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November 2018

Poems by Subir Sarkar

(translated from the original Bengali by Tuhin Sanyal) REMAKE The same old story of the hunter and the prey. Yet, no spine-chilling adventure. Coming out of the comfort zone. ‘Remake’ is a mockery-mixed dinner-table. DEPRESSION Wooden houses and continuous days of prose are sub-water swims and chairs laid near the fog, watching the depression of clouds forever is in itself a single scene. BIRD AND FEATHER One should know the...

Poems by Steve Denehan

Sandalwood Some foundation, concealer a little rouge a subtle lipstick her reflection disappoints lines, hard earned, unwanted her reflection smiles it helps She dusts and tidies arranges rearranges old photographs of ghosts She lights a candle sandalwood she vacuums and sweeps she polishes and primps her home herself just in case Two Scientists I should be in work instead, I sit in a Dublin café tightly clutching a cup of tea as if it might...

Introduction

Introduction: It takes guts to speak with artistes, especially poets. They are sensitive, they refuse to speak much about themselves (here I’m talking about old-time poets, the present clan is more vocal), and it is even more difficult to understand their mood and psyche. When I asked Nikita Parik, assistant...
True Self Nameless stands with his back to the wall. Desperate grappling of an unsettled mind. Piercing screams emitting from some lost place. Unsure of any fate, real or imagined. Looking past a vague blackness, slowly filling an empty jar on the shelf. Cardboard dreams crumbling, while paint peels off in layers of obscurity. A disease of doubt...
Civil Guardsmen From a field of grasses dried by wind, two civil guardsmen stare toward the sun for traffic on the lonely road they have been stationed to protect. They are tall against the burnt horizon, still as the ground itself, and one is the reflection of the other as, side by side, they stand in place. Should one turn around,...
suicide paula’s weak moment leaving me early sad lonely feeling nightly she returns softly whispering her lost love still in my heart bliss alone in library empty used bookstore roaming shelves sacred experience like attending church feeling hopeful promise quietly turning pages becoming dreamer again freedom waking to birdsong before first light building small fire boiling water from stream instant coffee oats in tin cup ready for journey picking way over deadfall brushing aside cobwebs escaping...

Poems by Jack Donahue

The Removal of Sin in a World Without Sin Turning once again toward the sea, strong arms move my head to look at the land instead, a desert landscape beige, bland sand the monotonous menu for my eyes that have seen it all before. Defiant, I turn to feast on the wild water, currents pushing the shore...

Dear Maliwan

Malini Mukherjee Dear Maliwan, I was wondering if I should write ‘Dear’ against your name. It is, in our culture, customary to write Dear only to someone who is endeared to you. I don’t even know you. You don’t know me either. Yet I am writing this letter because we had...

From a Feminist Lens

Nikita Parik Caked in mud caged in faith prayers keep me alive 108 names but I recognize none (“Devi 2.0”) The binaries of personal and public must be subverted when seemingly personal concerns voiced through personal expressions transcend to achieve a universality of sorts. In her debut poetry book, Apostrophe, Barnali Ray Shukla’s versification of seemingly...

Poems by Ranu Uniyal

GRANDFATHER You remember more of what is no more. Past steps into your bedroom and your grandson becomes your newly born. You love to address him as Baba – this is how you called your first born. The present blurred and faceless has no challenges for you. Your face perks up and breaks into...

Glam & Glitz

Katacha Díaz Catching the last rays of sunshine on a lovely warm spring afternoon, Tim and I sat on our patio listening to the sounds of smooth Latin jazz floating through the air, and watched hummingbirds as they gracefully danced around bushes and wildflowers, sipping water from the fountain in...

Vale of Tears

Terry Sanville 1. On Friday morning, Dad took Shasta, our shorthaired terrier with a white-tipped tail, to the vet. I didn’t even know the poor dog was sick. At seven, I didn’t understand illness and suffering. But my older sister, Betty, seemed to know. She waited with me in the living...