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Poetry Information.... from Heart-Links.com |
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Article on Poetry and Two PoemsWriting Poetry for Tomorrow What does a man need to be a poet, or tomorrow's literary giant? Questions many a student has asked, from Harvard all the way to the community college in one's hometown. What is the answer? Well, I can give you mine, and I'm sure if you asked a hundred writers, or a hundred scholars, you'd get two hundred different answers. I'm sure some would say: hard work, while others might say, the right college, or a break, or it is who you know. Money can play a part in it others would say, and timing, I mean, given the opportunity. And it may very well be all of these, but let me iron out what I think might lay underneath the cellar, for its been cleaned out pretty well above it. What is genius to you? Well, to me it is when something comes natural, easy. And so it should be in the premise we are now talking about. How about experiences in isolation, seclusion (be it in a willing environment or not: like engulfed in drugs or alcohol or prison, war, or some melancholy hole, or illness. How about exquisiteness or beauties per se; let's try a good sense of humor when the chips are down especially-wit might fit better; and how about strong, if not strange empathy and passion. All the schools and brains in the world cannot replace these requirements. Should you have these, and the money, time and schooling all the better; should you not, your possibly going to get tired of writing anyhow, you have nothing to say; rather report, it would be better. Hollow-eyed girl Little hollow-eyed girl Sleeping parents unaware "You do look kind of like a The mother reaches out to gather "Poor little thing," she thinks The child stands back- "Mommy?" "But aren't you cold?" "Come, take my hand!" The child stern-: now stares With pathetic eagerness "I don't know the way?and #585 [3/24/05] 3rd Day of Spring Birds shit while in flight #586 [3/24/05] Mr. Siluk is a poet, and short story writer for the most part. Althogh he has done many political articles, and received a personal letter from President Bush for his contributions in support of may of his policies. He lives in Minnesota, and Peru, and recently has finished a new book called: "Cold Kindness," which will be out soon. Website: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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Poetry - Google News | | | | RELATED ARTICLES Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North] [Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area-Winter of 1877Chapter One of Seven: The NorthThe area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a little more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st National Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West. The Cat Truth is stranger than fiction according to many people who have seen what happens around me and to them, on many occasions. Sometimes I have had others affect me in the same way. Song of the Great Zimbabwe, and Silver and Inca Blood [Poems and notes] "Song of the Great Zimbabwe"Across the African, winter's skyIn the Southern edge of Zimbabwe Looking down from the Hill ComplexFrom on top, of an Ancient Rock O'er the mountains steep-:A, vista I've longed to see, residesA site, I've longed to meet-; Thus, dwells, within this African Valley,Among the greatest of man's feats? The great, Great Zimbabwe (Enclosure).A million-stones, built these ancient wallsSome twelve-fathoms, fathoms high That seems to reach unto the sky;Some say: a fortress, and palace, it is; And perhaps-, the legendary 'Ophir!'#747 7/2/05Silver and Inca BloodIn the Great Silver mines of Potosi-(Inca Indians) Conscripted mine workersCarry Quotas of ore-up hundreds of feetOf rope laddered-steps For don Francisco de ToledoAnd King Philip II, of Spain-;A farcified vision to becomeRich-off Inca blood, In the year-1571?#744 7/1/05Notes: (The Inca Empire): the assumption is often that the Inca Empire was a large enterprise of its self; a common mistake at best; complicated for sure; but for the most part, the Inca Empire was comprised of ethnic groups who were subjugated into the Inca Empire, similar to the Roman, which was a city nation [Empire] you might say, who subjugated the whole world into its Roman Empire; likewise, so did the Incas of South America. Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines [A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish people of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss yourself to thy knees, for the roar of rebellious men will bleed: black blood, through the vines of Jeremiah. Never Ever More Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and vision bleary, all night sat there writing COBOL, coding spread across the bed sheets, changing syntax for the mainframe, having checked my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command, but there below my effectuation, appeared the cryptic communication, "Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nothing more. Eds Poem Ed Gallagher Dec. 11, 1907 - Sept. Cruel World Azra, Azra, Wake up Azra. Wake up Azra, It is time to go. Poetry and Popular Culture Is poetry too complicated for the average reader? Is it too cryptic, scholarly? If you ask a large group of average people what they like or don't like about poetry, you'll get a few different answers, but there is an overwhelmingly common category of responses.One of the main reasons that people say they aren't addicted to contemporary poetry is that they feel it is too cryptic. Four Poems: Harvest of Apoplectic Horses [Katrinas Pathway] Four Poems: Katrina's PathwayHarvest of Apoplectic Horses ((Dedicated to: Katrina)) crisis)It has happened before: Nearby and afar, Where the four-horses of Apocalypse With their flaming nostrils Breathed in the fury of the winds Only to vomit out, disaster; - Then galloped away, Against pale faces!.. Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish] English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru- By the hills of Huancayo Black Poncho was given A treasure of gold?; By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of scorching fruit; Hence, Black Poncho fooled The goblins of oldBy using his poncho to pull The sizzling golden fruit Through the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindled By a jeweler of dire repute. Thus, his life changed (as so often they do); And now he lives with: Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill. Lima, City with the Stretched out Wings [In English and Spanish] Lima, City with the Stretched out WingsIt's an ink-black night: no stars: a moon in sightJust dots of: red, green and white-white lightsAs the plane descends, descends, slides down On the long-drawn-out-spun-out lingering city of lights Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The sleepless city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea- Winding through the valley's, forests, and streams Stretches, stretches its naked wings-endlesslyAs,I'm descending, down, over and around the city (descending, descending, and sliding to the ground)The city with stretched out wings-and endless lights Down, behind, around, the ground, it's immune to me I'm just part of its evening, a baptism in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights; People: walking, talking, sleeping, eating by the dots People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and another tomorrowThey say-:you are ruthless, and I know this to be trueAnd they tell me you have thieves and murders-And this, I dare say-but shall-is also true, very true But show me a city to the contrary of eight-million-? I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with strong and hungry hearts;I say, show me one that sings in poverty and smiles Prove me one that celebrates year-round of its heroes Show me painters that are as good-that sell on streets-As good as: Picasso, Dali, Rembrandt, and Yang YangAnd that welcomes the world with stretched out arms-Show me all this, or some of this, and I will say no moreWith this,I descend to its streets, its crowed winding streetsAs well as, to its neighborhoods with dust and soiled air, And hear the laughs of the children; the dogs on roofs Sights of the shoe-shiners: men and boys, in the parksAnd the numerous food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, covering all-My Lima, Peru with its renowned Cathedral:Golden yellow with towering crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its wrinkled aged men, lovely women,They all stand tall and bow to its Inca history, its glory- Its world that once ruled all, like the Roman Empire,Like the American Dream, they were the noble, the kingsAnd now, from drudgery and toil, sweat and strive, all, all Grinding, grinding away, each and everyday, lover of the, King of Kings: Jesus Christ-this is the Lima I know today; a mighty ship that has already sailed the seven seas, now resting!?Spanish VersionLima, La ciudad con las alas extendidas Translated by Rosa PealozaEsta es una noche oscura: no estrellas, ni luna a la vistaSolo puntos: rojo, verde y blanco-luces blancasMientras que el avin desciende, desciende, bajando A la larga-extendida-plana persistente ciudad de luces Plana como un panqueque, encendida como un rbol de navidad-La despierta ciudad, con sus alas extendidasExtendidas desde las montaas hacia el ocano Zigzagueante a travs de los valles, bosques y riachuelos Estirando, estirando sus alas desnudas-interminablesMientras,Voy descendiendo, abajo, por encima y alrededor de la ciudad (Descendiendo, descendiendo, y deslizndose a la tierra)La ciudad con las alas extendidas-y luces interminables Abajo, Abajo, detrs, alrededor, la tierra, es inmune a m Slo soy parte de esta noche, un bautizado en su oscuro ocanoInvisible: gente, gatos, perros, pjaros, y ratas, infinidadIncontables: puntos, riachuelos de luz, puntos de luz; Gente: caminando, conversando, durmiendo, comiendo bajo los puntos de luz Gente: esperando, matando, robando, rezando bajo los puntos de luzPor maana, maana y otro maanaEllos dicen--:Tu eres implacable, y yo se que esto es verdadY ellos me dicen t tienes ladrones, y muertes-Y esto, me atrevo a decir, que esto tambin es cierto, muy ciertoPero mustrame una ciudad de ocho millones contraria --? Sacudo mis puos y digo: "?mustrame," pero nadie lo haceTan viva, tan valerosa, con corazones fuertes y hambrientos:Digo, mustrame una que canta en pobreza, y sonre Prubame una como esa, que celebra alrededor del ao a sus hroes Mustrame pintores tan buenos-que venden en las calles-Tan buenos como: Picasso, Dali, Rembrant y Yang YangY que recibe al mundo con extendidos brazosMustrame todo esto, o algo de esto, y no dir masCon esto,Desciendo a sus calles, atiborrada, zigzagueantes callesAs como su raro vecindario con polvo en el aire Y oigo la risa de los nios, los perros en los techos Vista de los lustrabotas, hombres y muchachos, en los parquesY los numerosos carros de comida, msicos y vendedores de peridicosY con su desnuda y desplumadas alas, cubriendo todo-Mi Lima, Per, con su renombrada catedral:Amarilla dorada con su coronadas torres, yDentro de su plaza cuadrada, una celebrada piletaBajo su piel, con sus arrugados ancianos, tiernas mujeres,Todos ellos parados altos, y reverenciando a su historia inca, sugloria- Su mundo que una vez gobern todo, como el Imperio RomanoComo el sueo de Amrica, ellos fueron los nobles, los reyesY ahora de pesadez, y esfuerzo, sudor, lucha, todos, todos extenuados, fatigados, este y cada da, amantes del Rey de los Reyes: Jesucristo-esta es la Lima que conozco, hoy; un poderoso barco que ya naveg los siete mares, ahora descansando?Author/Poet Dennis Siluk, web site: http://dennissiluk. Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English] 1.Night in Jamaica [Peruvianism: 1810]It was a rainy night they say When don Simon Bolivar Slept in the arms of beautiful -Luisa Crober (of Jamaica); thus an Assassin missed his mark When he stabbed Major Amestoy Sleeping in the dark In Bolivar's hammock!. The Lull of Twilight [Over Mantaro Valley] In English and Spanish Twilight, was now beginning. As forthe sun, it was down-down over the Mantaro Valley of Peru. Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English) Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)In what retreat art hid?-Where falling mountains groan In shadow and amongThe rapids of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footprints of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, divinely low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? . Two Poems and a Short Story 1)dying in the bar [sluggishly]yet, I would crawl too upto the bar, it was everything, the dampness the carved wood the zoned-out-ness in my head dreaming; it was better than death? then I took another drink?so many I never moved much, like dead fish. my head split like an ass it was numb and, nothing else numbness was my homeacross the street, dancing on the patio the moon was out. Farewell to Lester Graybill I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a hearth afire.I never met a man, who could smile so easy, real honest. Kens Poem How wonderfully sweet to be a dweller dwelling on the road of goodbye. Bittersweet tears fall as I think of all the places I'll never see, all the faces I'll never know, all the joys I'll never share, as I head for the unknown. Wars, Air of Ambiguity [for: Lt. Laura Walker] in SPANISH and English Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt. Satirical Poetry About Tony Blair All Hail.Is your hospital full of aliens, despite new cleaning firms, Antenna waving buggies, And creepy crawly germs, Then dont waste another second, now were into election spin, Just complain, over and again, and up pops smiley smiley grin. Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More What Hides behind the Minute?What hides behind the minute? It seems, no one really knows; How many times will we wakeup, To count the minutes gone?The rose was dead when I arrived; The sword, was rusty and dull; The window curtain was open, And there was music in the hall.Oh lovely minute, where art thou? One, is not like the other-: Whirling in an earthly orbit, As the boundless world discovers. |
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