Gallery
Writings
Poems (click on titles)
Andrea Romani - Flutters of Madness
"What flew me to madness you ask
It was the Christians' God feathery design"
Anna Bumber - He cut his shadow off
"He cut his shadow off with a knife,
walks through the earth,
monstrous light,
shapeless face,
no music,
no birds,
not a tale,
poem flees."
"Roaring, they slither on the expanse of dismal
highways and bridges of the Giant's idle walk"
Joelle Saliba - I didn't want to say it
"I didn’t want to say it
I didn’t want to say anything at all
To write anything at all
To speak anything at all
I didn’t want to perform..."
Linn Ritsch - Four Poems about Transformation
"I remember that it smelled like sweat on the battlefield. It must have also smelled like blood, but that I don’t remember. The ground was thee to carry our weary feet, marching in lockstep. It was there to support our bodies, tired yet anxious to reach the enemy. When the battle started, the ground was there to exhibit our corpses."
Shahbaz Ahmad - Ode to Sweeney
"The agony taking toll
On your prickled bleeding soul
From one yew tree to another
Your convoluted spirit would wander
You devour me with your blazing gaze"
Ulrike Weihr - Brother At Home A Flight
"There once was a friend, or a brother
Who asked me: Why do I bother
To go to far-away lands? To see
What only a home can show me"
Prosimetrum (click on title)
Harsh Trivedi & Ivan Grozdanovski
Sweeney (A Postmodern Romance)
"Four walls around me rise up
An inside set and outside
To stay in bed or o'er two legs to stand
as well on tile, course lime or biting sand?
A little air passed my lungs."
Tales & Short stories
(click on titles)
Elpida Karmali, Fabia Brustia & Maria Moschioni
Bill Suibhne A Diary
"I do not know for how many days, or weeks, I have been living this life. I am still not able to sleep like this, and when exhaustion knocks me down completely, I wake up, like today, feeling dazed and displaced, my body sore with pain, a thin cardboard box between it and the pavement. The City is waking up, too. I drag myself, my blankets, and my few belongings away from the little corner of the platform where I made my pallet for the night, and I get out of Bowery Station just as the first crowd of commuters comes rushing in through the entrance. I cannot help but think they look like a little army marching on to battle, all suited up, armed with their umbrellas, their briefcases and their coffee cups. Seeing them makes me ache with restlessness to the point of nausea."
Maria Jose Prado - Seamus Seeking Suibhne
"Grandfather used to tell wonderful stories of his childhood to Seamus very often. But one night he told him about the Suibhne creature.
‘When I was still very young’, he said, ‘my grandaddy told me that the Suibhne creature, who dwells deep in the woods, is the holder of a big secret of the forest. So, for years I tried and tried to find him, hoping to discover his secret. I found very mysterious tracks, you know? But I never found the creature...!’ "
"Eorann caught her reflexion on the window and gasped. Her long black hair was tousled around her and she had matching dark circles under her eyes. When she was younger, her eyes were her most favorite feature on her face. They conveyed her passion, the fire raging inside her. Yet, now, they were hollow. Washed down by the life she lived. She moved away from the window, startled by the door opening and faced the newcomer. Sweeney was here."
"Cold is the snow to-night...
Ton errance ne s'est-elle donc jamais terminée, ou bien la recommences-tu, encore et encore, encore et toujours, jusqu'à la fin de tout ? Tu attends que le cercle se brise. Oh, Sweeney. How is that, O slender Suibhne?"
Essays
Darya Tsymbalyuk - On growing into places
"My first friend in Italy, was a tree in front of my apartment. I did not live in a pretty part of the town. There was a construction site near my place and a line of young trees at its side. Those trees were not much higher than me. Every day I left home and every day I came back, I passed by this one tree in that line. It was autumn. We were changing. The time was too present."
Ricardo Garces - Leaping through Madness
"Cold was the night that night when I finally ran out of ideas and metaphors about this speechless solitude. What could be a human condition if we are severed from poetry, from music, from the beloved beauty of philosophy with its heights and its visceral tears? Came the not so shiny dawn and there was only the wreckage of a man, no one or nothing left to be known or recognized for the shattered pieces of the millions masks splattered at the fall of a cliff."