#reblogged poetry

[brightdeadthing]

love as recognition

anna gavalda / friedrich nietzsche / clarice lispector / jandy nelson / rebecca perry / mhairi mcfarlane

[tambuli]

source

@el-huddpudd for your poetry tag 💜

[baenuit]

 ㅤ

10,ㅤ 𝙳𝙴𝙲.ㅤ ♡︎ㅤ 会話ㅤ chat.

ㅤ

────ㅤ 12月ㅤ♡︎ㅤ𝗍𝗎,ㅤ𝗇𝖺𝗈𝗌𝗎.

e por minh'alma, uma vez inane, hoje floresce. entre lírios e sentimentos, repletos de ti.

ㅤ

𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴ㅤ ㅤ 場所  ㅤㅤ ٫ㅤㅤ  𝖾𝗆──𝗅𝗂́𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗌.

𝗇𝗈́𝗌 ㅤ  &ㅤ   𝗉𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗂⍺ㅤㅤ'ㅤㅤ𝐞́         𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞

𝟣𝟢ㅤ·ㅤ𝟣𝟤 ㅤ ♡︎  ㅤ"ㅤ 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗌 ㅤ" ㅤ𝗒𝗎̄𝗃𝗈̄

𝖼⍺𝗉𝗉𝗎𝖼𝖼ꪱ𝗇𝗈ㅤ  そしてㅤ   હ  ㅤ 𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺𝚂.

✿︎ㅤ   𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌ㅤ     𖬺        ۽ ㅤ    𝖿ꪱ𝗅𝗆⍺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗌.

ㅤ

𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝖾́𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌ㅤ✿︎ㅤ──𝖽𝖾ㅤ𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗋𝖺.

em meio aos meus profundos devaneios, sua pessoa resplandece; eu, uma vez caligem, hoje faço minha passagem, sob a suave luz de estar contigo.

ㅤ

𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 : 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖺𝖼̧𝖺̃𝗈. " @artlirios "

sobre nós, poetas e pétalas; as árvores─sakura enfeitam a noite, com toques leves realçando o significado que é a sua companhia: " paz e alegria".

ㅤ

🌧️ㅤ𝟣𝟦°𝙲

── ' 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗃𝗂𝗇.

𝟣♡︎:𝟣𝟤 𝗉𝗆

𝙼 𝚄 𝚁 𝙰 𝙻

花びら、記憶.

ㅤ

-> ㅤmoodㅤ ＿＿ ㅤBIOS⠀·⠀modificação livre.

[yuveim]

The Toronto Public Library has removed "If I Must Die" by Palestinian writer, poet, professor and activist Refaat Alareer from its display.

If you're an author, writer, academic or reader you can contact TPL to voice your opinion on this decision to censor Palestinian poetry. Who to email here and here.

[polishpoems]

ars poetica? polish short-form poetry in (english) translation tournament: submissions now open!

inspired by @polish-art-tournament, the poetry edition is finally here! sorry for the long wait; hopefully it will be worth it!

submissions:

one poem per submission. submit here.

we ask you for the following details: (points with the asterix * mean that they are obligatory and without them the submission will not go through) : *the author. *title in english (translation), title in polish/minority language, *translator’s name, *full text in english, original text, source: (website, anthology, publication etc.), photo/screenshot., propaganda: (both for the poem and the translation of it).

the submissions will be open until OCTOBER 5th. we want to give you plenty of time to actually read and choose your favourites!

general rules:

the original language should be polish or a minority language – we do not necessarily subscribe to the official governmental list of minority languages; simply ask yourself about the heritage/connection of the author to poland; we also accept poems translated from polish that were written by authors who do not necessarily identify themselves as polish. etc. in short: we are flexible. we want to celebrate polish poetry and its translation in all its range and diversity. 

however, unfortunately, as we want to keep the tournament as accessible as possible, we accept only poetry translated into english; still, you are also welcome to additionally submit translations into other languages, if they exists and you want to share them (link them in the “other” rubric.)

we also accept self-authored translations, but they ought to be published somewhere outside of the tournament; by ‘published’ we also mean ‘posted’; so feel free to translate, post on tumblr (or other accessible social media) and send us the link. 

where to find polish poetry?

websites: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/, https://allpoetry.com/ (this is a website where you can publish your own poetry, but it also has a fair amount of translations – for example of baczyński’s works. search by author), www.poemhunter.com, www.poetryinternational.com 

open sources and internet archives: for example archive.org (numerous positions available: for instance, polish writing today by celina wieniewska, postwar poetry anthology by miłosz, five centuries of polish poetry by peterkiewicz)

your local library. there are more bilingual and english-language editions of polish poetry collections that you would expect. 

a rumour says that admins have a google drive with a collection of polish poetry books scraped from open sources… you can find out if it’s true by dm-ing @tsaricides.

if you have any sources that are not included here that you’d like to be: please let us know. sharing is caring.

[fledermaus-art]

I suppose it's perspective

Only time can tell me

The profoundness of the light in the sky today vexes me

Each dapple in the trees, the leaves so glossed and gleamed

I've shared something special to me, and it lingers like sand from a beach

My heart hears the tune of piano keys, a twiddling dance of up and down and an ache like I've never known

So beautiful, so fragile

[rhythmelia]

Support a translator of color!

This is an ongoing situation as of 2023.06.24.

My friend Yilin (she/they) does a lot (A LOT) of work translating literature from Chinese to English, among other things. And they allowed me to signal boost this on tumblr since she doesn't have one yet.

The beginning of the thread is here: https://twitter.com/yilinwriter/status/1670305203206385665 and all the tweet images below are not described because they are previews of direct links to the tweets.

Key points: The British Museum stole their translation work and used it, uncredited, in a major exhibit where they "appeared in photos on a giant display, on signage, in a physical guide, in a digital guide, in an audio guide, and in an app that is available for international download. How did NO ONE catch there was no credit?"

The response from the British Museum has been enormously disappointing so far:

"we will not be reinstating the translations in the exhibition that have been removed following your complaint, and therefore you will not be acknowledged in the exhibition as your work will not be featured" - except the uncredited translations are still in the 30,000 copies of the exhibition catalog.

Go check out more updates downthread as the situation develops.

Want to support Yilin?

"If you want to write to them or have written to the BM, you can help convey these demands of mine to them: - credit + public apology everywhere the work appears - proper payment (increased to account for lack of prior permission given & all the time the work was uncredited)"

Boost Yilin's book! "The Lantern & the Night Moths, an anthology of Chinese poetry that I selected & translated, featuring poets incl. Qiu Jin, accompanied by my essays on translation, forthcoming w/ @/invisibooks in Spring 2024"

Yilin's page: https://yilinwang.com/book-announcement-the-lantern-and-the-night-moths/

and the pre-order link: https://invisiblepublishing.com/product/the-lantern-and-the-night-moths/

I'll try to update as more things happen, or you can go camp out on the thread.

Edit: please reblog the most current update here from 2023.07.05:

[hyperfocusthusly]

Rage, I have learnt to wear.

My mother’s grief, however,

folds my spine and lives beneath my ribs.

it gets heavier and heavier

|| Line art ||

[trickstersaint]

canines // december 10 2023

[liorlen]

Pyr y’n gwna ni byrhoedled? / Digawn llawryded, / kywestwch a bed.

[baenuit]

ㅤ

𝗉𝖺́𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺──ㅤㅤ𝟢𝟥ㅤㅤ𝖺ㅤㅤ𝖿𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝖺.

01. sentimentos descansam no coração 02. fotografias para ♡︎붓다 sorrisos bobos ao olhar para ti. 03. um pouco de café toda a tarde.

sourire ㅤ ( 영원한 ) ㅤ 꽃' ㅤ ੭˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔㅤ ♡︎

romancesㅤ comㅤ맛ㅤ deㅤcapuccinoㅤㅤ

pellicule ㅤ[...]ㅤ beijos ㅤmarcadosㅤ⪨

efígie ㅤㅤ놓다ㅤㅤrabiscos,ㅤㅤtrechos.

versos e folhas com sua doçura e perfume. 백합 ✿︎ luz suave que ilumina minha rotina; sua dança pelos meus dias.

cada página no livro ilustra o seu belo sorriso, rabiscos entre as folhas destacam a leveza e tranquilidade que desde sempre faz presença na rotina. [...] seus olhos marcam essa realidade que beira a fantasia, além de um──museu, há mais arte.

ㅤ

mood──bios.

ib dos tracinhos por @f-leuris on tumblr !

[elycwinters]

There's a storm in your dark grey eyes; one that bears a resemblance to lust.

~ Ely C. Winters.

[sincerelygarden]

Secrets accumulate atop my tongue, making beds in rooftop ridges and gap teeth.

After dinner I spit them out, all blue and crazed in a bathroom sink on another Sunday.

A girl prays to a god she feels unworthy to be loved by-

anything, or everything, or nothing at all

It is the wonder every September:

I feel her heart beat again.

My feet

thump,

thump,

thumping atop gravel.

"Listen," she says.

"Do you hear that?

Do you feel that?"

I try.

I stretch my arms down a drain,

frantically searching for the means to scream, to be anything, or everything, or nothing at all.

I tried honey—

scooping her out,

desperate and stretched,

goop thickening the walls,

syrup-like and sorry for making everything worse

much worse than ever before.

I give up.

I follow the ant trail to a sad pillow,

heating up the center where agony breaks free.

I follow the ant trail to therapy every Monday at 11, and say much yet nothing at all.

I follow the ant trail to the walls I wish I’d step outside of.

I try honey once more.

I shower it over myself in hopes the thing inside is able to thin it out in time,

like tea on an anxious Tuesday.

But my sisters are perhaps weary of what clings to their shoes,

of hands stuck upon doorknobs and kitchen sinks and Wednesday’s dinner engulfed in goop.

I follow it to a mirror.

I am frightened to believe what I have become.

I run to the supermarket and make a mountain of salt in aisle 24,

hoping to counteract the monstrous situation upon me,

smothered in the taste of all the things I needed to say,

in the sour shame coming back home all the same

My god!

on old clocks, windowsills, light switches, and more pillows, cold pillows on lone Thursdays,

Forget the mirrors!

I must not look at myself

slugging around and destroying a home I’ve made none but my own.

Oh but

She is in picture frames,

Lovely and light and easy to hold

behind glass, handled with care.

Pity is dreaded fear, a pungent knock I want to ignore every time.

I weep onto the smile, the what-was, a known.

I try once more,

stretching myself down the drain,

uncertainty a growing depression—a well-known symptom of a heart beating faintly on Friday, under layers of each day before.

She is somewhere in the hollow parts,

in the shadow dancing on the edge of what lives outside,

in the music sticking onto a seen but unexperienced.

Saturday, I am the soles of hurried feet,

thump, thump, thumping like knocking—a thunderous prayer possibly heard.

I follow it to my mother’s voice,

and my father’s wisdom,

and my sisters' cheers—

shoes kept neatly in spaces just for me.

Is she worthy of love?

My god!

Is she!?

To follow the ant trail to the old town lived once before-

She is there!

I feel her heart beat again,

trying to be

anything,

or everything,

or nothing at all.

My heart,

the center where agony breaks free!?

Do you hear it?

Do you feel it?

Thump,

thump,

thumping atop gravel.

An ant trail follows me down to

the places that consume me.

She tastes the sweet outpour of will,

or anything, or everything, or nothing at all.

A girl prays to god, on a Sunday-

Thump,

thump,

thumping..

Do you hear me?

[lostillusionstuffs]

That's the end, I don't believe in love anymore.

[literarygreens]

𓋼𖡼𖤣𖥧𓋼Welcome to literarygreens𖥧𖤣𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧

A little space for poetry, art, and all things that spark creativity and are nice to take in. I share reblogs of writing, visuals, and sometimes post aesthetic images that catch my eye from Pinterest. (let me know if any images I post are yours So I can credit you).

If anyone was curious, I post my writing on my main blog 𓍢𔓘 @inkprilled 𓍢𔓘 Hope you enjoy the garden!

[shitty-proendo-blackout-posts]

touch this post