Poetry
Litany of I
Amber McBride
I am religion—the patron saint of lost causes.
I am not cold like the stone faces forever
praying in the crevices of the cathedral.
I sing praises to the hummingbird—
or the queen bee for sweet honey.
Uncovering October
Amber McBride
I left some lines of an October poem on the floor of a shadow-drenched
forest, nestled beneath stained glass beams of brown and amber gold.
Heliocentric Hipsters
Keith Gaboury
I must say: Once the black hole in the center
of the Milky Way started rocking a whole trendy wardrobe,
my own inward thought freaked out. I must fight against my own
future state: A neutron star wheezing on a hospital bed.
Passive Area
Keith Gaboury
In a midnight walk through the Back Bay Fens,
I suddenly find myself in a Passive Area:
No Ball Playing, Games or Sports.
Self-Parody
Yu Kwang Chung,
Translated by Jennie Chu
The children of prophets and apostles
are again arguing in the desert.
Aladdin rubs the magic lamp only slightly,
every drop of oil,
priced higher than the blood of Jesus.
Mountain Rain
Yu Kwang Chung,
Translated by Jennie Chu
Mist gathers thick and thicker then a shower comes,
Man journeys deep and deeper into Mi-nan’s palace,
A path winds and turns dark and darker come dusk,
Ink falls on ink to form a landscape,
From the bottom of the valley, a bank of mist steams up.
In the Same Place
Constantine Cavafy,
Translated by Nicole Miller
The haunts of home, city center, neighborhood
Which I gaze about and stroll around, year in and year out.
My joys and my sorrows have created you:
Infused with life’s events, with so many things
From the Recipes of the Ancient Greco-Syrian Magi
Constantine Cavafy,
Translated by Nicole Miller
“What elixir can be drawn from spell-binding botanics?”
one aesthete asked,
“What elixir, brewed from the recipes
of the ancient Greco-Syrian Magi, could for one day,
(so long as the power lasts), or might, for just a little while…
Painted
Constantine Cavafy,
Translated by Nicole Miller
I cherish and I love my work.
But today the weight of composing drags me down.
The day has colored me. The mood of everything
grows black. It rains and howls.
I wish to observe rather than speak.
Ionic
Constantine Cavafy,
Translated by Nicole Miller
Although we broke their statues,
Although we cast them out of their temples,
The gods never died, not one.
O land of Ionia, it is you they still love,
it is you their souls remember.