PPP Ezine Poetrypoeticspleasure Ezine Volume 1; Issue 3; Year 2017
Poet of the month: Michael Lee Johnson
- Whispers from the Grave
(Heart attack 50 years of age)
By Michael Lee Johnson
What happened to 20 acres of farmland tilted toward sun angles,
those sharp stone edges cool fall comes
frost fields covered taking ownership of rented, abused, abandoned land−
10 years Phil has been gone, DeKalb, Illinois farmer.
Did he find salvation in those gold cornfields?
October orange colors, hayrides, and pumpkin harvest
of grey, grave bones buried near the deadly bicycle ride.
Mystery did his lover Betsy
(defense, prosecuting attorney, Elgin, Illinois)
stand by his site after she went through mourning,
the grandstanding at the wake at the farm,
the dimming of all candles, incenses, and memorial shrine
she held sacred within her bedroom walls, now faded.
2. Mount Pleasant Cemetery (V2)
(Toronto, Ontario Canada)
By Michael Lee Johnson
Gravediggers uprooting caskets
with sharp, steel shovels-
each slicing step downward
through nerve-rooted earth
cooper pennies jingle in change
pouches dangling by their sides.
They chat casually of Jesus,
His painless resurrection
from the sealed tomb,
money-changers being chased
away from God’s holy temple.
3. Everything Red for the Queen
By Michael Lee Johnson
(Ekphrastic Poetry, Photo Attached)
Everything is red
in the kingdom of the queen.
Matador hat with barnacles,
witch white hair to the shoulders,
tickling the breast.
In her eyes are the blood shot
of many vampires;
in her heart the daggers
of many soldiers.
Five inky fingers
cross her throat
like an ill-fitted necklace.
Her dress is like heart charms,
scales of fish dripping
blood toward her toes.
Withy, twists around her throat.
Anglers of the court toss hooks
toward her cherry red lips,
capture the moment
of the haze of purple
surrounding her head.
Everything is red
in the kingdom of the queen.
Death changes colors from red to blue.
Author’s notes: this poem was developed from a picture that is available.
4. The March of the Emperor Penguins
By Michael Lee Johnson
Emperor Penguins never set feet on land,
straight up their feet on ice, tuxedo’s with short feathers
overlapped, waterproofed, inner down layers insulated with air.
Heads bobble fat fannies waddle, the march to the homeland begins.
70 miles the clan walks and slides away from the sea and back to the sea.
70 miles into the darkest, driest and coldest continent, Antarctica cradles up the South Pole.
High step, searching for partners for one year, away from predators, the mating party begins.
Mutual sex they turn check format a goal, breed their young, months of illness, hurt, struggles, isolation, separation face in the winter the great white ghost of death.
Starvation is a 2-way trip the male is the mother 120 days, mother goes for food-
at one point tough they all must go back to the ocean and sea.
Emperor Penguins they dance and huddle.
Back they go to the ice, to the flow, and sea 50/50, millions of years ago.
5. Whispers from the Grave
(Heart attack 50 years of age)
By Michael Lee Johnson
What happened to 20 acres of farmland tilted toward sun angles,
those sharp stone edges cool fall comes
frost fields covered taking ownership of rented, abused, abandoned land−
10 years Phil has been gone, DeKalb, Illinois farmer.
Did he find salvation in those gold cornfields?
October orange colors, hayrides, and pumpkin harvest
of grey, grave bones buried near the deadly bicycle ride.
Mystery did his lover Betsy
(defense, prosecuting attorney, Elgin, Illinois)
stand by his site after she went through mourning,
the grandstanding at the wake at the farm,
the dimming of all candles, incenses, and memorial shrine
she held sacred within her bedroom walls, now faded.
6. Mount Pleasant Cemetery (V2)
(Toronto, Ontario Canada)
By Michael Lee Johnson
Gravediggers uprooting caskets
with sharp, steel shovels-
each slicing step downward
through nerve-rooted earth
cooper pennies jingle in change
pouches dangling by their sides.
They chat casually of Jesus,
His painless resurrection
from the sealed tomb,
money-changers being chased
away from God’s holy temple.
7. Reincarnation (V2)
By Michael Lee Johnson
Next life I will be a little higher on the pecking order.
No longer a dishwasher at the House of Pancakes,
or Ricky’s All Day Grill, or Sunday night small dog thief.
I will evolve into the Prince of Bullfrogs, crickets don’t bother,
swamp flies don’t bother me-I eat them. Alligators I avoid.
I urinate on lily pads mate across borders, continents at will.
Someone else from India can wash my dishes locally for me.
Forward all complaints to that religious office of Indian affairs.
8. Detective Poetic Johnson Here
By Michael Lee Johnson
December 1st 2016,
detective Johnson here.
I see my shrink for the 1st time,
I’m low maintenance, one every 3 months,
Dr. Pennypecker. He is tight ass conservative type
with a raisin dry personality who tries to keep sober
and focused so he can focus on me.
I’m a grade 3 drop out with a degree
in elementary school bullshit.
I ask him how his children are.
“I only have one, let’s focus on YOU!”
Nice haircut, Dr. Pennypecker,
have you ever noticed how the poor people
who usually come here, are Mexicans,
and they all can afford a $60 a month cell phone?
“Let’s stay focused!”
I tell Dr. Pennypecker I love Jesus, I love the Holy Ghost,
I love the Father; most of these Mexicans do too.
With all these rain clouds up above outside this window here,
I believe we are all together until I pass.
“Now that is interesting, let’s focus on that!”
I tell Dr. Pennypecker when I get upset about something
I know is my fault and I do have problems
sleeping but I don’t dwell on that too much.
“Let’s focus on that!”
Is 20 milligrams of Citalopram, antidepressants, generic,
enough or should we cut it back?
Oh no, don’t do that Dr. Pennypecker. By the way, Dr. Pennypecker,
how do you cut your hair in the back when you have your own Wal-Mart
Pro Clipper Haircutting Kit set on # 2?
“I put a paper back there and I put a mirror back there and I sort of do,
no, no, let’s not focus on that!”
I walk out the door ready for my next appointment 3 months down the road.
I open the door for a stranger ready for his appointment; I say, “have a good day.”
He is so self-centered, that his long hair and the way he moves back and forth
sways, swings, doesn’t say anything he is so damn self-absorbed in his own gray cloud.
This was my day with Dr. Pennypecker.
9. I Edit my Life
By Michael Lee Johnson
I edit my life
clothesline pins & clips
hang to dry,
dirty laundry,
I turn poetic hedonistic
in my early 70’s
reviewing the joys
and the sorrows
of my journey.
I find myself wanting
a new review, a new product,
a new time machine,
a new internet space,
a new planet where
we small, wee creative
creatures can grow.
10. Day Time Bitch & Nighttime Whore (2)
By Michael Lee Johnson
Fern Dickson life untrue to her marital vows, peachy,
what did you expect from the Indiana Rockville whore?
Daddy was welder man, sweat, bleeder bending
over hot steel rolls all day, he was a verb man,
Oliver farmer, noun, welder machine man.
Fern Dickson was a sneak out the door whore, peachy,
2:30 pm. daily was her homemaker check out time.
Waddling penguin style down to Kubiak’s bar
to write her own mystery novel.
Demolition of their marriage, started with table hopping at the bar,
peachy, free drinks and a celebration of wholesale sex.
Narrative, family circles and circuses run in the gypsies of whores,
daddy dog, dancing sin, with the Rockville whore.
Daddy comes home from work,
angered at the burned potato fries,
cold Sauerkraut, Bush’s fresh out of the can,
maple cured baked beans, cold Cole Slaw, A&P grocery store.
Narrative, old prostitute whore habits die-hard.
Coon hunting, fox hunting daddy, I’m the storyteller
of this Rockville, Indiana whore.
Her brass tits suck then stuck in the mouths of strangers at the local bar, peachy.
Fern has no regular job, bar hopping, table jumping,
became her unemployment check, salary, entertainment and career, peachy.
This cemetery now is Archangel Lucifer, secretary, note taker
for the Rockville whore.
11. Children in the Sky (V2)
By Michael Lee Johnson
There is a full moon,
distant in this sky tonight,
Gray planets planted
on an aging white, face.
Children, living and dead,
love the moon with small hearts.
Those in heaven already take gold thread,
drop the moon down for us all to see.
Those alive with us, look out their
bedroom windows tonight,
we smile, then prayers, then sleep.
12. Lilly, Lonely Trailer Prostitute (V2)
By Michael Lee Johnson
Paint your face with cosmetic smiles.
Toss your breast around with synthetic plastic.
Don’t leak single secrets to strangers-
locked in your trailer 8 foot wide by 50 foot long
with twisted carrots, cucumbers, weak batteries,
and colorful dildos-you’ve even given them names:
Adams’s pleasure skin, big Ben on the raise, Rasputin:
the Mad Monk-oh no, no, no.
Your legs hang with the signed signatures
of playboys and drifters ink.
The lot rent went up again this year.
Paint your face, walk the streets
again with cosmetic smiles.
A Mother and Her Son by Indunil Madhusankha
We have an āchchi in the neighbourhood
She has a son
fitting to be called
a highly dedicated son
She sweats out
from morning till night
cooking, washing, sweeping and cleaning
She performs all the daily chores
Her eldest son,
the most affectionate of her children
displays a great solicitude to see his mother
Not once in a blue moon like the others
but monthly he makes a visit,
empty handed,
to have a meeting with his distraught mother
A typical loving conversation breaks out
It is with showy hesitation and sluggishness
that he accepts his mother’s sum
which she earned with exertion
And then he spends it
to buy arrack
Her son,
Her devoted son….
(Previously published in the Literary Yard e-Journal on 29th December 2015)
Letting Go by Lynn Long
Deep within a
truth was heard
A symphony of
silent words
So profound
in all true rarity
Its sound was
pure and blissful
clarity
For, in letting go
She at last could
hear her soul
Holding On by Ann Christine Tabaka
A single leaf
Survived the winter
Tenaciously hanging
Onto the bare branch
The heavy snows
And howling winds
Could not budge it
It remained resilient
It stood the test of time
Through many months
Trials and tribulations
Of the fierce season
Now spring is here
And the old must yield
To the green buds
Pushing from within
It could withstand
The harshest weather
But not the gentle
Nudging of new growth
Life goes in cycles
It cannot be stopped
The old must eventually
Make way for the new
The King’s Covenant by Ken Allan Dronsfield
A rumbling hum
from a conveyance
from a conveyance
paths grows narrow
to less stable minds
to less stable minds
ambivalent posers
and closers scheme
and closers scheme
flocks of starlings
roost in leafless oaks
roost in leafless oaks
stone Prince stands
proud on a muddy hill
proud on a muddy hill
dead rose petals
blow across my crypt
blow across my crypt
wrought iron gates
disintegrate into rhyme
disintegrate into rhyme
lichen and moss coat
forgotten headstones
forgotten headstones
in a soft whisper
old souls just rust away.
old souls just rust away.
dead leaf and fodder feed
new spring grasses.
new spring grasses.
I rule in faded memories,
for I was Once the King.
for I was Once the King.
I’ve already died by Aminool Islam
I’ve already died
Of your love
Kill me not,O’ my beloved!
Kill not the deceased again
I’ve already burnt
With your severance
Set me not on fire,Dearest!
Burn not the ashes again.
The Love Song of a Pagan Priest by Sudeep Adhikari
Sapphire silence of that blue empty velvet
mirrors the space of my mind.
I watched myself watching you
through your eyes, burning in desirous flames.
And I became the tree of the morn
soaked in passion; drips, drops
caressing every inches of your fractal curves
kinks and pricks, tulips and thrones.
I am the world you see,
through the eyes of your dreams.
Subject and object are entwined,
in a liquid field of sexed-up whole
an error of misplaced duality, is forgiven
by the pure naught.
There is no “me”, there is no “you”
only a field of relations
we make out, we make each other.
Silence speaks the grammar of Nothing
a closure in the plane of time
translates to a feastly inauguration,
Impersonal-spiritual.
The Elephant who Loves Books by Daginne Aignend
I know, I always have been
a beast of burden
Because of my strength
and my patience
A friendly character with
a stubborn perseverance
I’m a vegetarian,
no nourishment by cadavers for me
Still, I’m muscular,
perhaps a tiny little over-weighted
My only weakness is
my hunger for knowledge
An unquenchable desire
to fill my brain cells
with every shred,
every snippet of information
My intelligence exceeds most IQ standards
and that’s why I have decided
to carry exclusively
the written word on my back
My burden shall exist out of parchment,
ink and the wisdom and figments of
those who contribute to the
world of aesthetic writing
Hailing Cabs Instead of Caesar by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
I am glad I do not live in the Midwest.
To be stuck in the middle of anything sounds bad.
Like a bellybutton mid-drift that everyone
pokes at.
Sure there are antibiotics,
but you have to get infected
first.
I prefer to be far away from everything.
Like an oil tanker that could spill its guts
into the tangy writhing ocean
and no one would know.
Removed
like a disruptive child
from the rest of
the class.
Far away as space.
That kind of distance.
Unsure of everything
and somehow comforted
by that.
People meet
in a way expectations
seldom do.
The reality of anything
is a little less.
And living at one extreme
it takes some serious imagination to
envision the other.
Gallivanting over the limber
technocrats of sweaty squash court
MS-DOS.
Hailing cabs
instead of Caesar.
Fingering the grease
of questionable all-night pizzerias
in small circular motions
that remind you of the
sink drain.
Petrichor by Pranati Sankar Banik
And the petrichor of monsoon
Comes from little corpses
Fossilized in the dark gaps
Amid the green grassy pasture.
when they die, the grass flowers,
The unknown tiny worms & ants
Never worry of heaven or hell.
Such self reliant selves worth so much
As their fragrance out of their dead shell.
Comes from little corpses
Fossilized in the dark gaps
Amid the green grassy pasture.
when they die, the grass flowers,
The unknown tiny worms & ants
Never worry of heaven or hell.
Such self reliant selves worth so much
As their fragrance out of their dead shell.
Rain baptizes them, redeems them too,
Death, a mere occasion, beneath a shoe.
Death, a mere occasion, beneath a shoe.
Having Mercy on Injustice by Ndaba Sibanda
Mhlophe heard the relative of the murdered victim
ask the peace-preaching relative of the murderer
ask the peace-preaching relative of the murderer
“What qualifies you to pardon the murderer besides
your relationship to him and the associated benefits?”
Indeed the peace advocate had decided to unilaterally
forgive the murderer, to absolve him of the heinous crime
But how did you forgive someone who was unrepentant and unconcerned?
Did that action of forgiving honestly tie up with the tenets of justice and empathy?
your relationship to him and the associated benefits?”
Indeed the peace advocate had decided to unilaterally
forgive the murderer, to absolve him of the heinous crime
But how did you forgive someone who was unrepentant and unconcerned?
Did that action of forgiving honestly tie up with the tenets of justice and empathy?
Façade by Eliza Segiet
she met
with the past.
She was hoping
that she was gone into oblivion.
Now she knows that she will not be silent.
Those days still entice.
On a short, one-way
—like life—street
she wanted to see an old house
with a wall that was marked
by her love.
Someone was renovating the façade.
He painted over the signs
and shouted from above:
do not worry, it’ll be fine!
The same words she has heard before,
but
this voice sounded different:
do not worry, it’ll be fine.
On the wall
of a townhouse without a future
there was no more sign of time.
On a short, one-way
—like life—street
one can paint over words,
but there is no paint
for erasing memory.
[Translated by Artur Komoter]
Preface
Three is a number with strong mystical associations. It is trinity, and elements, and worlds and past-present-future in one. Our third issue comes with the Monsoon showers and brings poetry and poetics to you. This issue has poems, interviews and articles on poetry and poets. We are proud to present to you poets from Nigeria, Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, India, Canada and the USA in this one issue. Thus PPP Ezine takes one more step towards weltliterature.
Interview: Asha Viswas
PPP Ezine: Who are your favorite poets, if possible, also tell us what makes them your favorite?
AV: My first love was Shelley. 19th century poetry, both Romantic and Victorian, appealed to me. Amongst individual writers Blake, Eliot, Neruda, Lorca, Borges were my other loves. I have avidly read Australian poets like David Malouf , Crabbe ,Kinsella ,Thomas Shapcott and Les Murray. Amongst the Indian writers I admire Daruwalla, Adil Jussawalla and Mahapatra. Now to the second part of this question as to what makes them my favourites , it is really difficult to answer . I think in our teens and early twenties we all love Romantic poetry. Romanticism starts as a revolt against the conscious mind- “Le Romantisme c’est la revolucion“. From this conscious thinking level they move to the dreaming consciousness and finally tap at the doors of eternity. This quest for the evading beauty one finds in all the Romantics and perhaps, this is what appeals to me even now .
PPP Ezine: This one is a direct descendant of Matthew Arnold’s Touchstone Method: ‘They say that there are lines in a poem that make its heart. You may call them the poetry of poetry. Do you remember some such lines of yours or from some of your favorite poets that will help us understand your vision of poetry? If yes, please do give us some of those lines.
AV: I think one can always quote Keats’ lines: “Beauty is Truth, Truth beauty” – this is his advice to the poets, not to ordinary human beings. Poets should not ignore realism at the cost of imagination – a sort of bringing the two together. Beauty for him was the way to vision. With reference to a work of art, beauty is the emotional recognition of truth. Then we have Wordsworth’s oft quoted lines “poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings “. Almost every great poet in every age writes about his own views about poetry- what it is and how it comes into being.
PPP Ezine: There has been a debate raging among the lovers of free verse and formal verse. Where do you stand in this debate? Why?
AV: Poets write either in traditional formal verse or free verse. Sri Aurobindo , amongst Indian writers , was the master of traditional formal verse. Ezekiel wrote some of his poems in traditional verse. Most of the modern writers in India write in free verse. I think we should leave it to the poets whether they write in free verse which gives them much freedom or in formal verse. As most of the Indian poets writing in English are not the native speakers of English, it is not easy for them to have a thorough command over English versification. Hence they write in free verse. Of course, there are exceptions. I write in free verse.
PPP Ezine: You have been writing for a long time. If you could tell us something about what inspired you to write poems in the first place, and then, what kept you going, it’d be inspiring for the new poets.
AV: Usually, it is said that our parents make us what we are. But I think it is our siblings that make us what we are. I was the youngest of the four daughters and there was a lot of difference in our ages. As a child i was never included in their games or teen age talks. I always felt a sense of loneliness, alienation and isolation. I sought comfort in a dream world all my own and built a shell where i wove those poetic dreams. I wrote some short stories in class ix which appeared in the school magazine. At college level a few poems were written and destroyed. Being a very secretive person I never showed my poems to anyone. It was only when I was working at the University of Calabar, Nigeria that a colleague of mine, Robert Meredith from Harvard University, U.S.A. read some of these poems and encouraged me to publish them. I feel that poets feel this need for writing a poem- a sort of bug that bites you .
PPP Ezine: Give our new poets a few tips (3 or more) for composing well.
AV: The only advice I can give is to read poetry, does not matter what poets you read, but read and then start writing, if possible a few lines every day.
PPP Ezine: Rejection is a life-long friend or enemy of a poet. Please tell us how you responded/respond to your rejections in the past, and now?
AV: My very first collection Melting Memories got me MICHAEL MADHUSUDAN Academy award, so there was no sense of feeling rejected. I have won many awards, was also short listed in a poetry competition organized by the poetry society India and the British council. But it is also true that a poet living in small place finds it hard to get his or her poems published. I think in the present scenario it is really difficult to get your poetry published in metros like Delhi and Mumbai. no one reads poetry and the publishers charge a lot of money for publishing your poems.
Interview: Linda Crate
PPP Ezine: Who are your favorite poets, if possible, also tell us what makes them your favorite?
LC: Edgar Allan Poe is one of my favorite poets because I loved how he could construct mournful, dark matters and form them into beautiful lyrics that haunt and linger.
Emily Dickinson is another of my favorites because I love the simplicity of her poems because I feel sometimes the simplicity of her poems makes them more complex and profound in a way.
Adrienne Rich is another poet whose works have really affected me deeply. I love the way she slings words like bullets. Each word, each line has meaning and I love the musicality of her words.
There are many other poets whose works I admire. I just haven’t read all of their works widely as I have an ever growing reading list that never really seems to end.
PPP Ezine: This one is a direct descendant of Matthew Arnold’s Touchstone Method: ‘They say that there are lines in a poem that make its heart. You may call them the poetry of poetry. Do you remember some such lines of yours or from some of your favorite poets that will help us understand your vision of poetry? If yes, please do give us some of those lines.
LC: April is the cruelest month has always stuck with me from T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland. I think often of the hyacinth girl because I love the imagery in the piece. A poem without imagery and vision to me is just words strung together meaninglessly. I think abstract poems are harder for me to enjoy because poems that have a heartbeat generally have verses that touch my soul and refuse to let go.
When I think of Adrienne Rich’s Poem “Into The Wreck” the line “I am she/I am he” sticks with me. Because I believe we all have qualities in us that could be considered male and female, but that doesn’t mean that we have to identify as masculine or feminine. It’s just the duplicity and complex paradox of mankind.
In my own poem “Broken Elevator” published in the Summer 2013 issue of The Milo Review the lines “i’ve burnt too many wax wings / tying to reach the sun / your heart won’t be conquered” are very important to me because it conveys that I’ve tried to help but too many times I have hurt myself so I’m no longer going to continue to try to fight for someone who won’t hear me out or love me as I love them. I think we must remember to spend our time and energy wisely as we have a limited time on this Earth.
PPP Ezine: There has been a debate raging among the lovers of free verse and formal verse. Where do you stand in this debate? Why?
LC: I think they’ve both got merit. I highly admire those who can write formal verse, but I often find formal verse too stuffy and very hard for me to write. I prefer writing free verse because I can make it musical whilst following my own rules. I don’t really think one is better than the other, though. They are both important to culture, I think, as they both exist widely today. To say one is better than the other, I think, is rather moot because I feel that you can learn as much from a free verse poem as you can from a sonnet.
PPP Ezine: You have been writing for a long time. If you could tell us something about what inspired you to write poems in the first place, and then, what kept you going, it’d be inspiring for the new poets.
LC: I have always enjoyed writing. Even as a girl. What sparked my love for writing was actually first my love for stories. I loved the way you could create worlds from words where there was once nothing. I decided that was something that I wanted to do, too. I thought if I could tell others stories and poems that they loved that perhaps I could challenge their point of view or make them consider another’s perspective. If I could heal someone? All the better. I wanted to touch the world in words because books were the one thing that saved my life when I was a young girl. They were the friends I was too shy to make at school, they were the friends that never judged me or stabbed me in the back.
PPP Ezine: Give our new poets a few tips (3 or more) for composing well.
LC: a) Read what’s currently popular and take what you like and discard what you don’t like to form your own sort of style.
- b) Try to think of topics and subject matter that are personal and matter to you and then think of an inventive, creative spin to it so that you can reach other readers.
- c) Use your own voice. Don’t try too hard to emulate other poets and writers. Each of us has a unique voice, and you should and can use that to your own advantage.
PPP Ezine: Rejection is a life-long friend or enemy of a poet. Please tell us how you responded/respond to your rejections in the past, and now?
LC: Rejections are always hard. Some hurt more than others – I think the rejections that have hurt me the most are the ones where a publisher has told me they will take my work and then decide that they cannot or do not want the pieces. There have been some tears and some frustrations, but I remain professional. I use my pain and my sorrow to drive me and push me to write and make works that are worth being read, and if I really like a piece I will keep sending it to different publishers because taste is really a subjective thing.
I used to feel dejected about rejections and wonder if I was good enough to continue. While sometimes I still get this feeling, I try to push it away. I remind myself of all that I have accomplished, what I wish to accomplish, and tell myself I have gone too far to start turning back now. Writing is my dream, and I’m not willing to give up.
I remember, too, that great authors and writers have been turned away several times yet kept going and this fuels me, too. The world would be a very different place without the talents of writers like Anne Rice, J.K. Rowling, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and many others whose work was not appreciated by all the publishers they sent their poems to. Persistence and the ability to go on are key after rejection if you are really willing and ready to accomplish your dream.
PPP Ezine: A poet has a cultivated mind. Give us some pointers to cultivate the poetic faculties/genius.
LC: I think it’s important to read a lot of books. Even ones that generally aren’t your fancy. Read poems and things that challenge you and your points of view. Try to understand the way another person feels, be friends with people who aren’t like you, be willing to accept that everyone has something to offer the world and never be too quick to dismiss advice given by others. Maybe you agree or disagree, but I think listening to people; learning about different cultures, and simply living help to cultivate the mind and make it grow.
PPP Ezine: You have been published and read widely. Please give some tips on submission that increases the chances for selection.
LC: Be brave. Write the stories that need to be told. Also you have to face rejection so prepare for it, but don’t let your fear dismantle you from beginning. Go for it, anyway. Anything worth having can be hard to achieve. Accept that everyone has their own personal preferences and styles, and just because one press doesn’t like something you’ve written doesn’t mean another one won’t love it. Find your niche, find the places that love you, and never stop growing in your writing. Write every day. Even on the days where the writing is hard to get out. It’s important to make it a habit if you want to do it consistently. Like anything else, you have to train yourself and make time for it, if you want to accomplish it.
Inteview Suryasri Saha
PPP Ezine: Who are your favorite poets, if possible, also tell us what makes them your favorite?
SS: Ther e are so many wonderful poets. Just choosing one would be so difficult. Still I would say among the Indian poets ‘Rabindranath Tagore’ and ‘Kazi Najrul Islam’ are my favorites. Among the foreign poets ‘Robert Frost’, ‘Alfred Lord Tennyson’ and ’Emily Dickinson’ are my favorites.
PPP Ezine: This one is a direct descendent of Matthew Arnold’s Touchstone Method: ‘They say that there are lines in a poem that make its heart. You may call them the poetry of poetry. Do you remember some such lines of yours or from some of your favorite poets that will help us understand your vision of poetry? If yes, please do give us some of those lines.
SS: Yes it is very true that there are lines in a poem which make its heart. For me, poetry is one of the most soulful ways of expressing one’s emotions. It is the twist and turns of words which gives a whole new meaning to life. Here is an excerpt of one of my poems ‘Poetry’ which can express my idea of poetry better.
“Poetry creates much wonders..
It immerses one into another world
enticing towards thoughts ineffable and
giving the mind a transient solitude.
It enthralls the heart to feel and empathize
with emotions deeper…
It lightens and burdens the soul
at the same time in no time,
It plays with words delicately
treating each as musical paraphernalia,
creating tunes extremely varied and beautiful..
It drives one into a vivid imagination entangling
the mind into a different state..”
Once we expose ourselves to the world of poetry we realize that there cannot be any turning back. After all it gives us so much in return. I believe poetry is a means to achieve contentment even in solitude.
PPP Ezine: There has been a debate raging among the lovers of free verse and formal verse. Where do you stand in this debate? Why?
SS: Poetry is all about expressing ourselves. Whether free or formal verse it all depends on the poet’s individual choice. I would prefer free verse because it gives poets the freedom to express in any way they want. I believe the soul is free so it must be expressed freely as well. If we bind it under rules then it gets chained. Hence I would go for free verse which gives poets a lot of freedom.
PPP Ezine: Give our new poets a few tips (3 or more) for composing well.
SS: Don’t be afraid to express yourself. That is what I always say. Don’t worry about vocabulary or all the flowery language, just speak your heart out and let your soul feel every emotions freely be it little or big. That’s all.
PPP Ezine: Rejection is a life-long friend or enemy of a poet. Please tell us how you responded/respond to your rejections in the past, and now?
SS: Rejection is a part of life as they say. What is a life without rejection after all? Life is a mixture of both good and bad. We must be able to handle rejection. After all rejection is just the beginning of success. So far poetry is concerned don’t focus on publications initially. First just write for the love of writing. If you feel poetry is your passion then just write without fearing rejections. Write just because you love it.
For me 1 publication in the face of 10 rejections also matters because that one publication can balance all the ten rejections. So just write without worrying about publications and all.
PPP Ezine: A poet has a cultivated mind. Give us some pointers to cultivate the poetic faculties/genius.
SS: I would advice reading. After all reading is something which cultivates the mind. It enables one to live so many lives in one life itself. I would suggest writers to read a lot. You can read anything be it novels or short stories or poetries or anything of your choice as long as it allows you to think and get engrossed into a whole new world. Also be a good thinker. I think two important traits for poetry are thoughts and imagination. So, don’t restrict yourself from being a thinker and an ‘imaginator’.
Interview: Ndaba Sibanda
PPP Ezine: Who are your favorite poets, if possible, also tell us what makes them your favorite?
NS: Without a shred of doubt, Okot p’Bitek is one of my favorite poets. I think of his blend of poetry as epic, free and flowing. Through his pieces like Song of Lawino one encounters a lengthy structure of short, free verses which flow rapidly and easily. He employs striking metaphor, proverbs and orature to showcase and tackle the social, political and cultural alienation bedeviling the African people on the African continent.
I also admire Jack Mapanje because his works depict an amazing measure of courage, originality, imagery and stinging irony. His voice is uncompromisingly fearless in the face of dictatorship and incarceration. A poet, a linguist, a human rights activist, a teacher of the literature of incarceration— Mapanje is the voice of the voiceless and powerless. What more, his works are imbedded in African rich oral traditions.
I also like works of many contemporary poets. Other writers whose works I find interesting or worth mentioning include Frank Chipasula, Ndongolera Mwangupili, Phathisa Nyathi, Bernard Ndlovu, Ken Saro-Wiwa,, Chenjerai Hove, Micere Githae Mugo , Mzwakhe Mbuli , Wole Soyinka, Christopher Okigbo , Ben Okri , Maya Angelou , Alice Walker and Amiri Baraka.
PPP Ezine: This one is a direct descendent of Matthew Arnold’s Touchstone Method: ‘They say that there are lines in a poem that make its heart. You may call them the poetry of poetry. Do you remember some such lines of yours or from some of your favorite poets that will help us understand your vision of poetry? If yes, please do give us some of those lines.
NS: Yes. Perhaps the following lines constitute the heart of my poem 12 Days:
at nine o`clock l was whizzed to a funny family doctor
who robotically administered eight jumping jabs
on me without as much as a wink for his antics
l actually saw seven stars of dizziness with my naked eyes … and slept
for six silent hours like a dull dumped puppy pumpkin
PPP Ezine: There has been a debate raging among the lovers of free verse and formal verse. Where do you stand in this debate? Why?
NS: Poetry forms are/were invented and developed by poets in their quest to enhance the aesthetic and rhythmic qualities of language, and therefore I should not be a slave to them. If I can manage to express feelings and ideas with a certain measure of intensity in whatever form, then that is fine with me. I do not consider myself a formalist though I have written and published a couple of couplets or narrative poems or epic poems. At times I enjoy a diet of free verse because it does not follow any rules. I believe that each piece has its own mood and theme, hence narration and style change from one poem to another.
PPP Ezine: You have been writing for a long time. If you could tell us something about what inspired you to write poems in the first place, and then, what kept you going, it’d be inspiring for the new poets.
NS: I was inspired by my classmates, the institutionally– chosen examinable books we read and the things I heard and saw. What kept me going on was my passion. I will repeat what I said in another interview a few years ago: Passion is that power that breaks down boundaries, and takes you to unknown places.
PPP Ezine: Give our new poets a few tips (3 or more) for composing well.
NS: My advice is tied to my mantra which based on creativity, originality, positivity and perseverance. Do not despair. If you have the right drive and gift, then you are on the right course.
PPP Ezine: Rejection is a life-long friend or enemy of a poet. Please tell us how you responded/respond to your rejections in the past, and now?
NS: In the past I used to break down and feel inadequate or devastated after receiving a rejection slip. However, now I know that rejections are the ointment for improvement or reflection, or part of the literary game, and that they do not always necessarily bare one`s inadequacy or idiocy. Take lessons from rejections and be motivated to move on as a better artist.
PPP Ezine: A poet has a cultivated mind. Give us some pointers to cultivate the poetic faculties/genius.
NS: A poet, like a farmer has a cultivated mind because he/she has to plant, tend, harvest and improve his piece so that it is fit for public consumption. In other words, good poets work to make their pieces of art better by writing and re-writing them and by reading experienced poets` works. They do not harvest or submit to publishers any pieces that are not ripe or ready!
PPP Ezine: You have been published and read widely. Please give some tips on submission that increases the chances for selection.
NS: My advice is tied to my mantra which is based on creativity, originality, positivity and perseverance. Do not despair. If you have the right drive and gift, then you are on the right course.
The Art and Craft of Poetry by Joanne Olivieri
You wake up in the middle of the night. It is 3:00 am and you cannot get back to sleep. Ideas, street scenes and dreams swirl around in your head activating your creative membranes with words that you know you will forget by dawn. What do you do? Always keep a pen and paper by your bed and jot down those words and ideas. No need to form those words. Those words will become meaningful as you meld them together with your ideas during daylight hours.
The craft of writing poetry does not adhere to the 9 to 5 seven day week venue. Poetry comes to you when you are least expecting it and when you are open to its visit. If you treat poetry as a job it will inevitably fill your days with writer’s block. Poetry is born of the heart and soul and not the brain. The heart holds the poem and the brain forms the style.
The following quote by poet Lucille Clifton most adequately describes poetry in its most raw form.
“I think that we’re beginning to remember that the first poets didn’t come out of a classroom, that poetry began when somebody walked off of a savanna or out of a cave and looked up at the sky with wonder and said, “Ahhh.” That was the first poem.” – Lucille Clifton.
The following poem, written by me titled Writer at Heart explains my vision of what poetry is and what the writer explores and displays in his or her own mind.
A Writer At Heart
Words
Emotional expressions
inherent deep within spirit.
Passion are these words
undeniably expressed,
shared, proclaimed
in stanzaic precision.
The writer
Sensitive, intuitive
feelings arise, awaken
born from within
depths of the soul.
A soul unknown
if not for their words.
Ego revisited
firmly understood
and happily embraced.
The writer paints words
with a knowing
of authentic self
creatively expressed.
Memories, dreams
Parade the mind
As streaming videos.
These visual scenarios
Breathe life into the heart
And have no choice
But to be reborn.
Reflections
A glimpse into the heart
where the writer resides
words a mirror to the soul.
A soul which lives
Within the mind
without fear.
The heart
pumps words
through the veins
never missing a beat.
The writer writes
to a different beat
only he hears.
There is no real craft in writing poetry, as it come from the heart and begs to be seen and heard in various forms.
It is imperative however, that poets read more poetry than they write. In order to find your own voice and you need to study the poetic voices of different poets from the traditionalists to the contemporary. This practice will allow you the freedom to find your own style.
The following is a list of a few tips that are essential for getting your poetry published. As a new writer you need a few publication credits in order to have your poetry accepted. As a seasoned writer your name and work speaks for itself. That being said, remember that writing poetry is not about counting all of your publication credits but rather enjoying the poetic journey of sharing your own voice with the world.
My list of do’s and don’ts’s:
- Always follow the submission guidelines to the letter whether you are a new or seasoned poet.
- NEVER allow an editor to reconstruct or tell you how your poem should read. An editor is only there to correct spelling and grammatical mistakes. When an editor begins to change your poem, just remember that once done it is not yours.
- Always keep pen and paper with you at all times to jot down ideas that come to mind.
- Write in a style that is most comfortable to you. Never let anyone tell you “Well, no one accepts rhyme and meter anymore” because remember it’s not about your publication credits but the journey. Take rejections as a challenge to find someone who will love your poem.
- Many poets begin by writing very personal poetry and do not want it out in public. Remember though, poetry is about sharing and your story just might help someone else in a difficult situation. Get it out to the world by any means you like. Whether it be a book, blog or online journal, let it be seen.
- Last and certainly not least, write from your heart. Quote by me “Poetry is the song your spirit writes.”
Reflections on Miltos Sachtouris’ poetry by Sofia Kioroglou
A Greek surrealist poet whom admittedly most of my fellow poets might have stumbled on is Miltos Sachtouris who is renowned in his native country, Greece. Miltos Sachtouris was born in Athens in 1919. He was seventeen years old when General Metaxas imposed a Fascist dictatorship that lasted until the general’s demise in 1941.By then the Greeks were living under Axis occupation and experiencing war-related famine that led to the death of 100.000 lives. Unfortunately, the end of the second war was rife with ongoing conflicts which flared into a civil war, the ripple effects of which were felt for years, right up to the dictatorship of 1967-74. Sachtouris poetry was bereft of a decorative use of poetic language. He describes things with incredible fidelity. He is not one to interpose psychological descriptions and eschews ideological labeling. His clarity of idea-generating images are endowed with a substantive value. They offer a material outline with mental representations that are properly received. His poetry engages the imagination and has all the hallmarks of oneiric alchemy operative in the poetry of other eminent Greek Nobel laureates such as George Seferis and Odysseus Elytis. However, the Greeks’ younger compatriot, Miltos Sachtouris is lesser known.
What Sachtouris sees in the Occupation, the Civil War and the social and political amoralism during the first couple of decades following the war, is the lack of ability of people as a collective body to prioritise certain moral values and solutions as an antidote to the crisis of the times. This is successfully conveyed through his poetic diction and his poetry serves as an invitation to touch his traumas and wound and to ponder on his future.At the same time , he forbids us to think of ways to cure him and this is evident throughout this poetry.
The use of images go beyond the dry recording of external reality. Instead, they acquire autonomous power as they become unfettered from the restricting nature of the mirror. The ample use of symbolic nuances creates an inner landscape that, although still reflecting experiences and feelings of everyday life, is a departure from the realism of social decadence or from the lyrical style of a personal confession. The odd and excessive elements that we can perceive in the expressionistic images stand for the fixed characteristics of a world suffering to its very core.
Sachtouris’ images develop into self-reliant, symbolic units that go beyond isolated episodes. They create a dissonant introspective universe, in which objects, animals, humans and machines degenerate into substitutes of reality, without however losing their commonly accepted qualities.
Sachtouris relies heavily on surrealist imagery and there are many recurring images such as birds, a broken/bloody/fractured moon, severed hands/fingers, nails, blood but these are no gratuitous images–they reflect what Sachtouris saw all around him while writing these poems: the occupation of Greece by the Nazis, civil war and the eventual military dictatorship that took hold in the late 1960s through the mid-1970s.
Poems such as ‘The Forgotten Woman’ make use of these intriguing and disturbing images:
The forgotten woman opens the window
opens her eyes
trucks pass below with women in black
who show their naked sex
and one-eyed drivers who curse
her christ and her holy virgin
the women in black wish evil on her
though they throw her bloody carnations
from the rolling garden of their bliss
from the car exhaust into the cloud of smoke
the drivers tear through the cloud and call her a whore
Poems such as ‘Height of February’ and ‘The Garden’ also make use of surrealist imagery:
Bad mother
with your pinned-on eyes
your wide nailed-on mouth
and your seven fingers
you grab your baby and caress it
then stretch your white arms before you
and the sky burns them with its golden rain
THE GARDEN
It smelled of fever
that was no garden
some strange couples were walking inside
wearing shoes on their hands
their feet were large white and bare
heads like wild epileptic moons
and red roses suddenly
sprouted
for mouths
that were set upon and mauled
by the butterfly-dogs.
Some of these poems can be a bit of a ‘heavy’ read given the subject matter they address while some can be very turgid, clothed in surrealist imagery and metaphor which perhaps may take more than one reading in order to decipher its meaning. However, all of them are very compelling works, reflecting three differing tumultuous times in the nation’s history. His work is definitely recommended, especially for those who are surrealist poetry buffs.
About the Poets
Eliza Segiet is Jagiellonian University graduate with a Master’s Degree in Philosophy. She completed postgraduate studies in Cultural Knowledge, Philosophy, Penal Fiscal and Economic Law, and Creative Writing at Jagiellonian University, as well as Film and Television Production in Łódź. She has published three poetry collections and two monodramas.
Ndaba Sibanda has contributed to the following anthologies: Its Time, Poems For Haiti- a South African anthology, Snippets ,Voices For Peace and Black Communion. He edited Free Fall (2017). The recipient of a Starry Night ART School scholarship in 2015, Sibanda is the author of Love O’clock, The Dead Must Be Sobbing and Football of Fools. His work is featured in The New Shoots Anthology, The Van Gogh Anthology edited by Catfish McDaris and Dr. Marc Pietrzykowski, Eternal Snow, A Worldwide Anthology of One Hundred Poetic Intersections with Himalayan Poet Yuyutsu RD Sharma scheduled for publication in Spring/Summer 2017 by Nirala Press and Seeing Beyond the Surface Volume II.
Pranati Sankar Banik has recently completed her Masters in English Literature from BHU. Her hobbies are writing and reading literature. Her areas of interest are art, painting and cultural theories.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Setu, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.
Daginne Aignend is a pseudonym for the Dutch poetess and photographic artist Inge Wesdijk. She likes hard rock music and fantasy books. She is a vegetarian and spends a lot of time with her animals. Daginne posted some of her poems on her Facebook page and on her fun project website www.daginne.com, she’s also the co-editor of Degenerate Literature, a poetry, flash fiction, and arts E-zine. She has been published in several Poetry Review Magazines, in the bilingual anthology (English/Farsi), ‘Where Are You From?’ and in the Contemporary Poet’s Group anthology ‘Dandelion in a Vase of Roses’.
Sudeep Adhikari is a structural engineer/Lecturer from Kathmandu, Nepal. His poetry has appeared in more than eighty literary magazines, online/print. His recent publications were with Beatnik Cowboys, Zombie Logic Review, The Bees Are Dead, Silver Birch Press and Eunoia Review. He digs beat poetry, punk rock, hip-hop, science and good beer.
Aminool Islam is a bilingual poet who weaves poetry in Bengali, his mother tongue, and English. He also weaves English sonnets. He did his M.A in English literature from National University,Bangladesh. He’s currently the sub-editor at a literary magazine named Neeharika.
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a poet originally from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He was nominated for The Best of the Net and 2 Pushcart Awards in Poetry for 2016. His poetry has been published world-wide throughout North and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. Ken loves walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cat Willa. Ken’s new book, “The Cellaring”, a collection of 80 haunted, paranormal, weird and wonderful poems, is available through Amazon.com. He is the Co-Editor and Cover Artist for two poetry anthologies, “Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze” and “Dandelion in a Vase of Roses” available from Amazon.com.
Ann Christine Tabaka was born and lives in Delaware. She is a published poet, an artist, a chemist, and a personal trainer. She loves gardening, the ocean, and her cats. Her poems have been published in poetry journals, reviews, and anthologies.
Lynn Long https://zolanymph1.blogspot.com/. Lynn is a poet, writer, and contributing artist at HitRECord.org as well as an aspiring novelist.
Indunil Madhusankha is currently an undergraduate reading for a BSc Special Degree in Mathematics at the Faculty of Science of the University of Colombo. Even though he is academically involved with the subjects of Mathematics and Statistics, he also pursues a successful career in the field of English language and literature as a budding young researcher, reviewer, poet and content writer. Basically, he explores the miscellaneous complications of the human existence through his poetry by focussing on the burning issues in the contemporary society. Moreover, Indunil’s works have been featured in many international anthologies, magazines and journals.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Front Range Review, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Abyss and Apex and Midwest Quarterly.
Life Together by John Grey
For years
your mouth has put me on hold,
and your armpits have terrified me
like the warden in a prison for boys
and your breath, intermingling with mine,
has clanged like chains in my lungs.
Two decades and counting
and I have got so
that I’m so afraid of the cold,
only your body can warm me.
Domesticity – there’s no known cure.
If you wrote a poem,
it would likely read the same as mine.
A life, so deserted by its legs,
it’s incapable of moving.
A circulatory system doing just enough
to keep you languid.
Imagine if we didn’t love each other.
Imagine a petal and a paperclip
dropped into a stagnant pool of water.
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