New poets in the word body

Etel Adnan

To Be In A Time Of War (2003)


To notice that mirrors shine during the night and that the mail is waiting to be answered. To worry about the war being waged so far away, so secretly. To already think of the next war. To hammer one’s anguish on oneself. To bring about a bird’s world in one’s imagination. To gaze at the Hudson River through one’s eyelashes. To spit pollution. To drive through a green light. To avoid an accident. To become an object. To become the object that that object protects. To hang on nothing. To live with no desires.
To try to be distracted by poetry, by trees. To see the trees grow, in a hurry. To appear and disappear. To take refuge from bestial conquest in false shelters. To chase the refugee, to flush him out of his new refuge. To lodge a bullet in the head and the back of a Palestinian. To add Iraqis to the butchery. To paint big canvases with blood then take a night train, then a plane. To disembark in Paris. To pick up the telephone, dial a number for Beirut. To hear the friend say that a Palestinian newsman has been cold bloodedly shot by some earnest monotheist. To wonder on the necessity of God. To brush the problem aside. To think of Cassandra. To remember the Hammurabi Code. To sink in fat. To look at the narrow and long road which leads the world to the slaughter-house.

Lucía Sánchez Saornil

Canto nuevo (1920)

[For English, scroll down. Sim trad]

¡Oh, cuánto tiempo HORA NUESTRA
te hemos esperado!, ¡cuánto!
Oh, cuántas veces tendimos
el cable de nuestra mirada limpia al futuro
y aplicamos el oído extático
al viento,
ávidos de distinguir
tu música en embrión!
¡Oh, cuántas veces
el diamante de nuestro deseo
partió el cristal del horizonte
buscándote más allá de la aurora!

Y al fin te poseemos,
al fin podremos mecerte en nuestros brazos
y escribir tu claro nombre en nuestras frentes.

he aquí, todo cumplido;
hagamos braserillos en el hueco de nuestras manos
para esta “LLAMA ALARGADA”.

El horizonte es la pauta, hermanos.
Nuestros martillos, pulidos y brillantes
como uña de mujer,
canten sobre las columnas truncas,
sobre los frisos rotos.
Tal un vendaval impetuoso
borremos todos los caminos,
arruinemos todos los puentes,
desarraiguemos todos los rosales;
sea todo liso como una laguna
para trazar después
la ciudad nueva.

Tiranos del esfuerzo
nuestros brazos levantarán esta vieja Tierra
como en una consagración.

Un abanico de llamas
consumirá las viejas vestiduras
y triunfaremos, desnudos y blancos,
como las estrellas.
Lo que hemos creado esta hora
alcanzaremos todas las audacias;



New Song (1920)

Oh how long OUR HOUR
we have waited for you! How long!
Oh how many times we’d lay
the cable of our clear gaze to the future
and we’d lend extatic ears to the wind
eager to grasp
your embryonic music!
Oh how many times
the diamond of our desire
broke the glass of horizon
looking for you beyond the aurora!

And finally we have you,
finally we will rock you in our arms
and write your clear name on our foreheads.

it is here, all fulfilled
let’s make burners in the hollow of our hands
for this “SPREADING CRY”

The horizon is our guideline, brothers.
Our hammers, polished and shiny
like the nail of a woman
sing over truncated columns,
over broken friezes.
Like an impetuous wind,
let us erase all roads,
ruin all bridges,
uproot all rose bushes;
Let all be smooth as a pond
on which to trace
the new city.

Tyrants of effort
our arms rise this old Earth
like a consecration.

A range of flames
will consume the old garments
and we will triumph, naked and white,
like the stars.

What we will create in this hour
goes beyond all audacities;

Rupi Kaur

women of colour (2014)

our backs
tell stories
no books have
the spine to


we all move forward when
we recognize how resilient
and striking the women
around us are

… (2014)

you threw me
onto the ground
in front of you
pushed down
with your foot
and demanded
i stand up


Posted March 28, 2015 by poetrybody in Poetry Collection

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