(October 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. My present book After the Cave the Comet was published this month by Mystic East.

http:www.authorsden.com/robinouzmanhislop

Scarlet Lips
©  Robin Ouzman Hislop

green & mellow day, bird in a pink tree trills ding dong merrily on high, my chair to a garden is not dangerous free where white angora cat lurks in her lair as when the song is gone torn from the air its violent end in her innocent purr. every man's death diminisheth me* the beautiful beast could not be crueller than the kindness her kiss was meant to be in the bitterness that we all must taste, that none can escape, as nature's decree of our self-love she's guilty over graced & yet what tryst with beauty & the beast, when we must taste bitterness at the feast. * John Donne "For Whome The Bell Tolls ii. Anne Boleyn. (in homage to Thomas Wyatt, who witnessed, as a prisoner of the tower for other displeasures, her execution through the gratings) that i should know you sorrow blame not my lute* now this is the moon´s morrow, now that i am smitten my heart´s love stolen nor kiss of mine so fallen the gloaming glamour gone. blame not my lute that still to the moon strings song to all his loves who´ve flown & plays to the moon alone blame not my lute. * CXV Devonshire Manuscript. iii. the miller´s woodland. We crossed meer at weir into the shires: many have died on the borders beneath these now mast winds of silt & sedge that haunt allotments laid a ploughman's cage. Day after day lessens in woodland´s green unwinding screen wearing not its anointed crown that harvested charcoal, salt, brimstone for ore. timber henge that fenced no fen down for mead nor hemp & wicker by meer´s brook. What spoils then have fallen to petty kings proud & tyrannous, their wars & the ruin ridings where no mill grinds beside the weir?* * where no bird sings. La Belle Dans Sans Merci. J Keats. iv. Pleiade. what weft sonnet can free my captive heart? what treasure troved & mazed from the word hoard lift, where the celestial dove has soared, eyes exalted where heavens open part the weaver´s loom of warp & woof woven? such sonnet in every tone an image mnenomonic, beatific turned page, as aurora, as a flower open. in the deepest night, in the steepest climb, captive yet across still borders of time, sealed within this too frail human frame all creature mine, their pain, their been, their fall catharsised here not without blame, we are too poor not to be immortal.* * Jorge Luis Borges v. Medea. it had been but happiness that you hid suddenly you fled to the far wild leaving a prophet poet hear you chid the world made in the brain of a child insane & do you not now know there can be no greater pain, more than cassandra o curse of medea slayer of children, who'd wished them as maia, young forever. now no more they run as children bridal with the planets as their heavenly twin, such healing pride could bear no betrayal, white robed the moon left original sin to the children of eden their incest & with you their secret happiness. * * * * * * * * The Ground Still Sings © Robin Ouzman Hislop
what hail ocean serene on your southern rim! here where fall's flung now the spring green spurning its cold burn blackberry withering as forest dark enters in its starkest shadow time to cadences that rhyme where ground still sings ancient on this horizon a shadow time of spring on your southern rim what hail ocean serene? ancient on this horizon where ground still sings to cadences that rhyme its starkest shadow time as forest dark enters in blackberry withering spurning its cold burn now the spring green here where fall's flung. Scarlet Lips is soon to appear in the Blue Corn Anthology to be published by Kedco 2005

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)

NOTE: The following poem is from: Chapter 11, Translations, poem 22, in Canadian Spirit Voices, © 2003 by Richard Vallance ISBN 1-878-431-nn-7, where both Gérard de Nerval's original sonnet in French and Richard Vallance's English sonnet translation are featured:
Homme! Libre Penseur
Gérard de Nerval (1808-1855)

Homme! libre penseur - te crois-tu seul pensant Dans ce monde où la vie éclate en toute chose: Des forces que tu tiens ta liberté dispose, Mais de tous tes conseils l'univers est absent. Respecte dans la bête un esprit agissant:... Chaque fleur est une âme à la Nature éclose; Un mystère d'amour dans le metal repose: "Tout est sensible!" - Et tout sur ton être est puissant! Crains dans le mur aveugle un regard qui t'épie: À la matière même un verbe est attaché... Ne la fais pas servir à quelque usage impie! Souvent dans l'être obscur habite un Dieu cache; Et comme un oeil naissant couvert par ses paupières, Un pur esprit s'accroît sous l'écorce des pierres! * * * Translation * * * Man, Whose Thought is Freedom © by Richard Vallance, 2002 After/d'après Gérard de Nerval, (1808-1855)
Man, whose thought is Freedom, do you believe Yours the sole Mind on Earth where life bursts out All over? Has your free will taken leave Of all else our Universe is about? Honour the old souls of beasts where they move… Every soul in meadows comes out blossom; Love seeks strange haunts in hard metallic grooves: "Nature loves senses!" Their hold is awesome. I fear a blind wall’s eyes may spy on you: Even a verb will matter to matter… How can you swear it can little matter! Look, in things obscure often there’s a God; Sometimes bark on stones hides a newborn’s eye So pure that lashes hide it from the sky! ______________________ By Many Roundelays [Sonnet, Shakespearian] © by Richard Vallance, The Night of August 19 2004
for Ludwig van Beethoven, and his Symphony no. 6 in F major, "La Pastorale", III, Allegro, "Sturm" The Earth, by night, plays her several rounds by many roundelays her tolled zones round, where perhaps you've heard rain too pound on grounds all over your greened fields, with such a sound as resounds of thunder drummed, beating hooves All Seven Ocean's breakers, foamed, release in races reaching shores a hale moon moves to passions humans never sense increase to such momentums stoned we're all too deaf to appreciate, fearing seas whose gales escalate, passing the pinnacled clef they've scaled to chorus mythology's tales! If screams be heard, though I am still God's fool, Where must poets drown -- in his Moon's eyes' pool. ______________________ September's Dawned Upon © by Richard Vallance 2004
Penta-Hexameter September's dawned upon our worlds again: her nights must fall through cools, her days may cast off warms. Though august roses be as good as slain, mad hungry bees around them zing in swarms of gold, 'til blackening their petals greened in fields, they fleck their languid leaves to maples pressed by yonder fence. There oddly light, cascading, yields to shadows, night's, whose muslin air's caressed my cheeks with frost (almost), and imperceptively darks on you descend, cast themselves at me, as though a summer's death in these were one event uncelebrated by reminders fall tears off, like leaves off trees, until they, vivid, rent, submit to drown in Autumn's bitter gall. ______________________ Icon * [Sonnet on the rain] © Richard VallanceJuly 11th., 2001 revised, September 18 2004
What hush makes air as rain again slips down its eaves? It drips, or flips off rust crimped leaves, or's dropped in my mind's well though there to drown out fly-by traffic hissing as it weaves from expressway lanes, a queer tinny sound of velocities. They'll plum me to pound off lanes whose slick resistence drums on thought I leave on my pillow, where I, distraught must fuss as fingers whiz and, wishing flight, tap beats as swift as -- take a real wild guess -- as this sonnet's salad's pressed, watercress from my hands crushed, impressioned where I write in traffic's din, and leaves outside travail. Night's hush seems rain's, or icon, Holy Grail.
* NOTE: I suppose, if it hasn't become apparent to folks who read my poetry, I am particularly enamoured of the rain, whose natural qualities always seem to evoke from my hands nostalgic, yet calming echoes of my own past, as it influences and awakens the call to my own present. My Carousel Home is:

From here you may reach all our Yahoo Poetry Groups, our E-Zines and lots of poetry by many fine poets.

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.

CITY REMINISCENCE
© Jan Sand

In New York long ago When nickel coffee reigned, Above Third Avenue On bulky structures, stained Rusty orange like old teeth, The rumbled roar of the el Flattened conversation down beneath, An iron demon out of Hell. Southeast a street of tranquility Where the literary sensibility Could graze on weathered books, Fondle dog-eared pages, Inhale their musty smell. Fourth Avenue below Union Square Was inhabited by small shops Barricaded by long boxes on legs Stocked with multitudes of old tomes, Jumbled display of outcast dregs Of private collections, printed ruminations From obscure minds to be bought For a mere few cents. Dickens sat with Einstein alongside Obscure statistics on the shape of bones Of cretaceous creatures That had stalked these very streets Emitting snorts and grunts and moans. This terminal moraine of thought To be excavated for nuggets – Antique volumes, odd British comic publications, Gold stamped leather bound collections Of men, pith helmeted, in deep explorations Carefully depicted with fine-lined steel engravings Plus a plethora of forgotten PhD dissertations. Today this archipelago of print is long gone, Eroded down to one last Strand Where still the studious flip pages With a searching eye, an anxious hand Fondly recalling one of New York’s finer ages. L’CHAIM © Jan Sand
Not grass nor ocean depth Invites this squirrel mind That misers memory and desire, Its gullet swallows galaxies, Wills to avoid the final fire. Ghosts croon no happy serenades I covet not the property That lies within the real estate Of the cockroach and the flea Live hands and open eyes Speak wisely of the value of their keep. For, treasure must be measured with a clock. It vanishes under dreamless sleep. ODYSSEY © Jan Sand
The shadow dance of Plato’s absolutes May deceive the non-reflective mind – Throw rainbows, blossoms, tempting fragrant fruits To entertain perception, keep it blind. Solidity is such a smug resource. It dominates with overconfidence So that each worldly touch does re-enforce Abstraction’s philosophic impotence. Intelligence can penetrate the mask, Dismiss the singing sirens of the sense, Thread through the black labyrinth of the task, Discern impossible cosmos, immense. So, in finality, traverse the secret gyre To turn, end, face full the hidden fire.
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