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“Wild Cranes” Four poems by Nirmal Ghosh (translated into Chinese by Liuyu Ivy Chen)
The “Wild Cranes” poetry and calligraphy exhibition featuring works by Nirmal Ghosh, Liuyu Ivy Chen, Zhao Xu, and Tanya Ghosh will be held at the Chinese American Museum, DC from 12 to 19 July 2021.
1.
How long can one gaze into the green hills,
Between curtains of rain?
The dribble of water down the gutter
Measures our minutes on this Earth.
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透过雨帘，
你能凝望青山多久？
雨水滴入沟槽
倒数我们在地球上的一分一秒。
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Two Poems by Jessica Goodfellow
Glass PianoAlexandria of Bavaria,believing she’d swallowed a glass piano,moved carefully through the world,even in doorways turning sidewaysso as not to shatter it.My father, my neighbor, crabwalkthrough the world in whatever way they mustso as not to pierce the things they believeinside themselves. Perhaps I do it too—it’s hard to see in a glassless mirrorof cloudy steel plate screwed to cinderblock wall, -
“Collapse” by Alessio Zanelli
above: “Close-Up of Crater Copernicus” from the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, November 23rd 1966
A snip knocked down the stronghold,
a behemoth of sureties with feet of clay,
in one go, like the tiny pebble big Goliath.
Now we know we’re all in the same league,
none of us leads or is able to sow new seeds.
In saecula saeculorum, as the sky implodes
over man’s crazy, inconclusive endeavor,
a novel never ending flood will follow.
Who’s gone, who’s left, we lost count,
the background picture still unseen, -
“Lovingly, Peaches” by Michaela Rae Luckey
My mother named me Posie, but my nickname is Peaches. When we were young, my mom would read me and my older brother bedtime stories every night until we fell asleep.
One night, I asked, “Why do people call me Peaches?”
She put down our book and said, “When God put you in my tummy, I had this craving for white peaches–craving means something you’re really hungry for.”
My brother and I nodded.
“I ate those peaches all the time even though I’d never really liked them before. When you were born,
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“Spring Shadow” by Mahlon Banda
above: Winter Sunlight (ca 1939) by Glenn Stuart Pearce
*Where oh where is my sparrow?
Who bounced on the naked tree,
Flirting with the nascent sun,
That refuses to show its golden flames.
The sun is not yet prepared to engrave
The solid oaken silhouette,
She refuses to burn it into cement, stone, or passerby.
I must squint to keep sight of you,
My red-bellied black spider of a bird,
Alighting and lighting —
You flick a pointy wing,
