PM AUG 23 PDF

["HUNGARY ANNA TEREK-Hungary EMPTY PALMS You\u2019re walking too fast, lord, I can\u2019t keep up the pace. Let\u2019s stop for a little, let me catch my breath. Hold my hand! Can you feel it shaking? What do you think shakes more anyways, the muscle or the bone? Stand behind me, wrap your arms around me! Or are you also shaking? Shame. But your legs seemed so solid, as if they could ground these shakes. You know that as I grew, this darkness grew within me. Between the trees, reaching out to me, in the wrinkles of unhung clothes, in which 151","there were drunk, laughing mouths, it glimmered between their teeth. And it glimmered as if in that very darkness was the Lord. So that we\u2019re not alone! --Once a boy told me that: God is the sort of being who, whenever life is awful and unbearable, when they tie up one\u2019s mouth, legs, or even their heart, God is still with us. And I just stood facing the approaching darkness, we stared at each other as if we had something to do with each other, and there wasn\u2019t anyone around me, and there wasn\u2019t anyone within me either, lord. I\u2019m waiting for embraces, lord, and for them to leave me alone. Because it\u2019s hard to learn where the boundaries are that others point out. It\u2019s hard to look at those invisible, blood-red stripes, which only the other sees, and then who knows what tiredness and what sorrow made him only yell at me to get close to me. That\u2019s where God is, lord, He\u2019s in every tired man\u2019s yell. He doesn\u2019t only live in smiles, don\u2019t you think? No one ever holds our hands. 152","And that\u2019s what\u2019s hard. We stand with bare hands, and we look for the tears in the wall, the sky, while the insatiable void yawns inside us. \u00a9\u00ae Anna Ter\u00e9k MITROVICA We saw how the lord carved into the earth, but his mouth did not reach our ears. And no part of us was left, only sand, hot salty scratched sand, the wind blew us in every direction. \u0423\u0441\u043d\u0438\u043b\u0430 \u0458\u0435 \u0434\u0443\u0431\u043e\u043a \u0441\u0430\u043d\u0430\u043a \u0441\u0430 \u041a\u043e\u0441\u043e\u0432\u0430 \u0420\u0430\u0434\u0430, \u041f\u0430 \u0441\u0435 \u0441\u0432\u043e\u043c\u0435 \u043c\u0438\u043b\u043e\u043c \u0434\u0440\u0430\u0433\u043e\u043c \u0443 \u043d\u0430\u0440\u0443\u0447\u0458\u0443 \u0458\u0430\u0434\u0430. \u0425\u0435\u0458 \u0414\u0440\u0430\u0433\u0438, \u0414\u0440\u0430\u0433\u0438 \u0431\u043e\u0436\u0443\u0440\u043e\u0432\u0435 \u0441\u0430\u0434\u0438, \u0408\u0430 \u045b\u0443 \u0432\u043e\u0434\u0443 \u0430 \u0442\u0438 \u043a\u043e\u0440\u0435\u043d \u043d\u0435\u043a \u0438\u0437\u043d\u0438\u043a\u043d\u0443 \u043c\u043b\u0430\u0434\u0438. There was no point in me asking him to tell the men not to lift their faces from the blood, once they arrive here we can\u2019t embrace anyways. He could have whispered, no one would have heard. Before I put my hand on the wound of any face, we had already feared everything. He watched how the men stood, human blood trickling at their feet, and his mouth did not reach their ears. He watched them shoot the heads 153","of everyone around them, it didn\u2019t matter that he whispered: don\u2019t be afraid, this earth will also drink your blood. \u0412\u0438\u0434\u0438\u0448 \u0414\u0440\u0430\u0433\u0438 \u0448\u0438\u0440\u043e\u043c \u043f\u043e\u0459\u0430, \u0431\u043e\u0436\u0443\u0440\u043e\u0432\u0430 \u043d\u0435\u043c\u0430,8 \u0421\u0430\u043c\u043e \u043a\u0430\u043c\u0435\u043d \u0459\u0443\u0442\u043e \u0442\u0440\u045a\u0435 \u043f\u043e\u0434 \u043e\u0431\u043b\u0430\u043a\u043e\u043c \u0434\u0440\u0435\u043c\u0430. \u0425\u0435\u0458 \u0414\u0440\u0430\u0433\u0438, \u0414\u0440\u0430\u0433\u0438 \u0431\u043e\u0436\u0443\u0440\u043e\u0432\u0435 \u0441\u0430\u0434\u0438, \u0408\u0430 \u045b\u0443 \u0432\u043e\u0434\u0443 \u0430 \u0442\u0438 \u043a\u043e\u0440\u0435\u043d \u043d\u0435\u043a \u0438\u0437\u043d\u0438\u043a\u043d\u0443 \u043c\u043b\u0430\u0434\u0438. 9 He just watched, and he drained the children out of us before they could arrive, he drained out every man I held in my arms. He just stood and watched life move backwards, how Mitrovica\u2019s rain washes my lover. \u00a9\u00ae Anna Ter\u00e9k Translated by Kristen Herbert 8 Serbian folk song: She slept deeply, and dreamt of Kosovo, Rada, And so she holds her grief, her lover, to her chest. Hey dear, hey dear, let\u2019s plant the roses, I will give the water, and you will be the roots, let the buds grow. 9 You see, my dear, how wide the field is, a field without roses, Only rocks and thorns dozing beneath the clouds. Hey dear, hey dear, let\u2019s plant the roses, I will give the water, and you will be the roots, let the buds grow. 154","Anna Ter\u00e9k (1984) was born in Ba\u010dka Topola, Vojvodina, (former) Yugoslavia. She's a hungarian poet and playwriter. Graduated in Psychology (MA) in Budapest, Hungary, in 2012. Her first book of poems Tear of the smile (Mosolyszakad\u00e1s) was published in 2007. Her first drama was presented in 2012, in the Serbian National Theater. She is currently a holder of T\u00e9rey J\u00e1nos stipend for writing poems. She is living and working as a school psychologist in Budapest. 155","P\u00c9TER Z\u00c1VADA-Hungary A HISTORY OF WICKEDNESS\/ REDRAWING THE MAP OF THE KNOWN WORLD The tower was the father I never had. Its topmost turrets are washed by maritime hegemony. Like a frowning profile, I know the Moorish balconies by their protrusions. Little is known about my youth. I studied mathematics and navigation as the times demanded. An extension of my index finger, auxiliary lines set off for the shores of an appropriated spice trade. On the twentieth of November a shoal of names flared up and blazed across expectation. As we rounded the Cape of Good Hope under the Portugese flag, the Leonids were staining the horizon turquoise. What\u2019s a pension, an estate, a set of spurs, when you can name a river in Mozambique after copper? What are four hundred women and children burnt to ash, when you can hoist to the yardarm a new, more lucrative era? \u00a9\u00ae P\u00e9ter Z\u00e1vada 156","A HISTORY OF WICKEDNESS \/ C17H21NO4 In April 1505, as Spanish cruelty was soaking into the ground on the Inca coca plantations. the coca bush, with its characteristic velvety swishing, marched into Europe. You\u2019re telling me this, your fingers embracing the bottle\u2019s cool neck, and the bottle in turn the black, ribbed taste: a double encirclement. A pact, I\u2019m telling you, between the market and tradition, and just look at the privileges that came along with it! The name stayed, but the active agent was left in the past, dropped from the list of ingredients early in the century. Now all we speculate about is the proportion of sugars in the Eastern European versions: how they adjust this to the local political climate, the prevailing meteorological conditions. 2. It took time for Amerigo Vespucci to notice the the Peruvian silver miners\u2019 unusual staying power. By then, they\u2019d been paying their taxes to the Spanish with the bright green leaves for ages. You say what was internal strife in the mother country was stifling calm in the colonies. So, I\u2019m Abraham Cowley, trustworthy, discreet secretary to the King of England, and I\u2019m just composing the first written record of the coca bush in verse form: \u2018O, Western Africa, Mexico, Columbia! You can cut the diversity in your jungles with a knife, and the evergreens tower twenty to thirty feet high! Produce for us your longish, egg-shaped leaves, 157","Your golden, red-veined flowers! Put out for us your clustering, five-follicled fruits! O, mallow-flowered order, O pantropical taxon, O!\u2019 3. You\u2019re picking at the label resignedly, the twirly Spencerian script, the white ribbon on a red disc. We\u2019ll never know what secret ingredients were held in the secure vaults of the Sun Trust Bank. If they contained tears of Corsican prickly pear, sweat of fire salamander. What is the patching up of a recipe torn in half between two company directors prone to taking offence? What is it, if not the loveliest token of the meeting of two minds? Meanwhile, the spicy black scent of the cola nut lingers in the air, weaving its way through the centuries. 4. The glimmering liquid reflects sleepless Freud wandering at night through almost every ward of the Allgemeines Krankenhaus, while morphinism, migraines and impotence lose, for now, their battle with benzoylecgonine methyl ester. Next, a group of \u201956 emigrants, clambering excitedly off the ship at Camp Kilmer. Lining up at the port\u2019s only cola vending machine. And now, before our eyes, the star-shaped freeways are smudged strips of brightness in the watered-down Atlanta night. Crows between dark furrows in the fields, somewhere near the bottling plant at Dunaharaszti. \u00a9\u00ae P\u00e9ter Z\u00e1vada Translated by Anna Bentley 158","P\u00e9ter Z\u00e1vada is a Hungarian poet and playwright. He was born in Budapest in 1982. He received his Phd in ELTE's Aesthetics Doctoral Programme. He currently works as a senior lecturer at ELTE\u2019s Department of Asethetics. His fith poetry collection, A mur\u00e9na mozg\u00e1sa (The Motion of the Moray Eel) was publsihed by Libri \/Jelenkor in 2023. His poems have appeared in English translation in Modern Poetry in Translation, The White Review, and Cordite Poetry Review. 159","ISRAEL SHOSHANA VEGH-Israel MY PARENT\u2019S LANGUAGE Oh my mother, oh my mother's language What is my mother tongue? Arabic, oh, Tunisian Arabic My mother what is my mother tongue, French, My mother is in Arabic and French I do not understand. All night long at my bed I listened to the voices Conversations with her sisters Oh, my father, My father, what is my father's language? My father who speaks his father's Yiddish And Polish, And in Russian synagogues My father who returned to his childhood And I do not understand his words. 160","What is my language? It is Hebrew Hebrew choked with tears, Hebrew is crushing. Hebrew from immigrants That Sometimes is not good And is not enough. To be the salt of the earth. \u00a9\u00ae Shoshana Vegh MY BELOVED FROM FAR AWAY If you were to be beyond The mountains of Jerusalem at Bethlehem, I would be with you on the straw, Not like the Virgin Mary And would not be born to us Jesus. If you become a shepherd In the mountains of Galilee And wander up to Nazareth and I would rescue you from among The believers and carry you instead of the cross But my beloved from The far away mountains is the one Who wanders between The chambers of my heart 161","carrying me from afar on his hard shoulders These are the abilities for me He hears my crying. And here in my bed My close beloved comes to me And tells me do not cry, my love. \u00a9\u00ae Shoshana Vegh Shoshana Vegh, Israeli poet, writer, translator from English to Hebrew, a publisher. She is a head of a local poetic group in her city. She is a winner of few scholarships for literature at her publishing house. She is member of union of creativity Acum in Israel and friend of the WCP, She joined festivals around the world. She got the prize for poetry from Kosovo at the independent days of them from The Bogdani Presitios Prize 2023. The reward for the new The sign of the new pioneers 2022, Her poems translated to French, English, Albanian, Polish, Serbian. Thailand, Spanish, Turkish and been published in many anthologies 162","RONNY SOMECK \u2013 Israel THE FOOD CHAIN OF POETRY One of my wife's relatives an immigrant from Romania, established in the fifties a pacifier factory. When he got old and his eyes went dim, his son added a new department to manufacture condoms. Seemingly a contradiction: too many condoms will yield less babies in need of pacifiers. In reality, a suggestion to describe the food chain of poetry: First wrap the word in slippery rubber that protects and indulges. Later, when you throw it away Remember its first incarnation and absorb, as from the mouth of a baby a cry a howl 163","and the voices that no one besides you has ever heard. \u00a9\u00ae Ronny Someck Translated by Shirly Someck Ronny Someck was born in Baghdad in 1951 and came to Israel as a young child. He studied Hebrew literature and philosophy at Tel Aviv University and drawing at the Avni Academy of Art. He has worked with street gangs, and currently teaches literature and leads creative writing workshops. He is a member in the Public Council of \\\"Batsheva Dance Company \\\" and at \\\"Habima\\\" Theatre 164","SOUTH KOREA KANG, BYEONG-CHEOL-S. Korea WHY I READ POETRY Philosophy's scope is the mundane, Ordinary existence it seeks to explain. But poetry may explain life's profound experiences. That's why I choose to memorize poetry, In its verses, I find a symphony. From a philosophical standpoint, I may feel, dizzy and laugh. Poetry soothes, transcends latent strife, Leads to contemplation, a tranquil life. Without poetry, empathy's hard to grasp, Humans may be lost in confusion. Through memorization of poetry, we escape selfish desire, 165","Engaging in reflection, our souls searching lights. A wise Man once said, \\\"Escape and be free, Escape from self, hatred, madness, Clear your thoughts and see the truth.\\\" When illusions are shattered, pure emptiness prevails, Truth emerges, breaking reality's veils. Before the box of truth, ignorant nights' yearning, May vanish As I read poetry, my heart settles and purifies, Words weave meanings, mending worldly wrong cries. Poetry sets the mind free, thoughts it stimulates, Revealing life's essence, beauty it creates. In its lines, we find freedom, a boundless realm, Exploring infinite beauty. I read poetry, I memorize its grace, Conversing with the world, on its path I embrace. So, I'll continue to read, to memorize with delight, For poetry guides me, illuminating my sight. \u00a9\u00ae Kang, Byeong-Cheol 166","THE BLACK CAT WITH YELLOW EYES On a warm and bright spring day, A little stray cat came my way, Limping and meowing in fear, Wondering safe of not, if I'd come closer. Though it was scared, I offered some food, On a food plate, it looked confused, It ran away in surprise, But later came back with curiosity eyes. Under the Juniper tree, it ate, Slowly, it began to abate, No longer limping, it regained its life, It climbed up five stairs and came close to me. But still, the cat was afraid, I wondered how long it would take, To gain its trust, to come closer, To see me as more friendly. On a warm spring day, we gazed, Into each other's eyes, amazed. I wondered what the cat was thinking, Perhaps the cat was also wondering what I was thinking. 167","The truth is unknown, but still, We shared a moment, a thrill, Of peace, on that spring day, The cat and I, lost in deep thoughts. \u00a9\u00ae Kang, Byeong-Cheol Kang Byeong-Cheol is a Korean author, poet, translator, and Doctor of Philosophy in Political Science. He has won four literature awards and has published more than eight books. He was a member of The Writers in Prison Committee (WiPC) of PEN International from 2009 to 2014. 168","VIETNAM KIEU BICH HAU-Vietnam HOW TO HOLD THIS LONGING? I wish to store all these tormented memories in a secret box. Hide it inside me, so I can live normally But every night it wakes me up in a sweet, painful longing for you Why we are together, at the same time very far away? I lull my heart every night, pretend to see the sweetness in the lost proximity in the lost kisses the lost touches\u2026 The regret of all those losses Will it drown me in an ocean of misery? The beauty of love \u00a9\u00ae Kieu Bich Hau 169","WILL IT BURN AWAY THIS HEART? Your silence, my great waves How can I stop loving you? Is this love so much bad, not special for you? How can I stop asking myself the silly question, do you love me so? You are the light and I am blind in front of you, I don\u2019t know how to drive you out of my heart You don\u2019t love me! How can I stop this current of the river? You just keep silence In me, great waves start to rise Please don\u2019t talk to me Don\u2019t say any words You can withdraw that light from me Leave me in the divine emptiness in the darkness, with my whisper I love you! \u00a9\u00ae Kieu Bich Hau Kieu Bich Hau, Member of Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association. Born in Hung Yen Province, Vietnam Executive Expert of External Affairs Office of Vietnam Writer's Association (From 2019 until now) Editor of NEUMA magazine of Romania Editor of Humanity magazine of Russia Editor of Prodigy magazine of USA Ambassador of Ukiyoto Publisher of Canada to Vietnam Manager of Communication & Brand of SaVipharm. Founder and Head of Hanoi Female Translators 8 Awards in Literature: Literary Award for the Youth in 1992 by Tien Phong Newspaper and Nguyen Du College for creative writing. Second Award in The short story contest organized by Literature Newspaper in 2007. Award in the short story contest organized by Military Arts & Literature Magazine in 2009. Award for the best short story by the Naval Command in 2015 Award for excellent short story by Military Arts & Literature Magazine in 2015. 170","The ART Danubius Prize in 2022 for her nurturing and deepening Vietnamese-Hungarian literary and cultural relations. The International Poetry Festival - Europa in Versi Special Award in 2023 for her dissemination of Vietnamese poetry and prose on an international level. The higher honorary degree for extraordinary achievements in Literature as Ambassador for Vietnam, granted by Prodigy Life Academy US. Published 22 books of prose, poetry, essay in Vietnam, Italy, Canada. Her poems and short stories have been translated into many foreign languages: English, Italian, Korean, Russian, Marathi, Hindi, Romanian, Hungarian, Spanish, Portuguese, Nepali, Uzbek, French, German, Turkish\u2026 171","PHAN HOANG-Vietnam REVIVAL OF A DREAM ON SPARROW HILL The sun pauses the star at the top of Lomonosov tower Fresh grass in Luzhniki whole atmosphere of planetary football festival Blue river on magnificent Moscow captures the eyes gentle road springtime birds sing through the forest departing the intellectual dream for thirty years I meet myself Afternoon in quiet Moscow away from you The rise in me a familiar echoing song dreamy melody the brown blue eyes of a lady Passionate sweet hearts dark blue grasses are innocent in the park blowing wind calls for the white moon poplar confiding at night appearing your full moon face when you were in a newly loving Under the moonlight Sergei Yesenin suddenly appeared Traveling on horseback gliding through wheat fields wandering in maple forest the yellow leaves are falling communicating footsteps With suffering poet and death there is nothing new afraid that the eyes of the beauty are sadder, the old mother would be orphaned at early night under the premoniting moonlight of the talent snowstorm swirled in my heart 172","What does the seagull self-talk on the gulf of Finland? Warm Saint Petersburg in summer turning to cold autumn with hail golden light of the contemplation palace the Neva River shadows of a great man Somewhere the sound of glasses of vodka for the first time reunited Pushkin - Gogol and the bitter sound of \\\"parasitic\\\" footsteps Brodsky said goodbye to Russia following seagull wings I fly in poetic fantasy sadness! \u00a9\u00ae Phan Hoang IN MIDDLE OF DAWN THE RAIN SHINES YELLOW ROSE Paustovsky rose bloomed from a creative lonely life beauty and freedom crystallized every yellow particle Mourned Pasternak and the shining stars in the four directions Paustovsky was startled by the authority darkness forgetting treasures the light of yellow rose directed me to the Russian Soul \u2013 Tarusa Dostoevsky doesn't care if his statue standing or sitting Exiled in prison or wandered in poverty he only cared about fates of the poor The pen god did not stop at the Karamazov brothers more crimes and punishments of the dishonest rich burdened with worries, bright pages illuminated fully realms of impermanence Olga Berggolts' poetic heart warms the cemetery \u201cNobody is forgotten, nothing is forgotten\u201d those verses that live forever those who fell for Leningrad in the past City name changed but love never changed and nothing eternity more than the passionate heart of Olga Berggolts leaning my back to the blood poetry that lifted the soul 27 years old flying for freedom and silence 173","When a murder bullet continued to hit Russian poetry grieved Pushkin nothingness realm held Lermontov's hands A sun met a sun the poetic universe sunk in the darkness of loss why the beauty crushed and the evil reigned? \u00a9\u00ae Phan Hoang Phan Hoang was born on October 10th, 1967 in Phu Yen, a central coastal province of Vietnam. Being a journalist, a poet. A teacher of creative writing. Former Vice Chairman of Ho Chi Minh City Writers\u2019 Association, Chairman of Poetry Council of Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association (2015-2020). Currently member of the Executive Committee of the Vietnam Writers' Association, Editor in chief of Vanvn.vn - The voice of Vietnam Writers' Association. Published 15 books, including 4 volumes of poems and epics; Won many literary and press awards, includes the Danubius Arts Prize in 2023. 174","DANG NGUYET ANH-Vietnam PASSING BY I am like a fruit on a branch Scenting the heaven and earth Ripening Turning to unrest In dailylife Real and unreal\u2026 You are like the wind By chance Passing by! \u00a9\u00ae Dang Nguyet Anh THE KARMA What\u2019s a road Why are so many roads What\u2019s a heart Why is entangle so much, the heart? If it would be not far from rivers and mountains The starling bird must have escaped from the cage to fly away... This is not a boat story 175","But this is the karma Or unjust in a lifetime? Due to the fate of man-killer Taking it off and then tying it back on More painful! Multi-carrying until\u2026 white head! \u00a9\u00ae Dang Nguyet Anh Translated by Khanh Phuong Dang Nguyet Anh, Born in 1948 Hometown: Ninh Cuong village, Truc Ninh district, Nam Dinh province. Member of Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association. Member of Ho Chi Minh City Writers\u2019 Association She had 10 published literature books. In 2010, she attended the international conference to promote Vietnamese literature in Hanoi. In 2011, she attended in the cultural exchange in France. In 2015, attended an international conference on literature in Thailand. In 2018, attended the annual seminar and summer camp of American writers by the invitation of the William Joiner Center - University of Massachusetts, Boston. 176","TRAN THU HA-Vietnam LEARN BY HEART I have learned by heart The voice in your eyes Voices only I can hear I have learned by heart The silence in your heart Silence only I can read I have learned by heart, by heart From your breath to gait Tightened arms Your frame I learned by heart to become yeast Suddenly woke up ... I'm a stranger This lesson has learned by heart ... Just a dream! \u00a9\u00ae Tran Thu Ha 177","THE WOMAN THROUGH THE WAR The gunfire stopped The woman went through the war Breast tightened \u2013 frosty eyes The weary lullaby - exiled dream of motherhood - was filled with tears The woman went through the war Hiding herself - counting the joy of waiting to call \u201cmother\u201d The children ... Like an acid raindrop rolling into her eyes, she swallowed the night Flickering Life was broken dream! The woman went through the war In May, she washed the predestined dress she had never wore Time flamed The woman brandished the moon, the fell sound did not reach the bottom Night and night self-flapping The woman went through the war Creepy Boycott thousands of phosphorescent animals Make herself a glass of water. Tonight Looking at the hanging moon made heavy soul for the relict She tried to remember the forest with many wild flowers when Darkness covered Wet the sound of birds! \u00a9\u00ae Tran Thu Ha Tran Thu Ha from Vietnam, Member of Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association Published works: - Sidestep Love Poetry \u2013 Publishing house - Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association 2006 - Section - Publishing house - Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association 2007 - Self-rotating Earth - Publishing house - Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association 2019 - Platinum fragments - Publishing house - Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association - Posture 178","- Nghe An Publishing house 2018 Co-publishing: - Echo - Publishing house - Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association 2007 selected Vietnamese love poetry - Selected Love Poetry - Publishing house - Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association - Poetry and Friend PRIZE Prize C by the National Committee of Vietnam Art Associations for the poems \\\"Self-rotating Earth\\\" in 2010 - 2 awards of Ho Xuan Huong in the year (2005-2015) - Certificate of Merit awarded by the Vietnam Writers\u2019 Association in the contest on the subject of war martyrs 2017. 179","HAIKU 180","SERBIA SLAVICA BLAGOJEVI\u0106-ANISIJA CREPOVI\u0106-Serbia SUMMER *** Removing the cobweb \u2026 Alone in the doorway \u2013 I am silent. *** A path to the hut Hopping qhead of me A singing blackbird. *** High noon In my wattle and daub hut A yellow rose aflame. *** 181","Along with the turtledove Flying in the rainstorm A flustred butterfly. *** The turtledove\u2019s shadow On the grass-grown path The dusk after her. *** Echoing lyre \u2026 The renaissance music Takes me away from the day. *** Wind blows the poppies away \u2026 Between me and the turtledove: A red sky. *** Deep into the night The oil lamp unlit \u2013 Combng out my hair. *** Moonless night. Fireflies \u2013 the only lamps In my alley. *** The white cat lies in wait For asparrow. Oh, in the middle of the road! *** All day long 182","That blackbird in a peach tree Reaching to the sky. *** Silent village. The wind paints the turtledove On a piece of sky. *** Folding their hands In the desert of Leshie* Mons are singing. *da village where the autohor lives. *** Scented night air. The moon shadow Cuts through my blouse. *** Hazy day I can\u2019t see the turtledovws\u2019 eyes \u2013 Pleading in fear. *** This summer again A cricket in my braid. The night is cold. *** Light mist. The sound of the church bells Wakes the sky. *** Plucking a flower, 183","She plucks a piece of sky. The necklace scatters. \u00a9\u00ae Slavica Blagojevi\u0107-Anisija Crepovi\u0107 Slavica Blagojevic, She lives in the village of Le\u0161ja in Little Saint Gora Le\u0161tianska, Serbia. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia and president of the Literary community \u2013 Artist Settlement \u201cLe\u0161tian desert\u201d, Le\u0161je. She has been director of the cultural gathering \u201cPetrus Artist Settlement\u201d in Le\u0161je since 2004, director of the publishing house \u201cAnisija\u201d, Le\u0161je, member of the Association of Haiku Writers of Serbia and Montenegro, Belgrade. Ambassador for world culture from Serbia. Ambassador of fashion house EuroZena Belgrade. Ambassador for culture in the world from Portugal from Arizona. Slavica Blagojevi\u0107 is also a member of the Journalist Association of Serbia and of the Journalist Association branch office Pomoravlje, Jagodina. She is the editor-in-chief and publisher of the e-journal for language, literature and culture \u201cPetru\u0161ka nastamba\u201d Le\u0161je. She is a contributing journalist for various journals: \u201cIdentitet\u201d, Smederevo, \u201cNevskaja formula\u201d, Saint- Petersburg.Co autorShe is a and editor-in-chief part-time contributing reporter for the weekly magazine \u201cNovi put\u201d, Jagodina. Co-author for the international magazine Podrigy in Arizona. and editor-in-chief of the international electronic magazine for poetry and art \\\"Petru\u0161ka Nastaba\u201d, Serbia. (petruska-nastamba.com). Slavica Blagojevi\u0107 has been the Haiga painter on Chinese silk since 1991 and has been awarded for her poetry and painting. She has organized five solo exhibitions of paintings on Chinese silk - Haiga. Of these, five updated group exhibitions and several group exhibitions. He won the third prize for the first painting on silk in Serbia at the 1991 Friendship Meetings of Serbia competition. The paintings are in the world's private collections. Slavica is a member of the international NADA FINE ARTS and an honorary member of the international exhibition in which 50 countries participate in the city of Az- Zaviya in Libya. Participant of the Anthology in Greece HAGIOGRAPHY. She organized virtual exhibitions twice in Norway, India and Mexico. 184","RUSSIA YELIZAVETA YEVSTIGNEYEVA-Russia *** white rosehip i never became a ballerina *** decolette her another attempt for happiness *** a rainy day my dog is happy head to toe *** \u0441racks in a mountain temple \u0435ven God feels cramped here 185","*** for all God\u2019s will has faded in the sun the Gospel *** a yellow herbarium i recall grandmother\u2019s hands *** the evening of a meeting a bride rehearses silence *** \u0430 reserve petals fall on a tin can *** summer coolness full palms \u043ef the moon *** first love sinks fast a paper boat *** parent\u2019s house i meet anew the silence 186","*** \u0430 mummy\u2019s mirror \u0430 kid is training \u0430 sunbeam *** \u0430 highway \u043evertakes the funeral someone\u2019s wedding *** first snow i open a door to silence *** evening stars a conversation lasting an apple pie *** a hospital grandson is teaching a grandfather an alphabet *** evening stars grandmother is singing a lullaby to the cat *** grandmother and a TV set one hundred and nineteen channels of loneliness 187","*** end of the tour keeps silence violently an old actor *** spring dusk a blush on the face of an ice cream lady \u00a9\u00ae Yelizaveta Yevstigneyeva Yelizaveta Yevstigneyeva was born in 2003 in Moscow. A poet, a haijin, a translator. Writes poetry, haiku, haibuns, poems for children, translates poetry from German and Serbian. She has been writing haiku since 2021. The winner of the International Haiku competition in Russian (MKH-13). Was published in various Russian and international journals, the winner of many literary competitions and awards, a member of the Writers\u2019 Union of Russia. A student of the Institute of Literature. Lives in Moscow. 188","PROSE 189","ANA ULEHLA\u2013Argentina THE PUPPY The wind was roaring in the stormy night. Lightning cracked like lashes, splitting the sky into a thousand pieces. Violent gusts lashed the treetops and vanished in swirls that dragged the autumn leaves, bringing rumors to her window. Sitting on the ground in a corner, with her back pressed against the wall, Rachel watched the lightning fall like tightrope walkers against the branches of the trees and heard furious barking from the garden. Now the dogs gathered in a pack that surrounded the house and ran around it, howling with rage and charging furiously against the door and windows, clawing, pounding until they broke an opening and entered. 190","She heard the crack of splintering wood and the gust of cold air meandering ferociously, gaining ground, and roaring strange languages that dazed her, and did not allow her to think, retain, reach something lost in the back of her mind... And it was in that exact fleeting moment, of alarm, bewilderment and panic, like a bird before taking flight, when she felt the first fangs dig into her throat, tearing, that a memory exploded in her brain like a flare, they were coming for her, because she had stumbled that morning, and her clumsy hands had dropped the new born puppy, which cracked its head on the icy concrete. \u00a9\u00ae Ana Ulehla Ana Ulehla, 87 years old argentine teacher and writer, editor of international radio programs has published: \\\"Drifting\\\" and \\\"Deep Diving\\\" and her poems in anthologies, she has 500 videos on YouTube, she has won the Victoria Prize in Uruguay for she spreads works by other poets, she was president of the jury in the international poetry contest GALAXIA, in Writers International Foundation and has won the 2nd prize for a video poem contest in Italy, L'Anfora di Calliope. 191","ZDRAVKO LUBURI\u0106-Croatia-Germany THE DESIRE FOR CLEANILINESS SING The name of the poet and translator Zdravko Luburi\u0107 is not so familiar to the Homeland, but the Homeland is known to him. In his works, he constantly returns to her. The Homeland War marked him deeply, albeit physically he did not participate directly in it. But in literature he opened a kind of battlefield in defense of the Homeland through his collections The Prayer of Darkness, To the Hard-Fought. For The Prayer of Darkness, he received the prestigious \\\"Antun Branko \u0160imi\u0107\\\" award in Mostar. His handwriting is now recognizable in the manuscript of Jewish, Palestinian, Kurdish, Northern Irish and similar poets. For various reasons, the people found themselves in the wind and tried to sustain themselves as a people. And that's not easy. Because of this, poets have less time than other colleagues around the world to turn to describing idle everyday life. Death is at work and ruthlessly oily people. Who can stay silent about all this? There is a strong cry here too that breaks through the lyrics of a new collection of poems Humiliated and Offended. It's not about hardened lawbreakers, adventurers, this time it's about a man in a foreign country. In Croatian, and probably in European literature, he will be remembered as a lyricist who touches all important events in his people and connects them with others with his singing. Let's repeat that he is also a poet who sings in German. With this, he went even deeper into European 192","literature, enriched it with his belonging to it and his narrower homeland. I'm sure it's not easy for him. But this is another of the life fates of a contemporary Croatian writer. You just have to prove some obvious facts. As he reads Luburi\u0107's poems, one inevitably asks the question what is modernity? In many of his poems we find the breath of lamentations, hymns, elegies ... Since he uses these poetic means, is he any less contemporary than some other poet who is thousands of light-years away from them? Of course not. What matters is what is sung, and only then how it is sung. A good poet will expertly combine all the current poetic means and the modernity of the plot. And Luburi\u0107 must be a good poet! Everyone who reads it will be convinced. These will not only be patriotic individuals, but also lovers of excellent contemporary poetry. Luburi\u0107 self-consciously rules it. The poems in the collection are charged with the life force of the poet. They burst with immersion in the theme, from the desire for purity sings. This restores dignity to today's poetry in general. There is a lot of superficial singing today. . Looking into the distance, Luburi\u0107 creates a world that brings us closeness. And she's so deep and so needed. We could compare it to the roadside signs. It directs us where we're going. Luburic's songs are just like that. Craftappropriately and vocationally with dignity they bring us closer to the truth and make us more human. Only a true poet can do that. \u017darko Mileni\u0107, writer Croatian academician Zdravko Luburi\u0107, writer, poet, essayist and translator was born in 1942 in Pakrac. He writes in German French and Croatian. He lives and works in Remscheid- Lennep. He was born in Pakrac and educated in Ivankovo, Zagreb, Vara\u017edin, K\u00f6ln and Hagen. Since 1966 he has been in Remscheid, Germany, where he is an official of the municipality. He then taught German and Croatian at the University of H\u00fcckeswagen. From 1982 to 1992, he served on the Council for Foreigners of the City of Reimscheid, then served two terms on the Council for Foreigners of North Rhine-Westphalia. Since 1992 he has been the leader of the annual event of international literary evenings Remscheider Internationaler Literatur-Abend in Remscheid, after which the anthology Wie das Lied des Windes is published with works by participants of the literary evening. His poems have been published in magazines around the world. 193","He is a member of the German Writers' Association, the Writers' Association of Belgium Jane Tony, the Croatian Writers' Association, the Croatian Writers' Association of Herzeg- Bosnia and Almae Matris Alumni Croeticae Deutschland. Works As many as 45 separate poetry collections have been published abroad in German and Croatian. Awards and honors He has received awards and recognitions: 1996 Charter of the publishing house Reinhard Steinma\u00dfl, Langenhorn. 2002, 2003 and 2005 scholarship of the German Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 2004 Annual Antun Branko \u0160imi\u0107 Award, for the poetry collection Prayer of Darkness. 2005 and 2006 annual sapho literary award for the best collection of poetry published in Croatia to The Hard Beaten. 2008 Silver Orpheus Award for the song Before the Laughter Disappears. Since 2003 he has been in the Internet Lexicon of German Writers. \u0160imun \u0160ito \u0106ori\u0107 included him in his anthology of 60 Croatian emigrant writers, and his poems are also in many anthologies in Croatia, Germany and Belgium in German, French and Croatian. 2011 Member of the International Mediterranean Academy of Macedonia. 2012 Member of the Croatian Academy of Sciences and Arts in the Homeland and Diaspora. 194","HANNIE ROUWELER-Netherlands ENERGY NEUTRAL I think it's a good idea to keep ideas about contemporary poetry energy neutral. Why? There are too many opinions and too many poets and too many reviewers who have an opinion about something and then, of course, based on their own work and structures, their own findings and reading experiences, carrying themselves along in all the baggage. That's allowed. But nowadays at Schiphol Airport you go through all kinds of scans, not only your luggage but also yourself and you cannot escape a body search because of that unexpected beep from the gate. You accidentally had something made of iron or metal in your jacket pocket that caused great disturbance and unrest. You look around in awe, you are referred to a female official who is also doing her job and inspects you thoroughly along your legs and breasts to see if anything improper could be hidden there. The scissors and nail files already emerged from the hand luggage and were confiscated with the urgent request to take them with you in the other normal luggage, suitcase, but not on board. Everything has changed everywhere. You have to be very well informed about everything that is currently being published in terms of poetry (in literary websites, poetry collections, anthologies, at various publishers) if you want to stay somewhat informed. An immense influx of poets and they all want to cross the Red Sea, which of course does not always give way and is accessible to so many people. So I'm going for energy neutral and I don't mean that figuratively but literally. Each poet brings his own writing style and subjects. That goes in. Then that also goes out, exit, as soon as a poem is published in any form. The mixtures of styles are limitless, for decades since mixed forms have also been allowed and accepted in the field of the arts and are considered modern or postmodern. Everything is allowed, demarcated literary norms and 195","values, as they used to be, simply no longer exist. Movements that defined a previous period and were considered innovative are no longer there, unless you want to include certain themes from society that currently affect society and poets turn to that particular theme in their verses. So committed poets who scrutinize society as it currently presents itself. Then there are still some forms of groups that bring the same thing to light in various words. There is certainly something to be said for no longer having strong opinions and adopting a neutral attitude. The thing, object, the building, the language is then, in that case, climate neutral. Also resistant. \u00a9\u00ae Hannie Rouweler Hannie Rouweler (Netherlands, Goor, 13 June 1951), poet and translator, has been living in Leusden, the Netherlands since the end of 2012. Before she lived in different places in Holland, she also stayed abroad for a longer period of time. Her sources of inspiration are nature, love, loss, childhood memories and travel. In 1988 she made her debut with Regendruppels op het water (Raindrops on water). Since then, more than 40 collections of poetry have been published, also ten translations into various foreign languages. Poems have been translated into about 35 languages. She attended evening classes in painting and art history, art academy (Belgium) for five years. Hannie writes on various topics. 'Poetry is in the streets, up for grabs', is an adage for her. She mixes observations from reality with imagination and gives a twist to her feelings and findings. Fantasy and imagination play an important role in her works. She has received awards from the Netherlands and abroad, e.g. \u2018best poet of the year 2021\u2019, from the institute IPTRC voting international executive committee in China. Hannie Rouweler followed short commercial and language courses at language institutes (Arnhem, Amsterdam, Hasselt BE). She has published several stories (including short thrillers); is editor of several poetry collections. 196","BOOK REVIEW 197","MANTRI PRAGADA MARKANDEYULU-India THE CRAZY BEGGARS by Mantri Pragada Markandeyulu Overview This is a Musical Melody story attached to Panchatantra Stories, which will impress all age group people, including musical lovers and children who are fond of hearing the great Panchatantra Stories. (Both Animal and Human stories). SYNOPSIS Few Street Beggars, who are of caliber and in various musical fields (which includes, singing, playing musical instruments, and telling children stories i.e., Panchatantra Stories (both animal and human stories). Few beggars who beg on streets due to their poverty or could say not having or acquired any good and big qualifications, turn into as a group, due to co-incidental meeting, become together, express their tough life and hardships, plan, and decide to perform musical melody songs and tell little stories on the streets, initially. These couple of beggars come to an understanding to grow in life with their God given power of specialized voice and the musical instrument's performance. Few beggars, also in this group, have a specialist in expressing the stories (both animal and human stories) which are called Panchatantra stories, which even attract many of the streetwalkers, music lovers and children. Slowly, this Musical Melody group titled \\\"THE CRAZY BEGGARS with PANCHATANTRA STORIES\\\" (Melodic Stories), becomes a hit. Each day many people, including children gather at this performing group and listen to the melodic songs and stories which they make. These groups of artistic and melodic beggars get a good response from the street audience. This group slowly started performing their Musical Melody Songs and Panchatantra stories and slowly gained financial component and became sound in their financial growth. They start giving their performances in 198","many auditoriums and on big stages. A very big overwhelming response this group receives and they become well known throughout the globe. Even many TV studios and News Papers and Social Media coverages take place and this group gets great recognition throughout the world. In this story, some love matters are covered and this story becomes motivational, encourages all the poor people, and leads a principled life in becoming big in the society through their artistic and melodic voices and also through one's own orchestra performances. Finally, This Melodic Group becomes a world-famous group and makes way for the youth and others, not to beg on the streets and to learn the habit of singing or musical instruments performance and advises to learn some special art for their regular livelihood. This is a motivational story for all age group people and children too. Few of the beggars tell good animal stories and also human-related stories after their melodic singing performance is completed each day. These stories too attract many children and many people gather at this group's program each day in large numbers. Even the local agencies, nodal agencies, government and certain cultural departments also cooperate and recognize these types of musical melody street performance groups. Even the local Police Chief also supports and helps these types of musical groups through various NGOs. So, the theme of this story is growing with the God given gift and utilizing various opportunities by working hard without begging, makes one self-reliant and shows as a model to the upcoming people and children. MANTRI PRAGADA MARKANDEYULU, Litt.D., Poet, Novelist, Song and Story Writer (The Scholar) B. Com, DBM, PGDCA, DCP, Mr. Mantri Pragada Markandeyulu, Litt.D., is a retired Public Sector Enterprise Officer from Hyderabad (India). He is the Deputy-Editor-In-Chief of www.petruska-nastamba.com (Serbia\/Belgrade) eMagazine. He is the Editorial Committee Member of THE PANACHE, eMagazine from Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, India (https:\/\/www.aadhyapublication.in) He has worked in few News Papers (English) in Editorial Department. He is also the Trainer in Motivational Management Programs. He has published 75+ books with ISBN (Stories, Novels, Poems, Articles, Short Stories, Quotes etc) English\/Telugu. His stories are useful for making Movies, TV series, Web Series. He has written 750+ Poems in English and 130 Poems in Telugu language. He received the following honors and awards both national and international: International Achiever Award in Authorship from IPRH, Philippines and Bangladesh. Birland Government honored me with a One Pound Postage Stamp as an official Poet. Global Honorary Advisor, Federation of World Cultural and Arts Society (FOWCASS), Singapore. 199","CIVIC EXCELLENCE AWARD 2022 FROM UHE, PERU Rabindranath Tagore Literary Honor 2022 (Government of Seychelles, Motivational Strips and SIPAY Journal) CESAR VALLEJO AWARD 2021, 2022 and 2023 (3 Years) UHE, Peru for Literary Excellence WORLD WRITERS\u2019 UNION Peru Gujarat Sahitya Academy and Motivational Strips LITERARY EXCELLENCE Honor Honored with \u201cRoyal Kutai Mulawarman Peace International Institute, Philippines\u201d Royal Success International Book of Records 2019 Honor, Hyderabad- The Silver Shield Award from UHE, Peru for my Literary Excellence 2021. 2021 GOLDEN EAGLE WORLD AWARD FOR LITERARY EXCELLENCE, Peru. The Scholar, Institute of Scholars Research Excellence Award-2020, Bangalore (India) Hon. Doctorate in Literature from ITMUT, Brazil. (2019) State of Birland at Bir Tawil Recognized Poet 200"]