THE ENVOY The official newsletter of the
Canada Cuba Literary Alliance I.S.S.N. – 1911‐0693
June, 2020 Issue 099 www.CanadaCubaLiteraryAlliance.org
John B. Lee
Miriam E. Vera Delgado
On the Occasion of the Canada Cuba Literary Alliance Poets Laureate Appointments MSc Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias Associate Professor, Holguín University CCLA Cuban President May 2020 was a month of joyful celebration and announcements for the Canada Cuba Literary Alliance (CCLA). One of them is that poets John B. Lee, from Canada, and Miriam Vera, from Cuba, have been appointed CCLA Poets Laureate (PL). The original idea came from our founding President, Richard Grove, who is always searching – and finding – ways to encourage, praise and honour writers´ and artists´ dedication to literature and art. In a period of festivity for the fifteen years of the CCLA foundation that started in 2018 with the exclusive “The Ambassador”, Volume 15, a book of reviews entitled “In a Fragile Moment: A Landscape of Canadian Poetry” published by Hidden Brook Press in early 2020 dedicated to Canadian poetry, “The Envoy” 99, also in 2020, and the upcoming fifth edition of the Bridges Series book in 2021, Grove justly thought it was necessary and gratifying to have our own CCLA PL. Thus Lee and Vera are the first PL in CCLA history. The dictionary registers PL as “a poet honored for achievement in his or her art.” So aptly stated! Lee and Miriam have left a legacy of fine poetry within
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CCLA publication formats but also beyond. Lee will be one of the four top poets featured in the Bridges Series Book V and Miriam opened the Bridges Series tradition in Book I. They have been steadily appearing in many anthologies, solo books, magazines, newsletters, etc. both digitally and conventionally distributed, and have received awards many times. Allow me to quote fragments of an essay I wrote about A. F. Moritz on the significance of poetry and poets. It has been characterized by many authors and scholars. Shakespeare told us in his Sonnet XVIII that what we pour down on a sheet of paper remains eternal: “When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st, / So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, / So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” Pablo Neruda, the great Latin American icon, saw the duties of poetry in the form of feeling for and with others: “My duties tread side by side with my song: / I am and I am not: such is my destiny. / I am not if I don´t walk beside the pain / of the suffering: that is my pain too. / Because I cannot be if I do not belong to them all, / the silent and the downtrodden, / I come from the people and sing for the people: / my poetry is canticle and punishment.” Canadian poet Hugh Hazelton believes that poetry should “bite, caress, laugh at, confront, lament, name, envision, remember, invoke, oppose, and reflect.” Sainte-Marie energetically stated that “The job of a poet is to get information across in a way that’s effective in making change.” Eva Kolacz in her poem “Life, Part 1” tells us poets can influence and change time, life: “Change becomes us—someone said. / The beginning leaves time behind. / This is what poet & mystic can define / effortlessly.” Don Gutteridge in his poem “Letters” speaks of transcendence through poetry: “I try again to catch / that fleeting face in the prism / of a poem / in the serendipity of a simile, // knowing that he will survive / as long as these letters / linger and thrive. ”Malca Litovitz said: “… the human soul needs poetry and that it will always be around and that it serves a real function in our psyche.” Elana Wolff commented “A poem is not only a form of self-expression; it is the writer’s way of bearing witness to the world in which he or she lives…” John B. Lee stated: “I want the heart to feel true sentiment… the body to come alive… the soul to thrill… and the spirit to surround and be surrounded.” James Deahl posited: “Poetry was something that could not only speak to the issues and concerns of one’s own life but could operate as a tool to allow the poet to discover an organizing principle outside of day-to-day human life…” Wilfred Owen, cited by Terry Barker, stated: “All a poet can do today is warn… That is why the true poets must be
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truthful” and Michael Ondaatje indicated: “… most crucial duties of a poet: to map and to name.” Canadian poet A. F. Moritz referred to a poet’s “job” in an interview as “…To write well: creatively, authentically, powerfully, beautifully…. poetry is partly self-development… is duty, belonging to a community… poetry’s role is as the guardian and developer of language.” Lee and Miriam have honored all these opinions on the distinct roles of a poet. Let us, briefly, look at the two poets we have chosen as PL: John B. Lee’s writing gift has made him a recipient of as many awards as is humanly possible. He has tirelessly crafted piece after piece in his long, prolific career. He has written nearly about everything with unique perspective and style. He has memorialized his travelling experiences in books about his own and other countries. As well, Lee’s contribution and adherence to the long-standing tradition of celebrating nature – awesome, edifying, unavoidably present, whether we see it or not, whether we want to see it or not – is transcendental. He has been called the greatest living poet in English. He is the only Canadian to be a Poet Laureate in two locations simultaneously. He is also the Poet Laureate of Norfolk County. He has received more than sixty prestigious international awards for poetry. He has been named to the Ridgetown District High School Hall of Excellence along with other distinguished alumni. He attended the University of Western Ontario where he received an Honours B.A. in English, and a BEd and M.A.T. in English. In 2010 he received the UWO Alumni Award of Merit for Professional Achievement in recognition for his career as a poet / author / editor / performer / mentor. Lee has over seventy books published to date. He is the editor of nearly ten published anthologies. A popular performer of children’s poems and songs, he has been a writer‐in‐residence at the University of Windsor, Kitchener Public Library, and Hillfield Strathallen private school. Lee has also been a visiting professor at the University of Western Ontario, University of Windsor, Canador College, and a guest speaker at the University of the Witwatersrand in South Africa and at many universities throughout Canada and the United States. In 2005 John B. Lee was named Poet Laureate of the City of Brantford in perpetuity. He was named Member of the President’s Circle of McMaster University and his personal collection of Canadian poetry was
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donated to the Brantford City Library where it is available for circulation under the title “The Poet Laureate Collection.” Miriam Vera is the Lady of Lyricism. She worked as a Marine Invoice Supervisor for 23 years and 10 years as a private teacher of English . She also started writing stories for adults in the 90s and has received several awards in Cuban literary contests. Her poetry and her short story “Paranormal Phenomena in my Life” appeared in the Stellar Showcase Journal. Early in 2001 her poetry book “From the Heart” was published by J. Graham Publishing. Her poems have been systematically featured in all the publications the CCLA has at its disposal. Volumes 9, 12, 14 and 15 of the CCLA official magazine “The Ambassador” have presented her poetry. Under our Editor-inchief´s keenness for choice poets, “The Envoy”, our newsletter, is privileged to have systematically published her poems and stories: from issues 86 through 92, again in 94, 95, 97, 98, this 99 and of course her poetry shall grace the 100th Special Issue! Miriam has been included in anthologies such as “The Dream The Glory and The Strife”, where poets and prose writers from Canada, Cuba and Malta were brought together in a 2018 Hidden Brook Press book. Her poems will appear too in a SandCrab e-anthology that compiles eleven contemporary Holguín poets, “These Voices Beating in our Hearts: Poems from the Valley”. Miriam is an active promoter of poetry in local circles. She has been invited to poetry readings at Holguín University, the Lalita Curbelo Cultural Center, UNEAC (Holguín seat of the National Cuban Writers and Artists Association), etc. Her dedication to writing is laudable. Her gusto, profound lyricism and insight allow her to see through the veil of life and living, rendering highly expressive pieces crafted with superb language unfolding intimate and passionate prayers and songs of hope and longing. Miriam will forever live for and through her poems echoing Lalita Curbelo´s words: “It is impossible to separate poetry from life....” Are there any doubts as to what Miriam and John have done in their role as poets? I am sure there aren´t any! As part of the tribute paid to these two committed writers, The Envoy Editorial Staff rejoice today in offering the readers an exquisite taste of their life and work. Revel! Thank you, Lee and Miriam.
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photo taken by Laurence Hutchman and edited by Jorge Alberto
CANADIAN PRESIDENT RICHARD M. GROVE AND HIS WIFE KIMBERLY GROVE WITH CCLA MEMBERS AT THE UNIVERSITY OF HOLGUÍN
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It is our pleasure to introduce a new member to the CCLA, Anna Keiko. Welcome to the pages of The Envoy…. A brief introduction of the author and her poetry
Anna Keiko, born in Wuyuan, Jiangxi province, lives in Shanghai. She is the founder and chief editor of the Shanghai Huifeng Literature Association and is also the Chinese representative and director of the International Cultural Foundation ITHACA as well as a representative in China of “Imagine & Poesía” partnered with Italy. Her poetry has been published in more than 20 languages in countries including the United States, France, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, Canada, India, the Philippines, Romania, Greece, Spain, Italy, The Netherlands, Chile, Japan, Peru, Poland and Iceland in more than 70 newspapers and magazines. She was invited to and participated at several international poetry festivals such as the 2nd Chalkida International Poetry Festival in Greece in 2019, the 7th Mihai Eminescu International Poetry Festival in Craiova, Romania, and the International Poetry Festival in Santiago de Chile. In Rumania she was awarded the Mihai Eminescu College Medal and received a certificate of honour at a poetry, painting and music event in Curtea de Arges. She also received the King Bashab Nigo Medal for her recently published poetry anthology in English and Chinese “The Language of Deep Sleep” which has been greatly appreciated in China and abroad. The Chinese version was published by the Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House and was broadcast by the Shanghai People’s Broadcasting Station. In 2019, she won the bronze award in the first International Zuolong and Right Tiger Cup Poetry Competition and several times was given the excellence award of the Shanghai Citizen’s Poetry Festival competition. Anna Keiko also writes poetry criticism, prose, essays, lyrics, drama, essays, etc .
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The Profound Words Sleep by Anna Keiko Underneath the earth in deep sleep, in an illusory world of assumptions, the soul trudges to knock on the door of history. Time cleanses darkness before the rosy dawn rises. Fragments of memories are recovered forming pictures, showing the images of our predecessors thousands of years ago. Not many have ever witnessed the resurrection of spirits in the ruins. Violent lightning stimulates sleeping hormones; and words sprout from the decayed tree roots. Eyes from the tree branches sparkle and pay tribute from on high. Tears from the vault of heaven soothe our dry throats. People suffer from irregular sleeplessness. They sleepwalk, go through outer prosperity, but look for believing on the brink. Swans seek solitude while the sea calls out. The wheels of time lose their direction. Fierce winds disrupt calmness and curl up waves. Violent streams of rain drown flowers just poking out of the soil. Embankment is no longer on the shore; the ocean is no longer there in the sea. Pain and drunkenness spread wings of dreams. Branches and leaves grow strongly out of rotting logs. Postmodernism brims with spirit. Symbols for decrees fill the paper. Saliva and salt are cast onto barren lands. Utterances throughout the millennia permeate paper and ink.
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Asleep, the profound words awake from deep inside the walls. Eyes from the grave gaze out in fright. Trembling hands stretch into the afternoon sunlight and the library. Dawn and dusk tell. THE PROFOUND WORDS SLEEP: Noah Xu Yunjia
Photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto I Love This Land
by Anna Keiko I'm glad that I grew up in this land, Which has cultivated a poetic language. Gathered here are thousands of years of human thought, Giving me constant hope.
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I'm glad that I live in this time. Not how well developed it is, But its spiritual riches that I feel. I love this land, Not that I am familiar with it and love it, Nor that it nourishes my life, But that its blood runs through my life. I love my own country, Not how strong its future will be, But that it lets me know how wise its past is. I love this city. Not that it is changing with each passing day, But that I can see it thrive with my own eyes. I love my friend, Not how great he is, But that he mirrors my own disadvantages. I love my home, Though it is not rich, or even poor, But everything of it belongs to me. I love my family, Not how good they usually are to me, But that my heart can hold them. I love everything about them. I LOVE THIS LAND: Gui Qingyang
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If I Were a Star by Anna Keiko If I were a star, I would wait for you at your window at night. If I were a cloud in summer, I would soften the warmth of sun above you. If I were the wind, I would gently blow on your face when you perspire. If I were a bird, I would sing for you day and night. But I am but an ant longing to fly like an eagle seeing you from the sky and settling close to you. If I were a star… Dawn of Hope by Anna Keiko The light of dawn erases the traces of the night. Relentlessly, time goes on flowing, although I wish it would stop like a picture fixed by the camera’s lens because as valuable, like fruit in a tree, is love. Like the moon ascending at night, so you are, my love. Whatever happens, wherever you are, I keep you in my heart. Since I am in love with you, my world has changed for two hearts found a home of tenderness. Sunrays play on the strings of love lighting up the dawn of hope. English translation Anna Keiko - Germain Droogenbroodt – Stanley Barkan
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Love If you are the boat, I wish to be water. If you are water, I wish to be the shore. If you are the shore, I wish to be the bridge. If you are a bridge,
by Anna Keiko
I’ll wait for you on the other side Forever… What’s Done is Done by Anna Keiko What’s done is done The unpredictable occurred, the coronavirus, A storm that could last long, Is destroying sprouting branches, flowers Fear is everywhere Death is close to anyone A spring of broken dreams Dark clouds, sadness, tears The bell struck the sky Haughty humans are falling In the black hole they dug. Translation Germain Droogenbroodt
The Unpredictable Happened by Anna Keiko The unpredictable happened Death has become normal Crematoriums can’t follow anymore Australia, the Amazon rainforest burn, Burn out The sky doesn’t wake up anymore
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The streets are filled with bodies wrapped in white cloth Paper coffins, human dignity is lost In Ecuador, in Quito, elsewhere… Vulture, what do you smell? Chaos, the Greek goddess is reigning.
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto From the Balcony by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias Morning breaks in a myriad of peeps, from behind the foggy hill before me light lances the sleepy clouds hits the ground spelling reveille. Human shapes slowly fill the street silently at first then their crescendo of sounds partakes in birds´ tweets, mingles, out-utters them – what a pity! I smile put down my coffee mug leaning closer over my balcony´s guardrail to watch and listen to a chirping nest built right below my floor.
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Target by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias Beyond the realm of goals. Patrick Connors Wear off the opposing wall Use fire or ice Settle not with small Melt in a child´s eyes. Play your best roles Erase your scars Set higher goals Reach out for the stars. Aim at the very core Go always for more! Faith, Hope, Love by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias & Alina González Serrano These lockdown days are heavy-going saved only by faith, hope, love. Faith in Him whom we cannot see yet feel every day hope it all will pass and fade into a yesterday of peril and love for those we love and give us love in return.
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THE GOOD OL’ DAYS! by Lisa Makarchuk In the summer of 1946, my mother brought me the news: the doctors are coming to town and we, three kids, would have our tonsils out. At seven years of age, I was not sure how to process this information. Mother, being a practical woman, added that this was an offer our family could not refuse: three sets of tonsils out in one day for a bargain price and we’d get icecream. Everyone knew that tonsils had to come out because they often would get infected, were not necessary and considered a general nuisance. Adenoids could be thrown in for good measure but it was the thought of icecream that softened my instinctual resistance. All our medical emergencies were solved with the bottle of iodine, a small box of bandages and Vicks Vaporub stashed in a mirrored medicine chest sitting above the kitchen sink of our two-roomed house. If any of those failed to cure us then there was the last resort of baked onion set on top of a wound to kill the most recalcitrant bacteria. The Doukhobours, who formed the community around us, said this prescription was good for animals, too. Parents, Big Brother and I rattled our way to town in our Model T Ford along the northern Saskatchewan gravel roads and parked in front of the Community Hall in Benito, just over the border in Manitoba. A dragnet for children, sixteen and under, must have gone out into the countryside because the hall was swarming with them as we entered. Some were lying on any one of the many cots laid out in rows along the length of the hall and I quickly realized that the door left of the stage led to a cubicle where the operating was taking place. A disembodied voice would call your name and you went in behind that mysterious door, disappeared for a few minutes until you were brought out through the same door, groggy or asleep in a parent’s arms and laid out on one of the cots. When my name was called, I went up the steps and through that door daydreaming of ice-cream. I placed my faith in a white-gowned person who, I was led to believe, was a real doctor—not like old Mr. Popoff, the town’s unlicensed dentist, who drilled my cavities treadling his equipment by foot. We never had to pay him cash as he accepted plucked chickens or baskets of morels instead.
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On the operating table, my face was sprayed with ether. It was a good thing that I was short enough to fit on that table. Big Brother, aged sixteen, was too tall and so he could not have anesthetic. He later explained that he was seated on a stool, hands pinioned at his side. With a mouth opened wide and a flash of medical pincers, Big Brother’s tonsils were excised. An important topic of sidewalk conversation in town was whose son cried from this procedure and whose didn’t. Middle Brother was a no-show having smartly disappeared into the forest behind our house shortly before we boarded our T-Ford. I woke up on one of the cots in the Hall and faced a cone filled with mellifluous white frozen cream that my mother held before me. After my first lick, it melted in my mouth and trickled around the bulge that seemed to be lodged in my throat which promptly went into a spasm of rejection. The taste of that vanilla-flavoured ice-cream felt like only partial redemption. The Death of Grass by Bruce Meyer You can believe anything you want they told him on his way up to the show: he chose to believe in grass – the green sea that washes over time when a pop fly hangs like a lover’s promise in an arc through centre; the continent of pain when inches give way to miles on the tip of a glove; the reach that will always be bigger than a man; the cool green smell of life itself smiling up at the innings of August heat, and the green that shone beneath the lights like a sea of emeralds awash in voices. Eight seasons he learned faith is fortune; balls never bounced the same way twice; that even when you are under the ball the wind can shift and change a game; that all you tell others is less than you know; that winning the Series is better than sex though winning the Series will get you sex;
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in playing the game you are playing yourself; that baseball is poetry without the poet; that the heart and the body can be at odds; that fortune falters when faith is shaken. And you can believe anything you want – your youth, your swing, speed, arms, knees, and then like a lover who suddenly leaves that season when you swing and miss, swing again and whiff again, error in the ninth.
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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I’LL KNOW by Miriam Estrella Vera Delgado I’ll know it’s Him When our eyes Look into each other’s And I feel the warmth Of blush Invade my face. I’ll know it’s Him When he talks to me And I feel my heart Start a race. I’ll know it’s Him When he smiles to me And I feel adrenaline Rushing through my veins. I’ll know it’s Him When my body answers To his touch… trembling. I’ll know it’s Him When I see love in His eyes And my whole being Will be, with joy… quivering. I’ll know it’s Him When he kisses me And I feel the ancestral Cry Of my body… Calling Him!
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SINCERITY by Miriam Estrella Vera Delgado I am one of those beings Who don’t lie I am one of those beings Who don’t deceive I will never answer With a sham To those who full Of Faith Offer the seed. I go along As light as foam There’s no Karmic Mantle On my shoulders I continue forward And in amazement I can see how God Always helps me.
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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FIVE HAIKU by John Hamley setting duck decoys northern lights Bambi has learned to eat tomatoes— electric fence next year? Summer school A palaver of crows in my pines Monks visit Zen River poets best behavior Season’s end — Dragonflies and sun on beech bark
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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Paisaje de mar de Rigoberto Gómez Gómez Bate el perfume del mar del lejano océano azul, verde luce el abedul en el áspero manglar y el tren en su transitar saluda al bote en el río donde el sol en desafío de blanco, se torna rojo con las nubes siente enojo al darle la lluvia frío. Seascape by Rigoberto Gómez Gómez The sea´s aroma wafts from the distant blue ocean, the birch looks green in the harsh mangrove and the passing train greets the boat in the river where a defiant sun turns from white to red in its anger at the clouds for the coldness of their rains.
In the Library of the Garden by Keith Inman Grandmother brought the last cow home
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her hand on its extended hip the leg rotating out, around and into step Abuela’s other hand steadied a crop on her own stone hip limping in procession for place not refuge.
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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Océano por Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández El mar abre su seno muestra su inmensidad el más sublime de sus himnos canta himno con el que arrulla el sueño de sirenas trozos de rocas puntiagudas inquietas como un gigante encadenado, teñidas con la luz de lo profundo, helados montes de sargazos que desprenden agitadas ondas de tinta renegrida, se desatan montañas de espuma que cubren ligeramente un fantástico monte de corales que alumbran como colosales lámparas el tránsito de alevines que se mueven a un mundo desconocido. Ocean by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández The sea opens its bosom shows its vastness sings its most sublime hymn a hymn that lulls the mermaids´ slumber pieces of sharp-pointed rocks restless like a chained giant, tinted by the light in the depths, frozen sargassum fields forming impatient waves of darkened ink, mountains of foam are unleashed softly covering a fantastic forest of corals that shine like huge lamps upon young fishes´ flow moving into an unknown world.
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No me olvides por Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Tus palabras no son ni han sido vanas Las escucho con afán En otro oído que no es el mío, Nada significan tus palabras Tus acentos no vagan por el aire No se detienen como pájaros en ramas Llegan a mí con sutil ternura Sin intervalos Tus densas frases llegan a mí No se ocultan tus amorosos pensamientos Me golpean, encajándose en el amplio asimilar de mis oídos Solo para decirme, para impetuosamente decirme: “No me olvides” Don’t Forget Me by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Your words are not and have not been in vain I hear them earnestly In someone else´s ear, Your words mean nothing Your accents do not drift in the air They do not perch on trees like birds They come to me with subtle tenderness Continuously Your compact phrases reach me Your loving thoughts are not withheld They strike me, falling into the absorbing breadth of my hearing, Just to say, Just to impulsively tell me: “Don’t Forget Me”
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Satisfacción
por Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
¿Quién escuchaba el llanto de los cimentados robles allá en el duro terreno de las montañas cuando eran cortados? ¿Quién en las morenas tardes buscaba darle fuerza a cien infelices corazones para que perdieran el temor de una vida con paz? ¿Quién llevaba de vuelta a la orilla con valentía y orgullo en las oscuras noches de noviembre y la crudeza del mar a las embarcaciones desatadas de sus sitios? No era solo yo, ¡era también la mano de Dios!
photo taken by Norge Gallardo and edited by Jorge Alberto
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Satisfaction
by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
Who heard the weeping of the motionless oak trees up there on the rough mountain soil when they were being chopped down? Who in the coppery afternoons sought to grant fortitude to a hundred unfortunate hearts so they would not fear a life of peace? Who led back to shore bravely and proudly in the dark November nights and the sea´s crudeness the unfastened boats? It was not only me, it was God´s hand!
E-mails: joyph@nauta.cu joyphccla@gmail.com jorgealbertoph@infomed.sld.cu
CANADA CUBA LITERARY ALLIANCE FROM THE EDITOR: IN OUR UPCOMING ISSUES, WE WOULD LIKE SUBMISSIONS FROM EVERY CCLA MEMBER SO WE ARE NURTURED BY YOU! IF YOU HAVE BOOKS COMING OUT, A POETRY EVENT, JUST LET US KNOW !!!!!
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