Art and Photography
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Excerpts from the book length poem “Melismas” by Marlon Hacla (translated from the Filipino by Kristine Ong Muslim) Artwork by Tilde Acuña
Excerpts from
Melismas
Because I had been given healing salts, objects
that bring restoration, I shall brave the ripeness
of the week for you. I will sing about strengths
that seek loneliness but capable of saving
the world from impairment caused by its own
design. I have no more use
for you but each time I discard
the list that condones your utility,
a rice paddy’s hue turns pale, blankets are suddenly blown away
to reach every layer of the sky. -
“The Lake” (parts 1 to 3 of Dead Letter Office) and “After Objects” by Marko Pogačar (translated from the Croatian by Andrea Jurjević) Photography by Dora Held
Dead Letter Office is forthcoming in March 2020 by The Word Works.
The Lake
Again that tragic
Mixing up of things and folks.
— Novica Tadić1.
I am the lake, I set out
in the morning from the slow cocoon of the sun—
sink into myself as if into a silent room or despair.
plants nest in my chest
like wading birds nest in shrubs,
the eternal choir of grass blades. -
“Showers in Barrio Bagol” by Elizabeth Joy Serrano-Quijano (translated from the Cebuano by John Bengan) Artwork by Kenneth Paul Senarillos
Showers in Barrio Bagol
Here in Lumbang, the rice fields are as wide as the sky. We measure time with the sun. The rising of the sun signals the tilling of soil, our daily labor. The sunset signals the time to rest our bodies.
Since I became aware of my surroundings, this has been our life: no labor, no food. There have been nights when we had nothing to eat especially when nobody would hire us to work. My children are used to our situation. We may be poor, but I work hard so my children could go to school,
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Two poems by Allan Popa (translated from the Filipino by Bernard Capinpin) Artwork by Lorina Tayag Capitulo
Narrative
I wish to be a monk
is what I often tell anyone
whom I want to befriend.The kind that doesn’t show himself to others
for solitude is prayer.I would not be surprised if they mention
that a dream not far from my own
had once entered their minds.If it had been in the aisle of a monastery where we
had first met, perhaps, we would have paused togetherat a single bead of a mystery we recited on our way
back to each of our own cells at the corner
to bow for a moment as a recognitionthat we have already met
although it is only our hands that can be seen. -
Five micro-poems by Margarita Serafimova (translated from the Bulgarian) Photography by Milen Neykov
L’éternel retour
(Eternal Return)An animal I am when I love you,
and above my face, an aureole of cosmic bodies is spinning –
ringed planets; a star’s glint.
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L’éternel retour
(Вечното завръщане)Животно съм, когато те обичам,
а над лицето ми се върти ореол от космически тела –
планети с пръстени; отблясък на звезда.
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Four Poems by Bronka Nowicka from “To Feed the Stone” (translated from the Polish by Katarzyna Szuster) Drawings by Lula Bajek
Box
Mother doesn’t know that heaven exists. She’s getting a double chin from looking down. Her head, as heavy as an iron, presses that fold down.
Father keeps getting in mother’s way. He’s short. To reach grown-up things, he needs to stand on his tippy-toes or get a chair. He just moved it by pressing his belly against the seat. Now he points to the cushions. He needs them stacked to reach the table. He clambers up, props his elbows on the counter covered with an oilcloth, next to a spoon,
