V i s i o n a r y V o i c e s
THE SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL POETRY FESTIVAL
The July 2007 International Poetry Festival in San Francisco was curated by San Francisco Poet Laureate Jack Hirschman, a tireless and tirelessly inspiring voice for social justice and revolutionary vision. Over three days, poets from 14 countries read in 10 languages at various venues around the city. Two poets were refused visas: unsurprisingly they were from Venezuela and Iraq. Three former SF Poets Laureate: Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Janice Mirikitami, and devorah major co-hosted. Below is a selection of works from this remarkable event.
It's Time for the Knight to Triumph
by Hanan Awwad (Palestine)
In the shade of the olives
In the lemon leaves
In the eyes of birds
I look for you
On the summit of the red volcano
In the land painted with thyme,
O greatest joy of mine,
O greatest joy,
O home of sorrows, erupt!
O home of sorrows, erupt!
Shall we worship other gods
In the shade of your ashes
And hang on the gallows
Of your branches?
Can we forget
That we belong to the pregnant earth?
Can we forget
That we come from a bigger root?
O home of sorrows, erupt!
O home of sorrows, erupt!
Givara's approaching.
The revolution kindles its insurrection
It's ignited by the tawny face,
Givara kisses its forehead
And perceives unconquerable lions.
Gaza, O my mother,
O Gaza,
The flame of longing grows bright,
Grandfather's tent holds a song
Made up of the dreams of poverty,
Played by grains of light
And the sickle.
This is my mother, she bears a secret
Drawing me toward the yellow sands
To love, fragrant in my homeland
In a hut on the green mountainside.
April!
Proclaim that my blood exudes the fragrance
Of the land of my ancestors.
(Translated by the author)
Stop the War
by Ferruccio Brugnaro (Italy)
Don't wait till it's
too late.
Don't stay silent, not anymore.
The missiles,
the bombs
are getting
the upper hand
on the whole universe
on all of life.
Monstrous animals have taken
the reins of the earth
and world.
The darkening of the mind
and soul
is almost
total.
Don't clam up, don't stay silent.
Only war talks
strong and loud
in these hours
spreading blazes of blood
and death
in city and plain.
Don't be silent, don't keep still.
The human heart assaulted
by the terror
of darkness
these days
like a defenseless child
founders
in uttermost weeping.
(Translated by Jack Hirschman)
Dream #6
by Mark Bamuthi Joseph (USA)
A walk through the park in post-war Bosnia
I am scared for my life
It is night
And the kid following me is gaining
I cross sharply across the cobblestone road
Then make a break for it through the trees
The next day he shows up in my workshop
He looks nothing like the neo-Nazi I thought was
trailing me from the shadows
He's probably thirteen
Sharp blue eyes close cropped hair
All goofball elbows and knees
Speaks no English
Shows up to write every day for three weeks
And then
Begins showing up at my place
every morning at the cock's crow
I have not learned the Bosnian words for
L'il motherfucker I'm still asleep
I open the door
He smiles his goofy grin
And then starts to beatbox
He is 5 1/2 feet deep in ethnic warfare's grave
He's found someone to help him dig
out
His mouth music make like skipping bullets against the
wall of first-light darkness
Still dreaming I begin nodding my head to the beat
In the distance the adan calls
It is dawn
The cipher can't wait for the day to break.
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