(June 2004) Page 2


ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP

Born UK. Childhood in Lyme Regis & Poole Dorset. Lived Scotland & Scandinavia, The East & Spain. A great deal of my life has been spent out of England, my mother's side is Scottish & I take the name Hislop, as writer's name from her family name.

Bachelor in Arts (Hns). Philosophy & Religion. Manchester University. Resident at Pakistan, Lahore. Studies at Punjab University, New Campus, Lahore: Sufism (Tasawuf), Jalal-U-Din Rumi & Ibn Arabi. Sheffield University: Spanish & Latin American Cultural Studies. Resident in Spain from 1985 until December 1998 (Madrid and Salamanca): Resident at Salamanca, 1996-98: English Language teacher and translator for “El Ateneo”. Organisation of bilingual poetry readings at Casa do Brasil, Madrid Complutense University, Escuela Oficial de Idiomas, (Madrid Official School of Languages), Cafés Manuela and Magerit, O’Connors Pub, Madrid, El Ateneo and El Corrillo in Salamanca.

Translations of poetry include 1927 Spanish Generation Poets: selections of F.G. Lorca, Luis Cernuda, Rafael Alberti, M. Altolaguirre, Miguel Hernandez and Vicente Aleixandre’s poems; and the Chilean poet Andres Fisher, Las Diosas Blancas an Anthology edited Ramon Buenaventura, an anthology of poetry Alchemy by Tessa Duncan from Spanish and James Stephens Fairy Stories into Spanish have been more recent activities. I hope to feature these, as well as introducing new translations with originals on my web page soon to be opened IBIS. I am interested in revivalist movements in modern poetry.

Appeared in Dawn Millenium Anthology published by Kedco Studios & this year appeared in their Crystal Dawn Anthology. Frequently featured in the E zines Poetry Life and Times, Autumn Leaves, Sonnetto Poesia, Canadian Zen Haiku, appeared on Artvilla, Poetry Repairs, the Celtic Pagan Poetry Pages Journal, as featured poet in the Beltane edition & Ancient Dawn E zines amongst others. This year will publish own anthology Blue Corn which will incorporate performance, on web cam and voice recital with Kedco Studios. Mystic East publishers are now in process of editing my anthology After the Cave, the Comet for publication later this year, as well as their Mystic East Anthology of poets, where further work is due to appear, and am pleased to announce our forthcoming New Pleiades Anthology 2005, to be published by Kedco Studios, which will feature our own New Pleiades poetry list of international poets, where I am a co editor & list moderator.

http:www.authorsden.com/robinouzmanhislop

 3 Sonnets
©  Robin Ouzman Hislop

Excerpt from Immortals & Exiles: The Blue Corn Anthology. To be Published Kedco Studios i. Existence is a Cage. by mulberry tree & by yellow gorse, by fresh turf muddy sprewn, sweet springing stream, rides the downs man his caesar´s charger horse through fields where yellow flowers gleam. here now before where rises green woodland moor carved by a bleak horizon´s lone wind, the phantom downs man silhouetted stands against a bloody condemned, damned day sinned. a thousand paths i wend alone forlorn that the lost lands of freedom be reborn, as rides the phantom horseman to his doom gun slung boundaries under the sky´s hood & tho soon will be reaped day´s furrowed coomb, yet we´re not free, as trees in the wood. ii. Exile. mind´s eye microcosmic in bird´s sky view questions in levitation hue of flight out of remote corners of sight, in lieu of break, breach or bay at rue, like a kite. in light on light, in night on night, i am as born as you are ibis height & soar even tho your raven attack the lamb, as i am man & you a lack eye craw. yet will i soar this sky on end, where i must stand the worn day fenned rent as a rag by dawns & twilights, where mind´s eye needs fly naked on the water´s hind & zig zag before & against quarters of the world end that a comet brighter yet be hurled. iii. In the Arena deep in the dark they goad through a tunnel blinking into blinding explode, wooden spears sinking blooded brown matted hair, a roaring growling bear entering arena, where crowds thirst massacre. we are each one that bear, we are each one that crowd made in our despair, as we cry out aloud unto the sun sent day, our lust for spilt blood on the shifting sands fey, where our lives are rubbed out. mortal tragedies, destined we compound, bound in anonymities, to their funeral mounds; now the gladiators enter the arena: double, double, double in toil & trouble; the crowd from their tiers with fluttering banners mumble, stumble, tumble, crumble into rubble. Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2004 All rights reserved Blank Verse Haikus. Febuary to May 2004. © Robin Ouzman Hislop
i. Parque Quintana. Feb 3rd. The waxed moon tilts her face like a bird in flight at incredible height. The plaza´s ferns bend like crooked witches sniffing under passers by. Beneath wrapped up stars futile cries of battle subside from tumult Risen to acclaim new glories from horizons never to be born on the moon´s orisons. ii. High Coombs. it matters not how bright the day is, it´ll be no more than a tale. a rainbow in my window often repeats as a small miracle. clouds kiss like classical lovers framed on canvass & disperse pretending innocence, remorseless, relentless, as though they´d wanted to erase the poetry they´d written with an endless substitution. iii. On the Downs. warm spring rain in songland song, wild spring rain & songland gone, the downs swollen down dancing rains on wind sheets driven, the woodland darken & all ways run down to the fen to north & south joining, to the way formless forming. iv. The Poem. the poem goes on, as when the word is gone, it only goes on. not to echo sentiment, it is nothing if not elegant. nor ideological musing or that image matches emotion is but in the flashing to the flowing which knows only its coming & going, not for a song of a swan, if you seek meaning instead of seeming, wider than fiction. v. Dandelion Ditch Haiku. day looks like a ditch, dandelions beguile deceitful smiles, soul tempters votive to impossible secrets, they stay to insist, as though knoll hedgerows oér hill & far away led from present fray. yet i would weep at what you would have me believe, yet not to conceive, ditch dandelion show, tho your promised coronae funeral this berth. this dearth by ditch where i find you wild in spring inviting nothing in the sparkling sun, sarcophagus & flagstone broken to ruin speaking of captive hour flower tempted hearts, robbed & beguiled. vi. Lounes. over white dunes, on shimmering lagoons, a flamingo wings. water sky, glass lake, perfumes, colours, vortice winds cadence in cascade dust drops into trickled light. vii. quantified paradoxes. start with the heart divided by time, number & sign, tick tock & the clock, which makes you go click in the night. it is written we live word to mouth, hand to day, as the window debates on beautiful & ugly lies with the beholder, who as soon close, separates neutral & void in silence, which moves the shout to stillness, whenever mutual, keeping forever almost together, filling transparancy with mist, horror with rot, the annuals with history & clamour for creation to confess something alternative than to being a stranger. Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2004 All rights reserved.

RICHARD VALLANCE

About Richard Vallance.

  Born in Guelph, Ontario, Canada, March 11th., 1945, Richard Vallance, H.B.A., M.L.S, is fluently bilingual in English and French, and reads Spanish and Italian, ancient Greek and Latin well.  He wrote his first major poem at the age of 18, in 1963.  For years, Richard wrote mainly in the field of Library and Information Science. At Chicago, in October, 1983, he won the $1,000 Data Courier Award for Excellence in Online Published Papers.

Poetry:

Richard has composed over 2,500 poems.  In 1998, he published his first full book of poetry, A Quilt of Sonnets: Forty Four Familiar Poems, Ottawa: Providence Road Press, © 1998. 56 pp. ISBN 1-896243-07-x.  In February, 2001, Richard founded his first poetry discussion group, Describe Adonis, for sonneteers. All of Richard's poetry groups have now been transferred to Smartgroups (UK), under the banner The New Pleiades = la nouvelle Pléiade.

Richard's world class poetry page is Poesie’s laissez-faire Faire Foire, which showcases over 40 poets worldwide.  PLFFF features sonnets, haiku, contemporary and historical poetry, and grants the monthly Prix laissez-faire Faire Foire Award . PLFFF is a member of Phenomenal Men of The Web: Arts & Humanities.

Richard is the Editor of 3 Canadian poetry E-Zines, accessible here, Poetry Journals.  Since September, 2001, Richard has been the poetry reviewer for Poetry Life and Times, which features the monthly Vallance Review. He is also regular contributor to the same E-Zine. Richard is also often featured with the U.S. Amerindian E-Zine, Autumn Leaves and in the US print poetry journal, The Neovictorian/Cochlea (Madison, Wisconsin).

CD-ROM Books:

1. 10 of Richard's poems were included in Millennium Dawn, Kedco Studios Press, Las Vegas, NV, © 2002 ISBN 1-878431-38-2.
2. Richard’s CD-ROM book, Canadian Spirit Voices, Kedco Studios, Las Vegas, NV © 2003, ISBN 1-878431-44-7, some 500 pp. long, contains over 130 of his poems, almost 300 haiku, 32 translations of poetry in ancient Greek, Latin, Italian, German and French into English poems by the author, a novella, DENIZEN, and the 100 + pp. essay, "The Historical Evolution of the Sonnet".
3. Richard is the co-author of Canadian Spirit Photos, Kedco Studios © 2004, ISBN 1-878431-48-X, along with Colette & Louis-Dominique Genest.  This book contains over 2,000 photos.
4. He is to co-editor, along with Tyler Joseph Wiseman of the USA, of The New Pleiades Anthology of Poetry = le Florilège de la nouvelle Pléiade, Kedco Studios, ISBN ISBN 1-878431-52-8 to be published in 2005.
5. He is co-editor with Sondra Ball of the USA, of The Human Face = le Visage humain, Kedco Studios, ISBN ISBN 1-878431-52-X, also to be published in 2005.

CONTACT:  Richard Vallance (Coolgoose.ca)

Are We the Light of the World?    Tetralogy  


Is Like the Soul?
© Richard Vallance May 19 2004

Sonnets en miroirs = Sonnets in mirrors John Keats, " 'Blue!' 'Tis the life of Heaven..." "When in an Eye thou art alive with fate!" I sine homine Shall we describe the soul? We shall assay. The moon is like the soul, she's transience. Her night is like souls, some unseen of day. Dawn's mists are like those souls, whose light suspense has left their eyes in awe of nightshades lost when swallows disperse, panicked off red pines. High noon will be like soul, whose lake's criss-crossed by windspars, letting loons draw subtler lines along their crests they'll cross like no wave's there. Our loons like the common soul, primeval, because they share with her her ancient lair, their Wilderness, like that place no evil can transgress, unless next nightfall brings cold howls of wolves and more than thundrous things. II ad hominem Have we described the soul? Is there some way the soul may be compared with Earth's largesse? Shall Earth allow our stellar wits to stray beyond the forests and their skies, to press against the transept of the topmost sun, where its masted naves leap at God's demesne? Have we? Will we, dare we go where no one landlocked beast has gone, or great Orca's trained huge eyes upon? Still our seafaring crew, the Captain's knaves, can jibe to high tides drained from poorer shores or cast back Timely through Moon-like influences on high seas trained. Captain, swear on God's soul, swear! Bear your toll, should you yourself be shipwrecked, like your soul. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Her Eyes Towards Her God © Richard Vallance May 21 & 22 2004
for David, Crystal and Stella, 7 weeks old Sonnet, Petrarchan An infant turns her eyes towards her God. What other choice is there? But what a choice! She's nursing on the world her Mother's trod and in her gestures hears her stellar voice. What stellar voice she hears is galaxies so far from joys or sorrows they'll have shared long before her birth. Neither can she seize the songs her Mother's love has never spared, Nor grasp her rocking hands that cradle her, suckling on the Milk of Paradise the Heavens on her awakening confer. "My child, fear not, the day will dawn on you when our concerns, translated to your eyes, will read your child your Mother's love as true. This sonnet is also displayed on Richard Vallance's poetry home page, Poesie's laissez-faire Foire. Please feel free to sign the Guest Book if this sonnet speaks to you. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Lightest of Lights © Richard Vallance 1980 & 2003
for everyone in the whole wide World, no ifs ands or buts... Do you not see? How the lightest of lights our own sunlight sieves is in showers welled onto August maples, where it ascends and descends in myriaded leaves! Have you not seen? Millions to millions of leaves traced by like leaves, sharing their light with all of their might to weave whosoever's dreams lazy summer's weaved? Was this it then, that light, though now lightest of lights, so many Mercurial smiles on our high park's leaves? Is it? Do its dancers alight on their equivalent shadows? Is their visible laugh in the songs of the lark? Do you not see it? No yes see it now? See how effortless it oboes through its leaves, flashing its pizzicatos into estuaries of Tao, whenever we've got swept in … What was that, this light, though you'd wonder now? (though nevermore aloud) Who leaves her Royals wander onto leaves? Or was this the light we'll dream of no less than often, for days of holier fire only the night may soften? What's light was proffered here. No light of ours, it seems. But God’s, given to last to the last to the last of lightfall’s well-greaved streams.
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Jan Sand in New York

JAN SAND, poet and illustrator from New York (now residing in Helsinki), is a regular contributor to Poetry Life & Times and the newsgroup alt.arts.poetry.comments. A great deal of his work is about animals, or science fiction.

Recently Jan was published by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, on their latest CD ROM e-book, "A Way With Words (Poetry Real and Surreal), which also includes complete books by Dale Houstman, Sara L. Russell and Keith Gabriel Hendricks. Jan's illustrated book on the CD is called "Wild Figments And Odd Conjectures", which is also sold separately, in a limited-edition "single" CD.

To see an illustrated article about Jan's poems, visit the November '98 issue of Poetry Life & Times, and scroll down past the Editor's Letter. He also has his own poetry pages on Charlotte's Web at Artvilla.

ANATOMY LESSON
© Jan Sand

In the interest of simplicity I must admit It is only with complicity And some wit That I continue to exist. With baggages of improbables Escorted by my genes Conformed to achievables By biologic means I am ensured That what endures Nicely lured Is what conjures This me, complete, Within this mass, complex, Of dynamic mobile meat. The brain, I should explain, Contains a multitude of functions Which seem, at first, insane. But, employing synapse junctions That soon sort out Its mental clout In manners rightly rational Reining in The hormone din To utilize the passional To enforce What most endorse As normal for humanity The right facade To accolade Qualities of urbanity. PREDATOR © Jan Sand
My rabbit died about a week ago. A gentle animal who lived in trust That my care for her would sustain and grow. I did all those things I could, those I must. On both our parts it took time and concern. We grew to know each other steadily. She had much to teach, I had much to learn, So that, at the end, we were family. The vet displayed her x-rays with a frown. “Your rabbit has no time at all.”, She said. The vet advised that she be quick put down. I took her home. In a week she was dead. So now, my instinct searches everywhere. I hunt the world for someone I could care. WHITE THOUGHTS © Jan Sand
Two weeks ago the dandelions Shook their golden heads in warm spring wind. They spread like yellow stars across green skies Or glowing souls, in green hell, who’ve sinned. Their time is short, bright tufts soon grow old. They nod now sleepily. Thoughts of long gone days Have turned their pates to ghostly white. The bald heads left behind by displays Of clouds of future progenies now leapt From parental heads Athena-like in multitudes. My head is likewise white, each concept Now stands poised to launch itself to space. But, with luck my hair will remain. Perhaps my teeth - I’d prefer that case. DISMISSIVE DEVICES © Jan Sand
By Ford’s four wheeled decree A million horses were set free To be auctioned, pensioned, butchered, Or wander byways aimlessly. Engines engineered can be made To drive anything, from a spade To a ship or flying machine Or mayhap a brain, I’m afraid. The way the clever things now are growing They will soon invade the many ways of knowing. Smug, they’ll sit click in every corner And, like the horse, we'll soon all be going.
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