Monthly Archives: September 2017

Mostra: Del Triángulo de las Bermudas a Lisboa — poetas caribenhos, por Sandra Santos


Segue abaixo uma amostra da antologia bilíngue Del triángulo de las bermudas a Lisboa: 25 poetas caribeños preparada pelo poeta porto-riquenho Jonatán Reyes e traduzida para o português pela poeta e tradutora Sandra Santos.

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Víctor Rodríguez Núñez (Cuba)


este país se nos fue de los pies
y tomó otro camino

con su densa rutina
que ni una rumba puede alebrestar

mulatas legendarias
abanican la espera maduras de calor
y chinos hacen cola sonrientes
a las puertas de nada

país de reggaetón doble moneda
estridencia ideológica
donde lo único decente es el sol

país resuelto en ruinas triangulares
sin aire en la escalera
que ya no queda aquí ni regresa contigo


este país escapou-se-nos dos pés
e tomou outro rumo

com a sua densa rotina
que nem uma rumba pode alçar

mulatas lendárias
agitam a espera maduras de calor
e chineses fazem…

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Isaac Babel’s Ghost Was Not on the Guest List

“Isaac Babel’s Ghost Was Not on the Guest List: Pain Utopia Euphoria at a Polish-Ukrainian literary festival in Amsterdam” re-blogged from the Global Literature in Libraries website. My article reviews the Read My World festival’s events of Polish and Ukrainian literature, held last autumn in Amsterdam, with various points of criticism, especially: where was the ghost of Tales from Odessa writer Isaac Babel? Thanks to the editor Rachel Hildebrandt of the Global Literature in Libraries project for publishing on the GLIL blog, I celebrate your project! This month the theme of all posts is relevance to Jewish issues and history

Pain, Euphoria, Utopia at a Polish-Ukrainian literature festival in Amsterdam

By Arturo Desimone

“I’m thrown back by a boot, I have no strength left,
In vain I beg the rabble of pogrom,
To jeers of “Kill the Jews, and save our Russia!”
My mother’s being beaten by a clerk.

O, Russia of my heart, I know that you
Are international, by inner nature.
But often those whose hands are steeped in filth
Abused your purest name, in name of hatred.


No fiber of my body will forget this.
May “Internationale” thunder and ring
When, for all time, is buried and forgotten
The last of antisemites on this earth.

There is no Jewish blood that’s blood of mine,
But, hated with a passion that’s corrosive
Am I by antisemites like a Jew.
And that is why I call myself a Russian!’’

(from Babi Yar, by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, translated by…

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” Holy Fool for the Holy Land ” 2 poems published in Jewish Literary Journal

My poems << Holy Fool For the Holy Land  >> and << Response to a Prayer Danced in Eylat Right after the 2006 War >> were published in August’s issue of the Jewish literary Journal.  

link to the journal

Below in the blog scroll are links to the recent publications of my poems ”Sole / Mare”’ and ”Santito Juancho for the Peace” in Matter Monthly : A (somewhat) Monthly Journal of Political Poetry and Commentary ”.


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I have a dream of the US embassy of San Juan Puerto Rico

going the way of the Cruz of San Juan,

To smithereens, caught in desert trees,

so as not to taint the sky

or the sea that swells in the sky

(for not one leg must be broken

off the starfish that combs a Spanish prostitute’s medusa hair)

I have a dream of young and old on the Isla de los Monos swimming naked in the sea in the belly-sky,

in kiss of light, all who look up see their bodies, genitals in the greatness of sun-wheel

beauty of their miscegenation                                               behold skyfuls of people who bled myths and legends

from their wounds and anus-holes

the Voudu version     of   Michelangelo’s Chapel

Medusa is distracted…

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SOLE / MARE                                                        


Mare Nostrum, Costa Nostra

No Mary but the dark-skinned Shulamite of Abyssinia

on a holy raft

Craven and Aghast.

Now it is September,

the fates of people drowning in the sea

keep no calendar,

a diary written with the salted tongue

upon a body, dousing and famished like a monk,

here where celibacy and conception are made


And their drowning sum, driven by treasuries

Ministries of Culture and Plastic Surgery

give press conferences to the birds,

a flamingo bird soars overhead with a twig of sugarcane

in its talons, vision as if to warn those rafters

of another route once taken, to more Westwards fairy-lands.

Speculation: more ironic is the harm

done by the irony that lives in between

the chatter than what falls

between the ships

and the moving rubber cylinders of floats

heavier than unleaded gasoline

meant to supervise those destitute

by the land, the sea


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Notes on a Return to the Ever-Dying Lands: Those Without Tombs in Memory Park

The Global Literature in Libraries Project reprinted my post about the Argentinean disappeared youth Franca Jarach and her mother Vera’s life of protest. The article first appeared in the blog I write for Anomaly/ Anomalous press. My thanks to Rachel Hildebrandt for her necessary Global Literature and Libraries Project promoting translation and to Sarah Clark who edits my pieces for the Anomalous blog.

On poems by the disappeared Argentinean child Franca Jarach, and her mother’s recent statements to the German Chancellor.

A video on YouTube went viral in Argentina a few weeks ago. It shows one of the May Plaza Mothers, Vera Jarach, coming to meet the visiting German chancellor in Memory Park (Parque de la Memoria). Merkel seems to doubt her environs, as if finding herself in a dream. Memory Park is awash in purgatorial twilight, at once bright and faded, a sickly color of illumined talc (like the salt plains of Jujuy, in the North of Argentina—home to Alcira Fidalgo, a very young poet who had a similar fate to the daughter of Vera Jarach from Buenos Aires.

In her kerchief, holding up a sign with the cipher “30,000″ in marker, Vera Jarach tells the Chancellor of Germany, “I am an Italian Jew. I was a child in Italy, 12…

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No law above supply and demand? / Sellout to Freeconomy

No law above supply-demand. Feverish, I need an ice-bag and numerous products of the Bayer corporation under the tongue, worn after intense negotiations, brokering with well-salaried editors of a renown left-wing publication that streamlines online articles ”Against Neoliberalism”(the pantheistic force explaining all that is unpleasant) Trademark of this particular journal is to run articles denouncing the logic of internships, volunteering, and other instances of exploitation and people working for free–provided the writers of these anti-neoliberal articles supply them gratuit, forfeit them for-free, while promising to also help distribution on Tweet. The writer’s payment is to wear the logo of a recognizable publication. Told the guru that after servicing his predecessors long hard and gratis I would like to be paid Standard Fee sterling for my humble part. The criterion for determining whether their fee is to be paid, however, is whether it can be estimated that the article will have a circulation approximating ten thousand views or likes–in short, a ratings system, the sole criterion justifying the rarity of payment, estimated by financial crystal ball.  In the face of a constant rainbow-stream of free material coming daily to his inbox, dream-catcher for the fantasies of rebellious management and after-office intellectuals who are suffering, afflicted with severe graphomania/ dyphteria, why pay a dented cent? Writers and artists are made into content-providers this way, by editors who are middle-management. But the forceful question remains: how have I collaborated in the farce? And how have you? What is our share in having created and fed these disturbed neo-feudal relations?

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