the swansong cycle (part two): black swan (the piano & balalaika elegy)

desolation is just a word
desolation is just a feeling
it’s nothing to do with me
yet i cry anyway
i plan to rise above it all
one of these days

when i can fill no more
when i begin to finally pour
let this last gasp elevate me
let this last gasp make me to soar

 

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

GUEST POST // This Way to the End (A Review of Mario Savioni’s New Book by Marta Pombo Sallés)

Our Dear Readers, today’s Guest Post is an unusual one. Instead of our typical literary frippery we shall present to you a review by Marta Pombo Sallés of Mario Savioni’s new book ‘This Way To The End’.

As we all know, writing is hard work. Anyone who has tried to write a poem or essay (or even just a shopping list) can attest to this fact. You put your soul into your writings. You literally pour yourself out onto the page. That’s why we’re often a bit sceptical towards so-called literary critics and their sometimes rather dismissive reviews. In other words, breaking is not making, and criticising is not creating.

But we hope you’ll believe us when we say that writing good, professional literary criticism is an art, and that critiquing a poem sometimes takes no less effort than to write the poem itself. A really good review makes you empathise, makes you feel and think, and most importantly it makes you want to read the thing that it’s critiquing. In fact, Marta’s reviews are in a class of their own. It’s clear that she immerses herself in a book before she offers her thoughts. It’s a considered approach that we wish more reviewers would take.

But that’s enough of us for now. We should make way for Marta and Mario. Bring it on, guys!

Tati & Tony

 

 

I loved reading this book. I just find it fascinating, feel wrapped up in it, think, feel and taste every poem and short story which I see as being mainly about the individual’s eternal search for truth and beauty. I think this would be the central topic of the book as we start to read each and every poem and short story. We see how this search is very difficult in a world full of greed, wars and where love relationships do not last. As readers we are made aware that this happens because such relationships are usually based on the needs our capitalist system has created as opposed to animals’ nature, for instance, the way a family of chirping birds acts, the bird mother protecting the little birds and doing this simply out of sacrifice. The images of the chirping birds appear on several occasions as an ideal to attain which seems not to be possible in human life. That is not how love relationships work nor how an elderly mother ends her last living days, nor how one gender abuses the other, nor how a few very rich people rule the world and allow the rest to suffer from poverty and modern enslavement in a dehumanized society where Alfa people, such as Aldous Huxley showed in his novel Brave New World, are the only rulers. Truth and beauty are seen in poetry and in art like paintings. Many poems are beautifully written as the reader feels like being in front of the painting itself, everything makes us aware of the real truth of a dehumanized society in decline. I think the author wants us readers to react in front of that. He wants us all to be truth and beauty seekers. This is a powerful message of hope as expressed here:

“We have dreams,
Like a painting,
We are majestic,
Always unique, if careful”

This is the link to the book if you want to buy it, and this is Mario Savioni’s blog.

 

by MARTA POMBO SALLÉS
© All rights reserved 2018

beautiful homunculus

love ripped through your brightened veins
you wondered how much you could possibly take
the blood (a choir) roaring inside you
rushing to shape a song inside you

naught can be done to hasten the healing
but you have to know they’re only scars
and i love you, my homunculus
hurt and all

your voice was sandpaper’s rasp
no one understood, who among them could
blood in a cage, no doors inside you
no release for the song inside you

naught can be done to hasten the healing
but you have to know they’re only scars
and i love you, my homunculus
hurt and all

you’re loved, deplumed, so no more pretense
no longer can you be about mere survival
blooded for life, a kindling inside you
the filaments of song deep inside you

 

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

cult of crucifixation

in the beginning was the word
and the word was us
pressed between ungiving pages
and yet in touching we multiplied

so what was first
was word made flesh
or did flesh make the words

scope and more we had to withhold
to give him all praise
his narcissism walled us off
to ourselves, ne’er to fit in

and what of his thirst
for our blood made blest
we venerated the absurd

he showed us we were never worthy
he broke our hearts
this round hole passover pricker
no forgiving this time, the abuse must end

 

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

Bilingual Вірш

the days and years are wasted on youth
ти пригадуєш із солодким смутком
as you wander lost between the trees
із безцінним та марним здобутком

the sun is dappling through the leaves
і небо блакитне, як мамині очі
and the earth resolute like dad’s voice
то були найщасливіші дні і ночі

now like footprints buried in snow
як листівки із далеких часів
how old must one be before they start to live?
коли ти відрікся від їх голосів?

when did you scorn all reminiscence
і так безбожно в душі насмітив?
when your shadow absorbed all the pain?
мабуть, ти навіть і сам не помітив

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018