
Member of the “Spanish Collegiate Association of Writers”.
Member of the “World Poetry Movement”.
He has published ten books, one of them bilingual Romanian/Spanish, published in Romania. His book “Al roce de la piel callada”, winner of the first prize in the contest of Aspe, Spain, in 2015, will be published soon in English / Spanish bilingual edition. He has participated in several international poetry festivals and has taken part in more than 50 international anthologies. He had received many awards, honors and recognitions, both for his poetry as for his cultural work. Many of his poems have been translated, into English, Italian, Catalan, French, Arabic, Romanian, Portuguese, Croatian, German, Dutch, Japanese, Turkish, Malay, Greek and Mycenaean Greek (Linear B), and have been published on innumerable national and international newspapers and literary magazines, both in digital and printed format.

  

 

THEY SILENCED OUR CHANT...

 

They silenced our chant

they tear out our feathers

and cut our wings

without them they push us to the woods

they piled up hopeless moons

in a horizon that stopped escaping.

 

Not happy with cutting the chain

they broke links

and raped our houses

they confiscated letters to our parents

whilst beyond the sea

we had to survive with no news

when internet did not exist.

 

Located in our own abyss

we tried to connect our steps

to an unhurt hope

but in a shared reality

we stayed face to face with time.

 

We wandered as nomads

unknown and unlinked

we resist the disillusionment

of messy days in memory,

like lingering feelings in rebelliousness.

 

But we had survived

teaching exile in freedom

burning each one on them own way

in a fight against the sea that brought us

deaf rumours of absences.

 

Temporary lives with us

although it sleeps out in the open.

 

Human being gets used to everything,

some of us saw muses go away

while we tried to reborn

breathing peripheries.

 

Trapped in the net

that warps survival

muses slowly came back

others rediscovered them

drowning dictatorship on alcohol

but sooner or later all of us

came back to look for lost youth.

 

Life is like a wound that worsens with years.

 

© Julio Pavanetti 

Translated into English by Prof. Gabriela Pavanetti

 

Page 3 of 6

লেখা পাঠাবার নিয়ম

মৌলিক লেখা হতে হবে।

নির্ভুল বানান ও ইউনিকোড বাংলায় টাইপকৃত হতে হবে।

অনুবাদ এর ক্ষেত্রে মুল লেখকের নাম ও সংক্ষিপ্ত লেখক পরিচিতি দিতে হবে।

আরো দিতে পারেন

লেখকের ছবি।

সংক্ষিপ্ত লেখক পরিচিতি।

বিষয় বস্তুর সাথে সামঞ্জস্যপূর্ণ অঙ্কন চিত্র বা ছবি। 

সম্পাদক | Editor

তারিক সামিন

Tareq Samin

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লেখা পাঠাবার জন্য

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