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  • Poetry
    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    This Is Not A Feminist Poem – Wana Udobang (a.k.a. Wana Wana)

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    Take Note of the Sun Shining Within Twilight – Four Poems by Natalia Beltchenko

    Water: The Longest Tunnel Where the Color Blue Is Born — Four Poems by SHANKAR LAHIRI

    Message to Forough Farrokhzad and other poems – Samira Albouzedi

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“Flow back into the veins, History” three poems by Lucia Cupertino

December 2, 2018
in Poetry, The dreaming machine n 3
“Flow back into the veins, History” three poems by Lucia Cupertino
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From “Sussulti oculari” (unpublished, 2012)

 

CROCUS 2

 

Flow back into the veins, History:

’68, Pedro Alvarado,

the face of serfs,

the Indipendence of African states,

the Peloponnesian Wars.

 

To hear so many voices

of this ample History

whispering under your skin

and then turn into flesh

chomping at the bit and pressing

along your wrists and arteries,

engorging your carotid

gushing with stories.

 

But how can all this be told anew?

How can I act in every clear

day I run through?

How, dear friends of mine,

my dear plants, stones

and invisible beings

of the entire cosmos

I certainly don’t know.

 

And yet the crocus

appears in the kindergartens,

in every block

of colorless tenements

on the breathless benches

of foggy harbors.

For each woman, each man

a new crocus between the palms

and if tomorrow another were born

the world would be more humane

at the feet of itself.

 

 

CROCUS 2

 

Rifluisci nelle vene, Storia:

il Sessantotto, Pedro Alvarado,

il volto di servi della gleba,

le indipendenze africane,

le guerre del Peloponneso.

 

Sentire sottopelle

di quest’ampia Storia

le tante voci bisbigliare

e prendere poi corpo,

scalpitare e premere

lungo polsi ed arterie,

far ingrossare la carotide

di zampillanti storie.

 

Ma come ridire tutto questo?

Come agire in ogni chiaro

giorno per cui io corro?

Come, miei cari amici,

mie care piante, pietre

ed entità invisibili

di tutto il cosmo,

io bene non so.

 

Eppure spuntano

crochi negli asili,

ad ogni isolato,

in scialbe palazzine,

su panchine ansanti

di porti brumosi.

Per ogni donna, ogni uomo

un croco nuovo tra i palmi

e se domani un altro ne nascesse,

più umano sarebbe il mondo

ai piedi di se stesso.

 

 

 

Other unpublished poems (2017)

 

EVACUATE ANY DREAM

 

A nocturnal arrow the flight of the fox

at the rifle a hunter planted for her

lost in the buzzing of night

she seeks a corner of the world

that if not peaceful, at least has fewer cracks.

 

You too were fleeing traps

your eyes icy and your body shaken

like the torn off roots of an olive tree,

little a Sumerian goddess on the earth,

Inanna with a freckled countenance

fair hair all gathered

the emanating hands of a shaman.

 

Even over your head hung the urgency

of another world,

a humanity without arsenic in the heart.

 

 

You flee and the rifle is already at your temple.

Whether they call you beast or whore

it’s all the same,

running is your fate

evacuating any dream

looking all around you.

 

In the deep of night you are a gazelle

in every cowardice of ours.

 

 

SBARACCARE OGNI SOGNO

 

Saetta notturna scappa la volpe

al fucile piantatole dal cacciatore,

persa nel brusio della notte

cerca un angolo di mondo

se non in pace, con meno crepe.

 

Anche tu scappavi all’insidie

con gli occhi di ghiaccio e scossa

come le radici divelte di un ulivo,

piccola dea sumera sulla terra,

Inanna dal volto di lentiggini

la chioma chiara e raccolta,

le mani emanatrici di sciamana.

 

Anche sul tuo capo pendeva

l’urgenza di un altro mondo,

un’umanità senz’arsenico nel cuore.

 

Fuggi e il fucile è già alle tempie.

Ti dicano bestia o puttana

fa lo stesso,

il destino è correre,

sbaraccare ogni sogno

guardarti attorno.

Sei una gazzella nella notte

fonda di ogni nostra viltà.

 

                     

 

I AM THOSE HEINOUS WALLS

 

My quartered body still warm

with that life that is now fleeing me

my mutilated breasts

my eyes full of his sperm

my sex opened

with barbed wire.

 

Look at me in that ditch

staring with a lost gaze

look at me in the favelas

look at me in the desert

look at me in the Mediterranean

look at me afloat on the river

look at my blood feeding the forest

look in the patio behind your house

there I am, there we are, will you be there?

 

 

I am the woman looking for a job

I am the girl with five children

the hand they cut off of me

I am the one who trusted the coyote

because no other story was available

I am the domestic worker who just ironed your clothes

I am from Lima Caracas Aleppo

Juba Dhaka, Mosul, the West Bank

Port-au-Prince Ouagadougou

from a remote area in the Amazon

from all the places you don’t know

but will read about in the newspapers for the first time

I am the man who died of suffocation

in a van used as improvised prison

I am the tianguis seller whom you find disgusting

I am the dirty kid in the subway

I am the neighborhoods you’ll never set foot in

I am the whore who is freezing to death

I am the activist who walks up the stage

I am the woods cut off like those breasts

I am the crucified elk who wanted to go on migrating

I am the cubs of that animal trapped in the fence

I am those four seconds between a kiss and death

I am the smell of home and the stench of the forgotten

I am the hunger relieved by the Las Patronas’ bag

I am either the Saturday that didn’t make it or the Tuesday

I am your mother your father your cousin your son

I am the scar across the world

I am those heinous walls

 

 

SONO QUEI MURI INFAMI[1]

 

Il mio corpo squartato caldo ancora

di quella vita che fugge da me

i seni mutilati

gli occhi pieni del suo sperma

il sesso aperto

con filo spinato.

 

Guardami in quel fossato

guardare con sguardo perso

guardami nelle favelas

guardami nel deserto

guardami nel Mediterraneo

guardami affiorare nel fiume

guarda il mio sangue alimentare la selva

guardami nel patio dietro casa

sono lì siamo lì, ci sarai?

 

Sono la donna alla ricerca di lavoro

sono la ragazza con cinque figli

alla mano che mi hanno tagliato

sono chi si è fidata del coyote[2]

perché non c’era altra storia

sono la domestica che ha appena stirato i tuoi vestiti

sono di Lima Caracas Aleppo

Giuba Dacca Mosul West Bank

Port-au-Prince Ouagadougou

di un remoto luogo amazzonico

di tutti i posti che non conosci

e di cui leggerai sui giornali per la prima volta

sono l’uomo morto per asfissia

in un furgoncino in un’improvvisata carcere

sono il venditore del tianguis[3]che ti fa schifo

sono il bambino sudicio nella metro

sono i quartieri in cui non metterai mai piede

sono la puttana morendo di freddo

sono l’attivista che sale sul palco

sono il bosco reciso come quei seni

sono l’alce in croce che voleva continuare a migrare

sono i cuccioli di quell’animale intrappolato nella palizzata

sono i quattro secondi tra il bacio e la morte

sono l’odore di casa il fetore dell’obliato

sono la fame alleviata dalla busta delle patronas[4]
[1]          Poem written in Spanish and translated into Italian by the author. It was first published in a poetry action against walls: http://circulodepoesia.com/2017/02/poesiacontraelmuro-poetryvsthewall-poesievsmur-poetas-del-mundo-tercera-parte/ The poem was included in Ximena Soza’s exhibition “Under the soles” at  La Peña Cultural Center, Berkeley and will be included in an Italian poetry anthology in 2018.

[2]          Name given in Mexico to smugglers of migrants.

[3]          Traditional Meso American market. In Mexico it is still called by that name.

[4]          A group oof women volunteers formed in Veracruz that offers food and support to migrants traveling towards the US in trains such as La Bestia.

 

 

 

 

LUCIA CUPERTINO (Polignano a Mare, 1986) is a cultural anthropologist, poet (in Italian and Spanish) and translator. Currently living in Colombia where she is experimenting with traditional indigenous agricultural techniques and sustainable lifestyles. In 2010 she undertook  field work among the Wichì people in the Argentinian Chaco (in collaboration with the University of Bologna). She collaborates as poet, critic and translator with Italian literary journals Nuovi Argomenti, Fili d’aquilone and Iris di Kolibris. She is a founding member of La Macchina Sognante and a current editor focusing especially on South and Central America, indigenous people, traditional plants and agriculture, as well as migration. Her first chapbook is titled  Mar di Tasman (Collana Isola, Bologna, 2014) with drawings by Paolo Cattaneo, other works appeared in the anthology Poeti contemporanei 179 (Pagine, Roma, 2013) and the magazines  Fili d’aquilone, Sagarana, Poeti e poesia, La Macchina Sognante. Some of her poems in Spanish have been published in La otra, Círculo de poesía and Vallejo &Co. She is the editor of 43 Poeti per Ayotzinapa (Arcoiris 2016), a  multilingual collection of poems with Italian translation, about the 43 disappeared Normalistas in Mexico, which includes poems written in  indigenous languages, as well as the work of Spanish-speaking poets from s Mexico and from other Central and South American countries. Her first full collection of poetry Non ha tetto la mia casa/No tiene techo mi casa was published in a biligual Spanish and Italian edition in 2016 by Casa de poesia, San Jose. Her latest publication is the origami-book Cinco Poemas de Lucia Cupertino, published by Los ablucionistas, Mexico City, 2017. She is currently experimenting with short story writing, and some of her work can be found in La Macchina Sognante.

 

Cover image: Collage by Basseck Mankabu.

 

Tags: activismbordercolonialismhistoryItalianLatin AmericaLucia CupertinoMeso AmericamigrationPoetrysolidaritySpanishutopia

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HAIR IN THE WIND we  invite all poets from all countries to be part of the artistic-poetic performance HAIR IN...

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