Indran Amirthanayagam

Knife Song “Have you been brandishing that knife all along,” I say. “What knife,” you say. “I’m just saying, I didn’t see that knife when we were dating, how it gleams, like now, right now, nicking and snipping and carving me,” I say. “There is no knife,” you say. “I dreamt I was in prison, you baked me a cake with the knife inside which I ate,” I say. “And,” you say. “And I admire how you prune the dead flowers in our bed,” I say. “Do you think...
  • diciembre 28, 2020
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Indran Amirthanayagam has published 19 poetry books including The Migrant States (Hanging Loose Press, 2020), Sur l’île nostalgique (L’Harmattan, Paris, 2020) and Lírica a tiempo (Mesa Redonda, Lima, 2020). He won the Paterson Prize for The Elephants of Reckoning. He is a 2020 Foundation for the Contemporary Arts fellow in poetry. He edits the Beltway Poetry Quarterly (www.beltwaypoetry.com). He hosts the Poetry Channel on Youtube (https://youtube.com/user/indranam)  John Wall Barger’s poems have appeared in American Poetry Review, Alaska Poetry Review, Rattle, The Awl, The Cincinnati Review, Poetry Ireland Review, and Best...
  • noviembre 22, 2020
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AND THEN  and then                                  everything                                                    came unfastened nothing stood still I did not recognize even my hands the bed her bed began to sway or was it really my own body                             shaking shaking shaking...
  • agosto 29, 2020
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LISTENING TO MUSIC 1 “Blues in the Night” I close my eyes to listen but last night’s dream turns up to distract me: with a big kitchen knife I’m preparing a fish for our dinner    when it moves I’m terrified what should I do:    kill it quick to avoid causing more pain    but the blade won’t go in deep enough    I can’t tell if the music is making me less afraid or more    now I recall that old Gestalt therapy trick where everything in...
  • agosto 7, 2020
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MEMORIALS IN AIR  I am building a memorial, not with stone, not with water, but with air, the sound that trails me forever Semmani 03 By P. Ahilan, Trans. Geetha Sukumaran It is a daunting experience to begin writing about work that marks a paradigm shift in Tamil poetry. Packiyanathan Ahilan’s Tamil collections ‘Saramakavikal’ and ‘PathungukuliNaatkal’ have certainly transformed the Tamil literary landscape. In the collection drawn from these works and skillfully translated into English by GeethaSukumaran, in the collection ‘Then There Were No Witnesses,’ Ahilan’s poetry is poised...
  • julio 31, 2020
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LAVOURA DE GALÁXIAS 1. Minha mãe se foi meio sem de mim se despedir. O poeta se fez rouco. O poeta se fez mouco. 2. Ser forte era preciso. Não chorar era preciso. Chorei. 3. O cotidiano se tornou um vazio entre os meses do ano. O céu, tédio: nuvens de peixes no cinza do rio. Ruas e praças sem nomes nas placas. 4. A chave dos sonhos abriu galáxias de estrelas. 5. Já não me engasgo, mãe. Apenas com o soluço de tua ida, aos mundos dos ventos....
  • julio 20, 2020
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BALANCE Todavía soy joven, eso dicen los científicos de las edades. Sin embargo, ya soy consciente de por qué esta vida, la única que conozco, merece la pena, y qué lamentaré cuando me toque dar el terrible paso hacia la Nada: las mujeres que no amé, los libros que no leí y la música que no escuché. Todo eso no me lo devolverá ni la religión más verdadera. (Del libro: Destellos de una existencia) ACTO SOLEMNE  No puedo negar mi inquietud en todo momento. Pero al final se desarrolló...
  • julio 20, 2020
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EL OTRO PAÍS  Existe un país en donde hombres y mujeres se levantan temprano, preparan el café tienden la mesa salen hacia el trabajo, a la escuela o quedan en la casa haciendo amorosamente el día Existe otro país, pero no aparece en las noticias EN EL REFUGIO Sentadas una junto a la otra, descalzas todavía mojadas por la lluvia miran el trajinar de hombres y mujeres buscando un rostro en donde anclar Todo es nuevo la ropa que se han puesto, las mantas las tazas en las que...
  • julio 18, 2020
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DAYS LIKE TODAY I am not old, but I am worn down and frayed at the edges and I wonder at what age will I say: take me away — let me shed my skin, release all my atoms— let them fall apart still sparking, show me the place where they can separate and stop their spinning— de-fused, diffuse, drift off, sink into the moist earth, seep into the pulsing womb where bandicoots probe while we sleep— soil-dappled snouts carrying bits of me away under the dark branches, glinting...
  • julio 9, 2020
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THREE REFLECTIONS ON TEA  An artist and two poets got together to share their reflections on tea. The result was a collaborative project of artworks and short poems (with English translations):   Poems by Geetha Sukumaran 1.சொற்கள் உதிர்ந்து கோப்பைகளின் வெறுமையில் தங்க வரியும் ஊதா வண்டலும் உப்புக் கோடுகளும் மிஞ்சும்போது அவள் கவிதையாகிறாள். When words scatter upon the cups’ emptiness as gold streaks, purple silt and residue-lines of salt, she becomes a poem. 2. எப்படி வேண்டும் கரும்பளிங்கு போல எவ்வளவு சர்க்கரை ஒரு சிட்டிகை அறிந்தே கேட்கப்படும் கேள்விகளைத் தவிர எங்கும் நகராத உரையாடல் கொதித் திரவத்திலிருந்து ஈரமாய் நழுவுகிறது...
  • julio 1, 2020
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