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New Verse News, TheNew Verse News, TheTHE NEW VERSE NEWS covers the news and public affairs with poems on issues, large and small, international and local. It relies on the submission of poems (especially those of a politically liberal bent) by writers from all over the world. Articles
PUSH BUTTON
2008-01-13 01:41:00 by Marge MerrillI thinkI mightgagon the simple word--Change.This declaration fits nicelyinto sound bytes on the evening news,the mantra true believers plaster on car bumpersor raise like a contrary battle flagand yet--the sound is as hollowas the promisesheld outby the same tired hands.Marge Merrill has produced a spoken word CD, eclectic, available through www.wordfaery.com. More About: Button , Push
POSTCARDS FROM IRAQ
2008-01-12 02:01:00 by Sandy HissEleventh Postcard from Iraq The temperature hereis feverishbut I am not ill.My t-shirt sticks tomy culturally shocked skin.Asking "Why did you come here?"I don't have the answers.Too busy fanning myselfwith my own questionswhile beads of sweatattempt to create a necklacearound my aching neck.They could be pearlsbut the sun over Iraqwon't convince me this soon.We have six monthsto become acquainted.Twelfth Postcard from IraqThe loud speaker declares"Attention in the embassy complex.Do not be alarmed. The loudexplosion was in the Red Zone."I turn up the volume on the radio.Thankful it is quiet herein the Green Zone. My earsdeaf to the screamsof widows and childrenliving just a mile away.Their voices a memorylike those of the now deceased.Fifteenth Postcard from IraqI was a guestat the opening of Al-Salam(Peace) soccer field.The fertile grass exhaledbeneath the weightof thick grey clouds. Helospunctured their bellies to letanimosity roam. The greenand white striped shi...
PRIMARY THOUGHTS
2008-01-11 01:18:00 by Anne G. DaviesWho’d have thought Huckabee and ObamaWould be generating so much drama?Evangelical Arkansas hickMatches Harvard lawyer, smart and slick.The rest of the roster’s losing face.(A blessing in Mitt and Rudy’s case.)But what of Hillary Clinton, née Rodham?She lost Iowans when she thought she’d got ‘em,Giving Barack impressive momentumYet in New Hampshire she did prevent ‘imFrom being considered all but anointed,Leaving pollsters stunned and disjointed.And John McCain whom we’d been neglectingSeems to be steadily resurrectingHimself from yawning oblivion.What confusion we’ve all been living in.He snatched first place from the jaws of defeatToppling Mitt and Mike: such winning is sweet.Now they’re all off to pastures greenerNo doubt the rhetoric will only get meanerThis primary system grows exhaustin’Racing from West Coast to north of Boston.I often wish that we could resumeThe politics of the smoke-filled roomWhen fat cats with cigars decided fatesAnd ... More About: Thoughts , Primary
POEM FOR ALLEN GINSBERG
2008-01-09 07:44:00 by A. D. WinansI saw the best minds of my generationDestroyed by success and greedSmug fashionable poets turned businessmenWho rode the National Endowment For the ArtsPimp train, ignoring Captain Cool and his magic airplaneI saw the best minds of my generation loiteringAt closed down amusement parksDisguised as hobo tramps standing in long linesIn hope of becoming a Southern Pacific Railway detectiveSelf-proclaimed geniuses tossing restlessly in their sleepLike a pair of naked dice on a worn Las Vegas craps tableTheir ragged claws scraping at death’s window ledgeI saw the best minds of my generationLying lifeless in glass coffinsHands folded in gratificationTheir vacant eyes blinking like a pinball machineI saw the best minds of my generationHanging out at Broadway topless barsSearching for paradise, fat and contentSmoking Tijuana slimsStone-faced magicians on their way to the graveyardThree steps behind the screaming monkey grinderWith the one-eyed monkey masturbating on his back... More About: Poem , Allen , Ginsberg , Allen Ginsberg
PRIMARY DAY
2008-01-08 10:50:00 by Martha DeedIn the belly of the whalethere are no flashlightsand on a starry nightno appendectomiesyour have-a-happy-day surmiseis worth less than a slippery slopeof cream cheese and grape jelly on ryewhich is why I love to go fishing in Januarycasting bread upon frozen watersand waiting for whales on Seneca Lakeon Primary DayMartha Deed's chapbook, 65 x 65, was recently published by Peter Ganick's small chapbook project (December 2006). Her poems have recently appeared in Shampoo, unlikelystories, 3by3by3, 21 Stars, and Iowa Review Web (with Millie Niss). Her website is www.sporkworld.org/Deed.
WOMAN LEFT IN IN CT SCANNER FOR HOURS AFTER CLINIC CLOSES
2008-01-07 10:00:00 by Rochelle RatnerTwenty-five minutes, they told her as they dimmed the lights. Relax, they told her. One technician said he knows how painful bone cancer is, his sister died from it. But try to relax. Maybe it hasn't spread. Don't move, they told her, weighing her down with a heavy blanket, strapping her arms in, locking the machine. Or maybe just closing it. She loses track of time in the dark. There doesn't seem to be anyone out there. Twenty-five minutes, they said. Bone cancer. Pain. Metastatic. And those were the last words she remembers hearing. It seems like hours ago now. She's starting to fear the dark. Nobody told her she could go home. Ever.Rochelle Ratner's latest poetry books include Leads (Otoliths Press, 2007), Balancing Acts (Marsh Hawk Press, 2006), Beggars at the Wall (Ikon, 2006) and House and Home (Marsh Hawk Press, 2003). She is the author of fifteen previous poetry collections and two novels (Bobby’s Girl and The Lion’s Share) both published by Cof... More About: Woman , Left , Scanner , Hours
THE LONELY
2008-01-06 10:00:00 by Matt TurnerSoap-operatic sighs rise from botox lips of enslavingmechanical creations of the monetarily hued maw of massproduction and solitary escapement.She sits on her caffe modesto leather lined love seat withoutanybody to love."If you could have a day at the beach, what would it be?"Softened saxophonal tunes sweetly hatch to her sorrowed tears,washing the midnight plum eyeliner from her hazel green eyes (ahorrible match).She remembers,"Still half a pizza in the fridge.""Would I care about me if Iwere somebody else?"The generic before and after pictures are always viewed with astrange sense of disgust and envy. Steve Perry continues the flow."Would I care..."Expansion forbade in light of her confining lunar gaze,mass produced and intent on illusionary and solitary expansionin the comfortable confines of the shallow self."Can gourmet and store-boughtbe one in the same?"She resolves the answer must be no, but begrudges notthe gourmet bag of store-bought coffee on top of the micr... More About: Lonely
PLATE
2008-01-05 02:41:00 by Dale Goodsonthe kitchen was quietat peacethen a plate lost its placefell against a bowl in the dish rackthe sudden bangwas deafeningfrightened meI broke out in a cold sweatgravitycan’t do nuthin’ about itbut still-I took a deep breathrighted the plateleaned on the counterTHEN THIS NOISE:one hundred million spent in Iowaone hundred millionby men and women running for officemade me want to jump off a towerstop, I thoughtstopbut they can’twon’tin Iowaor anywhere elsethe plate fell againhad toit’s a universal lawmore harsh racketbut at five dollars pera feeble challengeDale Goodson is a writer from Seattle currently living in New York City and working as a homeless outreach worker in Times Square. He recently created his own website: dalegoodson.com.
LOOKING FOR AMERICA
2008-01-03 10:00:00 by Jon WesickWe didn’t find it in Baltimore or Huntsvillenot in Tucson, Seattle, Philly, or Washington DC.Kangaroo courts, rigged elections, cops beatingsuspects in back rooms, the poor barred from hospitals,families with both parents working going under.That ain’t America !So with the help of a 58’ trawler yacht, the Able Marie,six of us went looking. We boarded in Valparaiso Chile,sailed through Panama up to Halifax and shadowedcontainer ships across the North Atlantic.Where did America go? Antwerp? Rotterdam? Hamburg?Different players – same crooked game.Marseilles, Piraeus, Jeddah, Dubai, Mumbai,Singapore, Hong Kong, Kobe – not there either.Still seeking our lost country we steertoward the Southern Cross. For now America existsonly on this teak deck, washed with sprayand tossed by 40’ waves.Jon Wesick has a Ph.D. in physics, has practiced Buddhism for over twenty years, and has published over a hundred poems in small press journals such as American Tanka, Anthology Ma...
NEW YEAR'S WISHES FOR MY FATHER
2008-01-02 11:33:00 by Thomas D. ReynoldsMay the wind always rustleThe orange leaf of your heart.May the skies never darkenThe early morning of your smile.No one can read your heartAnd may the language be always beautiful,Maddeningly melodic on the tongueyet mysterious and exotically foreign.May you walk gracefullyIn the shadows of a diminishing sun.May your soul be lightYet as firm as the starsWhen even the slightest breathMight send you drifting.Thomas D. Reynolds received an MFA in creative writing from Wichita State University, currently teaches at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas, and has published poems in various print and online journals, including New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, Flint Hills Review, The MacGuffin, The Cape Rock, The Pedestal Magazine, Eclectica, Strange Horizons, Combat, 3rd Muse Poetry Journal, and Ash Canyon Review. More About: Father , Wishes
NOT TOO LATE FOR COMMUTATION
2008-01-01 11:26:00 by H.L.Like Proverbs for Dummiesthe lame words limp across the stageOn a bad night in a bluesy dive on the edge of nowherethe undistinguished crowd strains to understandbut the smoke and the tearswipe away the meaningNew Year's aught eightHomeless pupils looking for eyes with colorsquint to shield the soul from realityUnable to hide bloodshot maps to the futuredesperation howls from the tenor saxIt is still midnight somewhereOn an international date lineboomers who cannot escape yesterdayadvise us of their pain and prescribe bad policy filled with hateEven the seers pull down the shades and waitThe inevitable appears like a dreamposing as victory over deathNot yet morning there is still hopeComfort hiding in the fogSomewhere behind the gray cloud of whatever undisclosed sunshineregenerates the beat of lifeChildren who have not watched the newsbreathe deeply to propel the perpetual wind of change More About: Late
EVE
2007-12-31 11:20:00 poeArtry by Charles FredericksonAir &n bsp;Is ; Essence &nb sp; Echo &nbs p; &nb sp;Is ; Self Water ; &nbs p; Is & nbsp; ; Refl ection ; &nbs p; &nb sp;Optimism ; &nbs p; Is& nbsp; &nbs...
THE WORLD IN OUR HANDS
2007-12-30 12:15:00 by Scot SiegelRemember when the weatherman used chalk,and those satellite shots came every twelve hours?We used to warm our hands over television sets.The world was full of potential -Yes, we worried about a Cold War; the possibilityof nuclear winter! Now we worry about winter,in general, and whether the icecaps are going the wayof the dinosaurs --and whether we will too--My mother wanted me to be a doctor, or a lawyerI wanted to draw isobars and isotherms, high & lowpressure cells, and occluded fronts --I wantedto be The Weatherman like nobody's business.Then I forgot about the weather and did what all goodson's must do; I blew off law school and becamean urban planner. I'll always remember that frostedglass globe my parents gave me. It was electric,internally lit, and calibrated to the earth's rotation--It even tracked the sun's path twenty-four-sevenuntil the bulb blew--Now I have the standard issue: a cardboard orbI bought for my daughters when they were ingrade school;... More About: World , Hands , The World
LOCAL GLOBAL WARMING
2007-12-29 10:10:00 by Earl J. WilcoxBefore daybreak today,warm, mild winds,clouds tossinglike restless children.A poignant mockingbirdswooped near my headas I stoopedto pick up the paper.Our seasons out of kilter,she was nestingin a nearby tree.This Decembermild as Mayconfused a mother,disturbed my morning reverie.Earl J. Wilcox founded The Robert Frost Review, which he edited for more than a decade. His poetry was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. More About: Global Warming , Global , Local , Armin
STEROID DREAMS
2007-12-28 10:00:00 by Rochelle Ratner1.Roger Clemens. Barry Bonds. Sid Fernandez. Andy Pettitte. David Justice. Players at the top of their game who can go the distance and don't mind the extra work.2.This is what he planned, he says: to be a power player. Not in sports but business.3.Weakened thighs. Bloated face. High glucose. Inability to focus. This is not what she expected.Rochelle Ratner's latest poetry books include Leads (Otoliths Press, 2007), Balancing Acts (Marsh Hawk Press, 2006), Beggars at the Wall (Ikon, 2006) and House and Home (Marsh Hawk Press, 2003). She is the author of fifteen previous poetry collections and two novels (Bobby’s Girl and The Lion’s Share) both published by Coffee House Press). More information and links to her writing on the Internet can be found on her homepage. More About: Dreams
THE ELIMINATED GIRL
2007-12-27 13:40:00 by Mary Saracino“In our country ultrasound is becoming a weapon of mass destruction. Instead of saving lives, what we are finding is that millions of girls are being eliminated before birth.” –Sabu George, activist & academic, as quoted in “Girl s Pay Price for India ’s Preference for Boys,” Steve Herman, VOANews.com, March 5, 2007.A black & white image emerges, suspended in the amniotic hazeof her womb. From the small screen in the examination rooma tiny face looms, one eye peering back, a foot, a spine,miniature fingernails, hands too small to plea for clemency.A son, god-willing she says when asked, although it isillegal to use the ultrasound to determine her baby’s gender.The candles have already been lit, supplications already sent skyward,a boy to carry on the family name, to perform the last riteswhen his father dies at some unforeseen future date,a son to care for his widowed mother. She knows a girl bringshardships; weddings and dowries are such a fina...
MORNING RAGE
2007-12-26 12:15:00 by David PlumbFor Sgt. John Mele, 25, from Bunnell, Florida, killed in Iraq 14 September 2007, leaving a wife and a six-year-old son.This is not a poem about romancing warnor a lament for the death of soldiers.I can’t speak for men and woman who diefor absolutely nothing.For fake sheiks and oil-slicked dreamsand secret mercenary hutchesand goofy governors who swearallegiance to gods that kill.This is not for smirking presidentsor Cheney-Blossoms who don’t give one hootbeyond checkbooks and pumped up hearts.Nor Greenspan slippery rhetoric to sell a bookabout how he rolled over and died.This is not about children with empty roomsand wives with no one to holdor credit card debt or killing because we canor Egyptian women who want to drive carsor China’s McFuckits on every corneror Christ blow up dolls, or an Indian trinket on your car mirroror crying in your beer because you can’t afforddiapers for your parakeet or your mate.This is not for poets who swoon possums in the nightan... More About: Morning , Rage
BIRTH OF THE SUN
2007-12-25 04:32:00 by Katherine WestYou are an orange in winter snowYou are an orange in a white bowla still life still frozenby brush and oil and canvas and artby frost and crystals and drifts of arta still orange in winter arta still life on a winter horizona still life golden-orangeon the white plate of winter dawnon the white plates of my winter handsin the blue bowls of my winter eyesin the still bowl of my belly lifeWhen I laugh you jump into the bowl of blueWhen I laugh you leap in the bowls of blueWhen I laugh you leap in the bowls of blueKatherine West is a poet presently living in northern Colorado and teaching Creative Writing at the local community college, museum, and Naropa University, which is in nearby Boulder, Colorado. More About: Birth
JOURNEY OF THE CANDIDATES
2007-12-25 04:31:00 Christmas 2007 by Earl J. WilcoxThere they are, the whole lot of themtrudging from diner to diner, barnto barn, house to house, in Iowaand New Hampshire, even in staidand stately old South Carolina,like a bunch of vagabond vagrantslooking for a handout. And I guessyou could say that’s sort of what they are.They smile, bow so humbly, just to geta handshake, to see if you’re payingattention to their very needy selves.Today, I hear they may go underground,just for a couple of days, you see,so as not to upstage the kid who wasbeing hailed as the genuine article.Really, it’s hard to know the realthing in this season of so manyof them trudging around from dinerto diner, barn to barn, house to house.Earl J. Wilcox founded The Robert Frost Review, which he edited for more than a decade. His poetry was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. More About: Journey , Candidates
A HAND
2007-12-17 05:20:00 by James PenhaNot so solitarysayssuddenly to somea ringon the righthand(somewho worship symbols,not norms)soquietly too(some whotake timefor what it is--matters and waves;once my hand held spit,slapped,and rubbed mateseagerly to make a world.We wonand lostand won and lostand now blueundulationson the risehave crested,but even soslowly and shaking,crooked and aching,I needto give a hand.This poem has been posted in response to the Bloggers Unite challenge to bloggers everywhere to report on Acts of Kindness on December 17.James Penha edits The New Verse News. His new book of poems, No Bones to Carry, is available from New Sins Press. More About: Hand
WORLD SORROW
2007-12-16 10:30:00 by Katherine WestIce breaks the trees shootschildren in the face with twenty-two'shunters bring down the mooseBlizzard blinds the blind preacheron the way to church rage leaksinto the pews shoots two teenagegirls--they die on their knees prayingfor teenage brothers in Iraq who prayonly to come back to pines prayingin the quiet snow three daysbefore Christmas their prayer a deep meditationon the silence of sap rooted in waitingwe pray for the return of sun, lifeas it once was and will be again, lifegreen with the silence of peace, lifeKatherine West is a poet presently living in northern Colorado and teaching Creative Writing at the local community college, museum, and Naropa University, which is in nearby Boulder, Colorado. More About: World , Sorrow
BLOOD STORMS
2007-12-15 10:00:00 by Judy Katz-Levinethey say a storm will come. e-mail the whitehouse on Darfur, imagine what ayoung girl suffers in a camp in Darfur as the snow starts to fall. to beraped as a child. that innocent and wounded. to be that hungry to starve.the whitehouse e-mails me back immediately with a form letter. every nightwe hear about the limbs of soldiers maimed. iraqis killed.the news is a horror show. there's blood on the table. there's blood onthe dishrags. our ears are covered in blood, blood in the snow.politicians plead for votes, as the ice storms rage. it is the ice of acountry numbed by war. the face of a child in Darfur a sign of the prophet.no more. no more blood storms.Judy Katz-Levine's most recent book is Ocarina. Her poems have appeared in The Delinquent, The Sun, Salamander, 96 Inc., and many other magazines and anthologies. More About: Blood
THE NEWS
2007-12-14 12:20:00 by David PlumbA wealth of beach brims toward whitewashed afternoon.Hither, a bevy, an enclave, a circle, a twist, a gate that keepswars on one side, swimming pool and glib on the other.Ask about Pelosi? It’s a sandwich? A new kind of pizza?Buy one at Lulu’s next to Circuit City . Want to run up a bill?You’re in the right place. Credit accepted. Twenty-three percent and running.The story about the man stealing the mannikin in the white dress?He hid behind the sale on dress shirts and soon-to-be out of styles.Waited until the lights went out. Snapped the dear girl right outof the front window and slipped off. Laid her across the backseat?Folded her in the trunk? Don’t know. Don’t careto raise my hand to question one cent tax for transportation.With promises of double decker busses and less waiting time.A thicket of contractors hoots to the right of the podium.Sweating citizens flag the air with hope and despair.First dibs. Guess who? One cent? I’ll pass. Ha! D... More About: News , The News
IRAQI CAMERA
2007-12-13 12:10:00 by devin wayne daviswas there, in thisdreadful climate,a tyrant trainedto rule you?did the bombhave everyoneup last night?did you give it anythought that your neighbor wouldshoot you in the hood?have armored transports,and well-equipped gangspounded downthe door to a storeyou usedto own—your home?do you distrustwater;goods& services:electricity,gas, the law;succession—civilization?could you sleep,rocked in the cradle;but open a lid to awake,and wonder …whetheryou’re iraqi, or americandevin wayne davis, once called "ink (or inc.)" in a seaside vision, has written well-over 2, 000 poems. His work is printed in the Sacramento Anthology, 100 Poems, Sanskrit, Dwan, Poetry Depth Quarterly, and 17 chapbooks. Selections can be found on-line at Del Sol Review, Perihelion, Pierian Springs, Locust Magazine, Kota Press, Octavo, Jones Av., Pig Iron Malt, Great Works, La Petite Zine, Stirring, Offcourse, Rio Arts, Wandering Dog, Whimperbang, Kookamonga Square, and Split Shot. Both Bar... More About: Camera , Iraqi
NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION
2007-12-12 04:36:00 by Scot SiegelMaybe some overhead wires cross,and a new satellite turns toward usin that slow-space-way that orbiting thingsmove; and maybe, a message descends, and it’s from a paralleluniverse, where others like us, butdifferent, have a new kind of languageand it’s called listening –(In a child’s voice…)Your world is in danger;how much longer it will lastwe cannot tell you;we are only the listeners –This measure, sponsoredby no one in particular,but the world, yourworld, in general:Resolution 08-001(The satellite turns as shecalls the question…)Resolution 08-001: A Call toEnd All WarIt has been movedand seconded –Is there any discussion –?Hearing none,all those in favorSignify by saying, &nbs p; &nb sp; &n bsp; & nbsp; “Aye”Those opposed?Scot Siegel is a poet and land use planner from Lake Oswego, Oregon. His poems ...
REKINDLE HOPE
2007-12-11 08:09:00 PoeArtry by Charles FredericksonHelp rescue our besieged universe Relentles sly ravaged by bullyragging war &n bsp; Without compassionate understanding mutual trust There can be no peaceSave our disillusioned lonesome planet Hungry souls suffering emotional famine ; Spreading malice cancerous hateful fear & nbsp; Soothi ng cure-all Tender Loving CareLook within anima awakening spirituality Flexi ble open attitudes never shut & nbsp; Without passionate longing steadfast nudging &nbs p; Hos tile mountains cannot be movedDeliver justice to homeless refugees Given equal opportunity fair... More About: Hope
HOLIDAY SHOPPERS KEEP BUYING DURING FIRE
2007-12-10 10:02:00 by Rochelle RatnerOf course she smells the smoke. But it's taken over an hour for what should have been a twenty minute drive, another ten minutes to park the car, and she's just found some cashmere sweaters that would be nice for her two nieces and her sister. Her eyes start to tear. She wanted to find this beige one in medium. If she takes from the bottom of the stack they have no ashes on them yet. And she can always get them cleaned, but she has to hurry. She grabs a tissue from her purse and wipes her eyes with it, then turns and offers a tissue to a woman next to her. People have started to pushing toward the exits. They've turned the lights off. Between that and the smoke, she can barely see. The cash registers probably won't work either, not to mention the credit card terminals. All the clerks have left by now. She grabs as many sweaters as she can carry, not bothering to look at size or color. Maybe she'll give one to the woman who cleans for her. Probably she'll keep... More About: Buying , Holiday , Fire , Shoppers
THE AUDITION
2007-12-09 11:50:00 by Howie Goodfor DarlaAn old man is telling a story at a nearby table, something about the price of scrap metal after the war, when suddenly his voice drops and he mutters, the Jews. My wife and I look at each other, feel the swaying of cattle carsspeeding along receding rails. Our daughter notices. What? she asks. It’s the night before she auditions for college, and her eyes are circles withinanxious circles, whirlpools of Prussian Blue. I shake my head. Nothing, I say, and we finish eating, then go up to our room at the Quality Inn and lie on the beds and watch TV, an America of smiling neighbors and kind doctors andcharmingly deranged seniors, and the next morning we check out early and drive through darkness and fog, and all that she might sing.Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of three poetry chapbooks, Death of the Frog Prince (2004) and Heartland (2007), both from FootHills Publishing, and Strangers & Ange... More About: Audition
COOL TO BE A CHRISTIAN
2007-12-09 11:36:00 by George HeldA revival among both evangelical and traditional churches on campus has made it safe -- and even cool -- to be a college Christian . —Reuters, 26 Nov. ’07How cool to be a Christian,How better than a DekeTo be of the communionThat’s on a winning streak.How safe to be a Christian,How better than a Jew,A Buddhist or Mormon—Let’s keep them to a few,Not to say Mohammedans,Whose scripture’s in errorAnd makes them prey to SatanAnd wed to holy terror.How nice to be a Christian,Promised an afterlife,Unlike benighted heathens,Who face eternal strife.Thank God I am a Christian,With numbers on my sideIn this true Christian nationWhere coolness does abide.George Held has previously contributed to The New Verse News. His latest poetry collection is The Art of Writing and Others (www.finishinglinepress.com, 2007). More About: Cool
TRANSLATIONS
More articles from this author:2007-12-08 11:32:00 by Ray TempletonAt one time, we made do with slum,a single syllable we used to thinkcould say it all. Trust another cultureto enrich our language – so we got ghettowith its special connotations: systematicseparation, malice gone municipal.Then there’s favela – carnival and colour,fireworks drowning out the thump of bullets.From the barrios, such vicarious excitement,such picaresque sensation, that we liftthe rhythms, tunes, street fashions,leave all the other stuff behind us.The piquant flavours of each word:quilombo, colonia, bidonville;not mentioned in the traveloguesas much as in the headlines on the news –today the banlieus, tomorrow the palenque ,next day some far-flung shantytown.Expanding lexicons, exploding populations –new terms kick in to spell out shifting factsof demographics, changing geography.We can add another one, year on year:ishish, jhugi, kibera – the different namesto call the places we don’t live in. Ray Templeton was born in Scotland , and has l... More About: Translations 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 |
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