To those who asked him the difference between being sad and
being heart-broken, Nachman
still, it would be sinful, you say, not to speak of swans: six is silence, seven love, and in the
exaggerates. deepens his voice and opines and states. a case he says is emblematic. his argument
S/S CANBERRARoni Margulies
The Canberra was to be put in a dry dock
to be dismantled and sold off piece by piece.
SACRÉ-COEUR! Jacques Roubaud
I can see you
O Baby’s Bottle
With your big
SADLY PLANTINGAnn Cotten
Earth, earth to jeezus to any captain!
We go down slowly and well served.
After having loved we lie close together
and at the same time with distance between us
I and the sea here
In a cell-phone
. . . carries me
SAILOR’S SONGRemco Campert
When I was little
I wore a sailor suit
my mother took me
to the pond in the
God, I give up.
I'll make a monkey of myself too.
is ticking time
Every lover is cursed
to forget, at least for a while,
his woman: as the river of
Some slices of a salmon
on the white dish.
At nine a.m. in the water of
SALT PRAYERMiguel Iriarte
I have come to say it
With whatever sea there is in my words.
This dish of salt,
SALT SEEKERMark Boog
Salt seeker – seeing tall waves with wide eyes,
not knowing how to catch. But in the
SALT WITH FIREJustyna Bargielska
Do you know how you feel? Some discs
get recorded louder than other
SALTPETER SORESRuy Duarte de Carvalho
Look at this country reducing itself to dust,
to saltpeter sores
and the blackened
I woke up that year on the beach
my bird body
I was shocked to
I once had a lover who would send me
the sand of the city he lived in
but me I was
SANTA BARBARA MOTELJosé Zuleta Ortiz
shows the place to the lovers,
waits for the car to go
SANTA LIBRADA COLLEGEJotamario Arbeláez
in your pool
I bathed naked
like an angel
I evaded the
SANTA TERESA BEACH, 2006Luis Chaves
A few days and nights in Malpaís and Santa Teresa. I saw the pelicans, the threat of falling
Made of unreal elements, or secret,
your eyes are the entrance door to the labyrinth.
You were not on the stairway to the plane
You were just kisses tip to toe
I was sneaking
The wind is cold it burns
and causes those that wait for the quiet
crossing of the tram
Father is sitting at a long dining table eating a roti with a knife and fork. Fascinated, I sit
SATURDAYAlexis de Roode
It’s an odd thing. Recently
I can’t help getting the feeling that I have a
SATURDAY NIGHT ALIVEDanie Marais
I do the
Chuckled on the window seat
Of the bus, and then
Hid her face
They say that all time past is better
and I believe that too
Some long for horse-drawn
Her hands down in the photograph
I held with both hands
When she got
SAXONIAN TWILIGHTJules Deelder
In Lower Saxonia central
There once lived a floor lamp
It was tired of awaiting fate
The unsuspecting boy found it breathtaking.
He stared at the branches, the crippled
SCALE MODELRemco Campert
The sun always shines brightly
on the square with public housing
SCATTERING OF ASHAmparo Osorio
Dust turning to dust
with open hands.
There is no room in the sky
when I’ve finished this cigarette, I will make my way to the banquet
on the Ferris wheel a jilted lover weeps.
on the merry-go-round a blond girl
SCENT OF A WOMANEdvard Kocbek
The primordial time seems so far away
and yet so mercilessly close.
Some days are painfully
SCENT OF DARKNESS IYonadav Kaploun
scent of darkness, the odor of feet
went out and came in
SCENT OF DARKNESS VYonadav Kaploun
not a muscle moving
in His featureless face
as He let me writhe
All you do
is laugh with the complicity
of those who murder silence
I am separating the breast into pieces, sharpening a knife,
Removing sinew fats cartilage
SCHOOL OF POETRYLucebert
I am no sweet rhymer
I am the swift swindler
of love, the hate beneath it heed
What did we do when she was gone
for good? Throats clamped shut,
legs of clay, no
light hurts them
they feed on sawdust of dusk
live in worm-eaten towers
SCOTT IN THE SKYNathan Wasserman
The stars, my dog sled team,
stopped for a moment to pick up a scent and returned to drag me
Between the poet and the star
Sat the moon
I sat naked on the balcony
When did the ant develop a taste for the news?
Or did it always nurse it within?
SCYTHEGeert van Istendael
Iron beats iron on an iron chair,
sharpened, hardened she comes into her own,
It took me twenty years to love
this hole in the middle of nowhere.
The sea here’s the sea
It was born in the Year of Our Lord
Nought more or less and
I saw a sea that took the veil
I saw a sea that put up a sail
I saw a sea
SEA JEWELJun Er
this sea water bluer than the sky:
if I could hunt out words in it
I’m sure they’d say it too
SEA OF BEADSMaria Barnas
The town turned round
when I looked back. Excuse me please
I thought you were someone
SEA VIEWMaria van Daalen
He feeds me salmon as if it’s fish, breaks the
too thin, too white toast, and the salty scent
SEA, OH SEADelimir Rešicki
finally discovered the hamburger.
a crystal submarine
At the fiery rock snout as in mythical times,
the barnacles, crowding, massing, listen
A flash of boats sprouts across ocean fields.
Sailors might take root
But what of
How their breath stinks.
From their mouths, suffocating steam.
SEASON OF LOVE ON EARTHUdaya Narayana Singh
There’s a season of love on earth
made specially for you and me:
one which begins
SECOND GENERATIONYael Globerman
The man who almost wasn't sits down at the table.
The woman who barely made it serves him
SECOND URBAN PANNEAURon Winkler
say over, say under, say city, say what
you’ve seen, say the silvered, mirror-glassed
SECRET ISLANDMeira Delmar
Let time pass between the two
without letting us change soul and soul.
SECRET LIFEFernando Charry Lara
Oh, tell me, tell me, when the night
Makes your quiet smile paler,
The tremulousness of the
SECRET VISTASEugenia Sánchez Nieto
She saw herself a thousand times in the mirror and was beautiful
SECRETS OF THE BEDROOMShuijing Zhulian
I’ve drunk a little wine
beside me a few simple clues are
all that remain: there to my left
Sedge stands over the land, stands
suspended, quite still. Sedge stands,
I hear nothing,
See I am his mother/ c/ see that his perception is warped/ doesn’t he c/ he’d be worse
make yourself heavier, they call. i close
both eyes, thinking
of sacks of cement, iron
SEED HOUSEAntónio Osório
It’s sad not to have a seed house.
It’s useless to cherish those particles lying idle
SEEKING THE TREE Wang Jiaxin
We come to Gotland to look for a lone tree—
The tree in your last film that
Let’s take stock:
at right angles to the foot,
straddling the legs,
above the eyes
My mother didn’t believe
when, in 1945, I appeared to her
in a dream and told
SELF INTRODUCTIONShuntaro Tanikawa
I am an old man, short and bald
For over half a century
I have spent my life grappling
SELF PORTRAITRaúl Henao
Oh, my face is as stupid as undergrowth
I prefer the chirping of
SELF PORTRAITRoland Jooris
What resides in him
it isn’t purity
The Oil must leak.
The tongue must toil.
Man must use
both tongue and oil.
This genre was perfected by Rembrandt van Rijn
of Jodenbree Street who so deftly drew
A five-year-old boy alone in the water
not far from the shore. His parents call out his
SELF-PORTRAIT AS A HORSERutger Kopland
When I was still a horse in a meadow
I must have lived in his body
have seen in his eyes
SELF-PORTRAIT AS A POPPYMieke van Zonneveld
“She calls you”, he says, “Lilith in habit, tracker wasp
that I am host to
SELF-PORTRAIT AS ELEMENTPieter Boskma
I was smoking on a wooden bridge over a dark ditch.
The birds in the wood were going wild as
SELF-PORTRAIT AS SELF Pieter Boskma
What is the nature of the self? Today I saw
a coughing sheep but I don’t know if this
SELF-PORTRAIT AS VOID Pieter Boskma
A strange wind was blowing; it came from all quarters
and whirled around me like a drunk
An expansive continent
Lies in the word ‘ocean’.
The ‘cow’ conceals
Don’t wear white –
it makes you pure
but reveals your weakness.
They are sitting in the car in a traffic jam,
the radio is on, exhaust fumes
SENTIMENTAL EDUCATIONVasco Graça Moura
we often live according to a rash
notion of stark contrasts between good
and evil, greatness
SEPARATION SPINUlrike Draesner
early moring at the mirror i’m
dreaming look i’m going but
SEPTEMBER 2001Uwe Kolbe
The hotel restaurant closed tonight
at 10 o’clock for
SEPTEMBER 6Yan Jun
Bats fly in the ultrasonic ocean
like the people watching them in curtains of darkness
SEPTEMBER SIXTEENTHTua Forsström
Night, blue. Night, black.
We so easily think ourselves lost.
But the bells on the small
A, B, C and
I really don’t know what I want.
Perhaps I want a little sister,
O God I
SER, SERENA, SERENITASTaja Kramberger
I’m not talking about miracles,
nor of mysticism or gnosis, no.
I’m talking about the full
SERIES OF OMENSKanaka Ha. Ma.
Don’t disbelieve omens
Omens are clues
Warnings from the soil
SERNER, KARLSBADThomas Kling
where even in posted areas
the censors babbled.
tall granite masses.
smoky snow. I
SESTINALuís Vaz de Camões
Little by little it ebbs, this life
if by any chance I am still alive;
my brief time
SET SAILCharles Ducal
A door creeks, a light buzzes on.
Caught out a rat flees
into the ceiling.
SEXNuala Ní Chonchúir
An older boy
his front to my back
hooked around me
His brother nearby
SEX ROUGHLY IMAGINEDDubravko Detoni
Your naked leg drives slowly through my mind as a branch dressed up in white, and stops seven
SEXTUS PROPERTIUSTua Forsström
Sorry it’s taken me so long to answer, the summer passed so quickly.
Are there seasons
Pierced by blackberries the shadow squeezed itself into the rock-garden, crawling between jagged
He keeps running after me
doesn’t turn white, even in the snow – wretched thing
SHADOW AMONG SHADOWSLauren Mendinueta
Just like a firebird
Your wings let fall
A deep shadow.
I saw you blacken
SHADOW PASSENGERPedro Arturo Estrada
Towards the country of the unknown I advance,
slow passenger of shadows.
They glided down towards the sea,
drifting from their mountains like soft shadows,
In this place suddenly thrown into disarray
It is impossible to distinguish
SHAKESPEARE AND U PUNNYATin Moe
Shakespeare and U Punnya.
Not enough chanting and singing.
Learn at school and read at
The bed shook all night long.
Perhaps two souls, two lions were fighting.
knife-edges are not the only sharp things
a knife-handle too can be razor sharp
Dragging feet. From bed to wall.
Spring returns. With new. With old
SHAVA - MUSEYAMWAShona Praise Poetry
Thank you Shava
The Great Eland bull, The Runaway
Thank you very much The-one-who-carries
In a cupboard in my classroom
there was a globe
below it I placed
To listen to moans, wails and claims there’s time enough
— poetry does not wait —
The red centaur of the golden horns grows,
Bloody clouds burn the copper massif.
SHE 1Viktor Neborak
(rap performance by Kids of the Queenie)
I looked at her like at a thing
SHE 2Viktor Neborak
(rap performance by Kids of the Queenie)
on the balcony you stand
SHE 3Viktor Neborak
(rap performance by Kids of the Queenie)
alone in the
SHE 4Viktor Neborak
(rap performance by Kids of the Queenie)
you got ’spensive eyes
SHE 5Viktor Neborak
(rap performance by Kids of the Queenie)
she be one of a lot
SHE COUNTS ON SEXJustyna Bargielska
The Church persists that corpses be buried
explaining that Christ himself wanted to be
SHE ENTERS ON TIPTOELyor Shternberg
I couldn’t any more –
she entered the shady room on tiptoe
SHE IS THE SAINTMiguel Iriarte
Faith goes through me but it doesn’t stop
Its sporadic crosses lightly sign
SHE TOUCHES HIMGagan Gill
Very early one morning she touches him
on an unknown planet
in the seventh heaven of the
SHE, JONAHKim Hyesoon
What do I do?
I gave birth to a baby inside the belly of a whale
I’m not born yet
SHEETSStefano Dal Bianco
I have two twenty-year old sheets
and a flowered pillow-case
that I keep at home for
grandfather was embalmed in his
and carried out, and i
discovered him one year
Like a rusty spear a scream
shoots from his throat.
We lay him behind a screen.
SHIP'S CHIMNEYBorben Vladović
In the ship’s chimney the desolate
ocean days were drying wet days
pinned down by the blade
SHIPWRECKLuís Vaz de Camões
Like the weary sailor, the refugee
from wreck and storm, who escapes half-dead,
The poem is not lonely.
It is self-willed. Sometimes I hear it
on the blunt water in the
SHOCK: FOR BETTINADambudzo Marechera
Like meteorites, through my long
Isolated heart-atmosphere, you
Burst incandescent over my
SHOEBOXGeert van Istendael
Either stacked in rows or alone,
meticulously the inside stays hidden.
What counts is
A skillful shoemaker
throughout his life
he has pounded the nails
and smoothed the
SHORT BACK AND SIDES Paul Demets
The hairline is silver-plated. You catch a whiff of my blueprint.
I nod at the one having the
SHORT MUSICAndrej Sen-Senkov
the father finds out that his six-month-old child
is hard of hearing.
I seek her everywhere. The dancers are
So clearly visible in their green shrine.
It is the things just in-between, the un-
firm ones, that strike you like a seed-fluff shot.
SHOUT OF A BEDOUIN WOMANElla Bat-Tsion
A shout of a Bedouin woman from a Bedouin tribe
Which the state uprooted from their
Gladys left her shouts
in a candy jar, for too long.
Only sweetness remains from
SHOW MESibila Petlevski
Show exactly which way the lava had passed or at least
point with your hand at the direction
SHOWING AND TRIPPINGAnne Vegter
It takes intense bliss in this dress to look at neighbours stashing
their rubbish bag in a
SIAPANAVito Apüshana (Miguel Ángel López)
In Siapana . . . young ladies come out to smile at every visitor from afar.
Give me your coat
of teddy bear fur.
Wrap me in your winter clothes
I fell asleep. I woke up. Had a coffee. I didn’t leave the room.
Paris all about me.
SIBYLSSophia de Mello Breyner Andresen
Sibyls inside adamantine caves,
Totally loveless and blind.
Feeding emptiness like a sacred
SIGH MY LOVEMaryam Hooleh
The day the kite sits in a wheelchair as far as the eye could see
What could my love do for
when the trees bowed toward me
the palms of my hands began to whirl
SIGNRuy Duarte de Carvalho
That was the year that the rains were excessive and mushrooms grew
in dogs’ eyes. The
A water wheel by the mill. A lone camellia tree in the shade of a thicket.
When Kalu Das died young, his wife once signalled to me
I didn’t agree. So she was
I send out meaningless signals
I was born in 1910
my skin is young
For a long time I watched the sun
now I’m learning the saint’s trade.
SIGNS OF EXCLAMATIONMonika Kumar
Seeing a watermelon
was my introduction to the Grand
Handful, seaful or
Heads of hair and confused dreams
cover the bodies like muffled
Ashen light slowly reveals the Moab slopes, the slopes of the body,
swift and crab prints rustle
SILENCEEugénio de Andrade
seems tired at last of its offices
and sleep, that most uncertain
SILENCELuz Helena Cordero
I don’t know where to put this silence.
It goes around the house
it gets into the
If I could live without speaking to anyone,
and only communing with animals and plants,
SILENCE AND MEMORYJosé Luis Díaz Granados
I am not afraid, I am never afraid,
Because my father is here,
SILENCE TO LIVELuz Mary Giraldo
I ask for silence to live the flower and the fruit
a journey of doves
and of fish
SILENCED POEMSBoujema El Aoufi
Are my silenced poems!
I write them with special tenderness
But again end up by
SILENT SONGOry Bernstein
There was nothing but the motions of love.
Glasses clinked, like crickets,
SILLY JULIETRamsey Nasr
what have you done
those eyes snuffed out
your throat squeezed shut
SILLY TOGETHERTonnus Oosterhoff
What do you want me to write about
Ask it today
Stand hunched + crouch by
Silver are the bellies of fish bargaining with their weight,
trying to discard it in the
SILVER GOBLETSigitas Parulskis
Jesus C.’s father would come home
and would hit his son with a heavy
You give of yourself only partially
refusing to give me your body
yet my body
SIMPLY ABOUT PEOPLEBojan Radašinović
Sandra Manuela her daddy and I
went to visit
my mother in Zagorje
a big event for both
SIMPLY EXPRESSIVEAlexandre O’Neill
Make your verse flawed,
but do it for a reason:
with flaws that aren’t mistakes,
SINCE IT’S NEW YORKRon Winkler
New York is not the city that never sleeps. New York
is the city where practically nobody
SINEAD’S VOICEPeter Semolič
Sinead’s voice falls into me, impregnating me
as the Holy Spirit impregnated the Virgin Mary.
You turn on the TV without the sound
and zap until the picture coincides with the sound the
This afternoon in ruins from where I sing
awaiting the time that looks for me, my time.
Inside the furnace singing iron, full of memory
It's bass or treble, painful and piercing
SINGRAVEN CASTLEH.H. ter Balkt
St. Albans Grand Steeple Chase charged in here
Under trees that are not the living ones
In English it’s easy, just add an s
In Turkish too, ler or lar will do
But in Greek
SINKING OF THE MENDIS.E.K. Mqhayi
Yes, this thing flows as a normal thing from that.
The thing we know is not scared of that;
let’s say I’m “I am” a sign
that sings springs / heaven
& hell / asunder a word
let’s say I’m “I am” a sign
that sings springs / heaven
ŠIROK SOKAKPredrag Lucić
Is caught in a cross-fire:
Fight knights of the
SISJÖNCharlotte Van den Broeck
A grandfather and child stand naked at the edge of the lake.
We decide that this is
Through my dreams,
you roll a stone.
groan in sleep.
SITEGeorge Mario Angel Quintero
spill onto the corner.
Left them in the lock,
SITTING ON THE GRASSJūkichi Yagi
It was my fault.
It was entirely my fault.
Sitting on the grass like this, I see
SIX LINESHan Dong
it’s raining, but this is not the mood of rain
it’s autumn, but this is not the
I try to be
kind to the children
so they’ll tend my grave
when the time comes
The ventilator-lady talks
with eyes in her plant.
Yes she has eyes in her plant.
Ladies’ bags become bigger
To hold blood-pressure pills and sugars lumps
SKINIfor ap Glyn
We were reluctant pilgrims,
in our school minibus to Rhosyr;
long seconds ticked
SKIN DISEASESavithri Rajeevan
Your body looks like an
ancient wall painting,
burnt and peeled off :
After closing the doors,
She draws the curtains
Across the window; and
SLAVIC GODSAndriy Bondar
slavic gods play dominoes
on the battered tables of their lost homeland
SLEEP NOWHerman De Coninck
“Go to sleep now,” I say
to a daughter who is already asleep
and wakes from my words.
SLEEP WITH JADESong Lin
Every silk robe in the wardrobe wants to fly out of the window
To hang up on the willow trees
SLEEPERLuz Helena Cordero
A man sleeping in the park
while cars cover him with smoke,
the city walks by him
SLEEPING AROUNDHenrik Nordbrandt
I love to sleep around
in foreign rooms
with foreign women
and hear the rain on the
SLEEPING AS IN A CAVERNMohamed Bachkar
I slept as in a cavern
And when I woke up
Thanks to the sun’s erasure of darkness
SLEEPLESS NIGHTWawn Awng
In the darkness of night,
head fallen on pillow,
pairs of eyelids connect
SLIGHT BREEZESong Xiaoxian
a slight breeze can make for
a bigger potato crop
a slight breeze can make
SLOW DUSKMaruja Vieira
My hands they are filled
with the sun and scents of sun.
The dusks return to me ever
I slow down.
Stars continue to flow.
At the end of the room, a door,
I am now deep in silent sleep.
Like a child suckling, nestled at its mother’s breast,
SLY SLINKUlrike Draesner
sly slink to the shelves: the way you remove
an old book and read till the dawn’s
SMALL FOXAl-Saddiq Al-Raddi
Suddenly – a small fox, playful,
floods your wounded heart with joy
He searches your
SMALL HOUSEMark Boog
Small house, but throw a ball through it some time
and it becomes quite large. See all those
Here the calm smoothness ruled
which could be disturbed by a single oarstroke.
My brother explained this to me:
are the snap-buttons sewn on the jacket of
SNORKELLINGJoke van Leeuwen
Half in the sea, half in the air, borne up
a chimney on and looking down
I fold a letter from the back, it’s whiter on this side, a good thing
that man doesn’t like to
Now which do you mean, the seagulls, the boots
on the dock at night, the snow at night?
SNOWIlja Leonard Pfeijffer
the pregnant full rhyme from cot to cot
that pathetic peripeteia of being a daddy
I’d like to meet
the Snow Woman*.
I’d like to draw on that hot skin of hers
Winter comes down from the snow.
Mass of ancient snow.
Slowly warmed up.
It is a
Sparrows chirp loudly
cars hum more loudly
trams ring most loudly
The basic meaning of snow is purity, but what it brings
Is absence: absence of starlight
my life is an endless field of snow.
in front of the window, I tell you that snow wipes away
SNOW AND LOVELêdo Ivo
On this day of burning heat, I’m waiting for snow.
I’ve been waiting for it always.
SNOW, ELECTRICITYLuis Chaves
Clothes out to dry
and those clouds.
There’s a new dog
SNOW-BLINDMark van Tongele
Wrapped in a flurry of snow on the beach,
I am caught in hell’s waiting room,
SNOWDROP CITYChouchanik Thamrazian
To think of snowdrop cities,
Of cities dropping with snow
A dog with iron eyes had clamped my hand
in his mouth. I did not want this
SO IT MUST BEMark Boog
So it must be:
as – no other way! – trees in the city
reaching for the sky, as we are
SO LITTLE DEPENDSMiguel-Manso
you prefer the corner, the hidden place
the foliage, the shadow, the room, this
SO VERYHiroshi Kawasaki
so far away –
something running extremely fast,
so far, far
SO WITHOUT WORRY ARE WEMark Boog
So without worry are we,
making this house a place of refuge,
following with just a
SOAKED PACEMAKERSAndrej Sen-Senkov
instead of crosses round their necks
tiny gas chambers of silver
SOFIA: A PSALMUwe Kolbe
for Mirela Ivanova
And always a dog lies very flat on the footpath.
And always a cat
SOFT HAIL FLUTTERSTatsuji Miyoshi
you were here looking up
at the pine branches where pine sparrows flit about
SOKO - VHUDZIJENAShona Praise Poetry
Thank you Soko
White-hair, The Pompous one
Thank you Bearer of Children
SOLARIS CORRECTEDØyvind Rimbereid
Wat vuld aye become
if you kuld kreip from
dein vorld to uss?
SHAMEFUL, aye think
My little boy now paces the earth
immersed in darkness
training for the
SOLEMN DRUMS OF TRAGEDYNikos Karouzos
Electra you are now daughter of a king amid the nightingales
adders in your eyes, tigress in
The one in the corner / the woofs and the breezes / the noses / the goading / the needs and the
SOLITARY ATLASŞükrü Erbaş
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Those hours when god becomes man
Those hours when the
SOLITARY NIGHTFernando Charry Lara
There sometimes roams about at night a muffled murmur of woods
And of swift, turning shadows and
SOLITARY SWEDISH HOUSESTomas Tranströmer
A mix-max of black spruce
and smoking moonbeams.
Here’s the croft lying low
Seven hundred thousand women live single in Paris
Their age between thirty and forty
There’s nothing like this bliss
of feeling so alone
and in the
SOLOMOS IN MY DREAMNikos Karouzos
How we fall into the night and from what longings . . .
Decked out in keen loneliness I began
SOLVE ET COAGULAEva Gerlach
When you had that nose-bleed remember
the one that just wouldn’t stop,
you sat head
SOME DOLLARSWashington Cucurto
Today I went to Lavalle Street to exchange some dollars.
Or, better said, “I went to
SOME SAY LIFEAmir Or
Some say life is continuing in the face of the alternative;
some say –
SOME WORDSBharat Majhi
Some words pissed on the head of history.
Some words took a pause
and looked forward to
SOMETHING ELSENachoem M. Wijnberg
When I was a child I could have pretended I was sleeping next to someone I loved,
SOMETHING HAS JUST BROKENLuis Vidales
Suddenly in the clear silence of the bedroom
in the cow-muteness of the nocturnal earth
SOMETHING HURTSAdmiel Kosman
Something hurts me here, on the side, do You see, my Lord?
Something swelling sticks
If it happens, I’ll have to live through
since the past knows no fear.
Somewhere, one of these days, arose in perhaps a far land
the steamroller driver who is now
a few images I got tangled in: heavenly bodies that radiated
Some nights, when alone,
we hear steps throughout the room. The floor rustles
SONATA TO MAKE THE DAY COMEMaría Clemencia Sánchez
I am in the bottom of a broken ship
I am in the middle of a cracked sea
I am at the edge
SONGAntónio José Ponte
A whole summer I spent listening to that record.
So that the emotion would not leave it
It always takes much longer than you think,
even if you think
it's bound to take
Don’t lie to me please
about anything big, about anything
else. I’d rather know what was
SONGNachoem M. Wijnberg
The last time I spoke to you,
I hardly got a word in;
the last time I spoke,
SONGNachoem M. Wijnberg
I saw a shop
went in and bought
something I had forgotten
I already had.
SONGNachoem M. Wijnberg
Not long ago
it rained hard,
not long ago
it got dark.
I didn’t go on
SONGNachoem M. Wijnberg
Now and then silence
without being sure
if the song goes on,
not daring to say
SONGNachoem M. Wijnberg
I read life after life
and when someone’s as old as I am
I hold my breath,
SONGNachoem M. Wijnberg
The way I lie in bed
after waking up first,
why can I only remember
what I saw or
SONGNachoem M. Wijnberg
What’s the difference:
an empty evening
because the person you didn’t want to see
While we walked in similar ways,
we did still walk apart.
While we, or so we
You write your lines in disguise, rushing
around town with an impervious mask
in a tune of clouds
in a harmony of
When the new season makes its way,
the mountains and the valleys sleep
The new year is upon us now,
and praise to God we all must sing.
He who finds love a
SONG 2Oleh Lysheha
When I leave this little town
Harmonicas will play all night long..
But I won’t be
SONG 212Oleh Lysheha
There are so many superstars, overgrown with weeds..
Somewhere Tom Jones
Is still singing
SONG 352Oleh Lysheha
When you need to warm yourself,
When you are hungry to share a word,
When you crave a
When the season and birds pine
the loyal heart must smile and shine:
it suffers for a
SONG AGAINST THE SEATroubadour poetry
Whenever I look at the waves
that break below the bluffs,
I feel a pounding of waves
SONG FOR THE DEADPeter Holvoet-Hanssen
Upsadaisy. From hobby-horse to hearse over the cobblestones.
It drizzled when grandmother was
SONG FOR ‘ROSH HODESH’Ariel Zinder
Look: dusk is falling and with it
The terrible whispering void.
Again its presence
SONG OF A JELLYFISHMitsuharu Kaneko
for so long, I’ve grown to be
as transparent as
SONG OF A WOMANKiyoko Nagase
With no friends of your own
you are looking only at me
and you accuse me.
SONG OF DISCOMFORTTroubadour poetry
I’ll never again be cheered
by the chirping
and delicate songs of birds
nor by love or
SONG OF GENESISFiama Hasse Pais Brandão
In the beginning there was light, then
blue sky, for light is absorbed
in the layers of air
SONG OF LOVE IN THE SUMMERTroubadour poetry
How very much I love this summer,
its flowers, trees and sky above,
and all the birds that
SONG OF ONE LEAVINGGiovanni Quessep
Through the virtue of the dawn
You want to change your life
And, clinging to the bundle,
SONG OF PLACESFiama Hasse Pais Brandão
Since places so often live in Man
and men so often live in places
that live in them, we can
SONG OF SEPARATION - 1Teji Grover
I’m writing like this
as if meeting my blind children
in an orphanage, many years
SONG OF SEPARATION - 3Teji Grover
Friends often ask me.
It’s getting to be 1001 days.
do I still think of
SONG OF THE MIRROR MAKERJuan Manuel Roca
I make mirrors:
To horror I add more horror.
To beauty more beauty.
I take the moon
SONG OF THE PROFOUND LIFEPorfirio Barba Jacob
There are days when we’re so variable, so variable,
As the light blade of grass to the wind
SONG OF THE TWO ROSESGiovanni Quessep
Don't say anything, listen to the stars
Perhaps they will tell you
SONG SLAUGHTERMamta Sagar
when it fell
the earth shuddered
SONNETCarlos de Oliveira
I’m accused of being bitter, inclined
to despair, as if my poetry’s pain
weren’t your flesh,
SONNET 5Dumitru Crudu
I set some water to boil
didn’t have anything to put in it
I was all alone in the
Soon you will be speechless and alone
soon your skull
will be laved by grains
SOON AT A CINEMA NEAR YOUDirk van Bastelaere
1) The sequel
This is where
The story ends. In his Mustang
the bomb Expert Kisses the
SOON IT WILL BE DARKOrit Gidali
Soon it will be dark.
The bicycles will carry the children up to the gate.
Isn’t there any power
that can consolidate this
SORRY, DAUGHTERMark van Tongele
For the time I put your pretty little pants-suit on back to front
for the times I tucked you
SOUL DANCETakako Arai
It crawled from the midnight mountain of rubble, a long and skinny tail
A tail that
SOUL LAKELü De'an
Rain's night-long lashing makes the lake listen;
Fitfully it tends to lucency.
Softly things turn around.
At this, “Who is it?”, a word asks
and, having raised both
At the moment I’m teaching beasts to leap
Here comes the sun, the carefree
SOURCES OF INSOMNIA IMaurice Gilliams
She carried the lamp behind the water lilies.
The midnight dawn gnaws through
SOURCES OF INSOMNIA IIIMaurice Gilliams
She-wolf and wolf in the wintery bed
when the howling of hearts shrinks to whispers:
And if there is no longer any tenderness,
let us then pretend this tenderness
SOUTH WINDGordana Benić
And Theseus sails to harbour in the midst of the open sea.
The continents have pushed the
SOUTHERN ISLANDSVeronica Jimenez
A cabin, on the bank of the Baker rapids, a man
abandoned his futile rod, sat sheltered
SOUTHERN UKRAINEIvan Malkovych
The spirit of Cimmerian silver
and furs has not withered here,
the quiet dignity of
In recent years
Nothing has been
As good a souvenir.
SPACE GLOWSybren Polet
The serene air, entirely air breath.
You feel – relieved – ever more abstract,
SPANISH BANKSAjmer Rode
The grey sands
invite me to follow the
receding sea water
to recognize a clam
And they asked me back for that radio programme
I still do not know why
SPEAK PLEASE I BEG YOUMakoto Ooka
Let living things be born without end
in the waters
Let birds fly
Why don’t we in case of despair, no matter whose, make formations
like ducks suddenly
He always used to look out through the OO’s
of his DOOR, but now there are glasses in front
the people planting potatoes are infected by dawn
infected by the sun as it rises
Happy you that don't look
into the eyes of the Sphinx,
spiders bring neither luck
nor mishap here they
just exist and
Future, our former trump card, is plundered
as present with a waterhead from the past
In dust that is light
is the age of the stars
In the sea that is depth
I like you, a twenty-year-old poet writes to me.
A beginning carpenter of words.
A black dog
has slowly strolled up to the verandah and is looking at
Oh plump young lady with quasi-
dreamy eyes and lively udder,
when you, enthralled by
The all-will-be-well-man made of iron and cogwheels
has to be wound up, every day, by a
It flutters out on little bee-wings.
Its singing I like, it praises
with a hidden
SPRING IN BANGLADESH Julio Carrasco
You can imagine few situations as strange as returning to Bangladesh
and seeing that things
SPRING OF WATERLuis Eduardo Rendón
Did I meet you sometime for the first time
to sing thus the brush of your first look
SPRING RAIN IN AFTERNOONMustafa Köz
Language is a house, from a dream we enter every house.
Language is a warehouse, forty
SQUALLLuís Miguel Nava
His I had burst to where his very name was a wound through which his flesh oozed pus. The lost
SQUARES OF FUŽINEPeter Semolič
are oases of silence, oases of peace,
as the night on the East grows pale.
Your breasts, as you leave the bath-
room – if I was a real poet I’d say,
SS ROTTERDAMRoni Margulies
The great white boat at the end of the harbour,
the boat which like a second and lesser
ST NICK’SAilbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh
It’s all red and smoky blackness
in St Nick’s underground,
blackness and velvety red.
ST. ANDREWSYang Lian
holy relics splattering snow-white on every rock
ST. CHRISTOPHERJohn Leefmans
Vox Dei compels me to climb Brimstone Hill.
They point across the sea, I peer between
ST. FRANCIS’S EMPTY SANDALAlexandre O’Neill
The apple tree’s gratitude and the cat’s amnesia
never governed the course of my days.
ST. NOBODYRune Christiansen
Down in the street two young girls are kicking a football against a container, and so they set
the poem is above all else
a stage for simple gestures
I water the June
At the knottiest point of our age we stood
let someone write us, for if we don’t
Then do it for me. Suppose there’s a blue plate
on a white table, somewhere in a house
Grandmother is at the top of the stairs, I at the bottom. Separating us are twenty-two wooden steps
The city stopped at the point of my pen. And power multiplied like steps on a
STAKESLuís Miguel Nava
My body’s bones are planted in the desert, every single one of them.
They stand straight out
A stammer is no handicap.
It is a mode of speech.
A stammer is the silence that
STARS OF XICHANGHe Xiaozhu
crystal, or dew drops
hanging in Xichang’s sky
Straying in the cellars of sleep,
Bluebeard. He follows a flute,
an inbreath without
STATE DIETOLOGYAndrej Sen-Senkov
the east german stasi
had a method for driving people insane
when a person would leave
STATE IHabib Tengour
BLACK, such a soul in exile slowly makes its way towards
death. Here’s winter. The body
STATE IIHabib Tengour
NINTH hour the stranger takes hold of my soul
making its way in winter and hunger pale
STATE OF AFFAIRSLucebert
in the big nest there is always violence
god who like good gold leafs
like a madman
STATE SECRETEster Naomi Perquin
Oversized bird scrubbed clean by bristles thrusting
high up into the air and
STATEMENTEster Naomi Perquin
I wasn’t there that night. And if I was, I didn’t know that.
That they were
STATISTICSRoberto Baronti Marchiò
People make light of the fact
that among the wreck of a Roman train
today a young woman
This is a tunnel
now that you’re here
you don’t know yet where you will be
STEAM SHOVELLêdo Ivo
All silence troubles me.
There’s always something it leaves out:
a treason plotted
A woman sang, she sang
feeling herself alone in the
Waking at night with snow on the forehead it’s still
the same like walking on a piece
STILL 1/POETICSAstrid Lampe
(ALSO IF I NO BODIES I)
all my work is bodily
also if I no
STILL LIFETallulah Flores
In truth there is no story:
everything has been still since dawn
and fog hides the
STILL LIFEGerrit Kouwenaar
Got up early one winter, heaven, how frankly
neighborly and ugly this birth is, skin
STILL NOWHugo Claus
Still now, on the gallows today, in her mouth a rag,
she who wakes with swollen lips, her
At this moment I proclaim myself a drummer-poet.
At this moment when history is a trance,
STONEFelipe García Quintero
Be a thought of mine.
The firmness of my latent muteness
not the shadow of my body,
The same arrogance again:
carving your life on another life
as though wanting to
STONE CROPJosé Tolentino Mendonça
What do the explorers,
the wayfarers, pilgrims we’d thought had long since disappeared,
STONE FROM KATA TJUTAYu Jian
here I am in a valley in Kata Tjuta
a famous Australian tourist destination
STONE PLAYDileep Jhaveri
There’s heaps of stones,
Ram, now come out and play!
The moon’s friend, the mirror,
STONE POEMMenna Elfyn
The doorstep of your existence
is the morning’s clean slate,
a stone on my soul’s
STONE WRITINGMustafa Köz
Every word will become a stone eventually
pencil stone, stamp stone, plough stone, homeland
Always these stones. Stones flying.
I don’t even bother watching out for them
any more. I
They say under these womens’ chador walk children and restaurants
STOP THERERobinson Quintero
Love is a mugger
you don’t know when he’s going
to assault you nor where
STORIES OF THE ARMADILLOFabio Pusterla
Good morning, says the armadillo to a street sweeper. Did you happen
to see an opossum
STORY OF A DREAMYumlembam Ibomcha Singh
Who else would dream
Such a dream?
I was having a dream, a very pleasant one,
STRANGE FUGUE (PANIC)Ann Cotten
And the people came and looked on, holding their rings in their fingers.
How they talked!
STRANGE SHORESTsjêbbe Hettinga
On black as tar steel cables all the
At the doors of the city
I lurk in the harvest of your breast.
While the knife visits
STRANGER IN MY MEMORYLiana Mejía
Today I discovered
your plaster statue
covered in mice
destroying your neck
STRANGERSEster Naomi Perquin
Just as in a photograph in which you’re seen from behind
you recognise yourself but
STRATUM I (PETRARCH)Thomas Kling
the peak ahead, the slope behind me,
yet she is what I always see. wind
wounds that will
STRATUM III (BEATRICE)Thomas Kling
this hair is snow-white, this hair
is black, growing again at the root.
When you come to sleep with me
wear a black dress
printed with strawberries
and a black
STRAY AND TATTERED DOGSWawn Awng
A flock of tattered dogs from neighbors brawl,
stray dogs join them and roar
Toborrow and toburrow and tobarrow!
[...] We may come, touch and go, from
STREET THEATRERemco Campert
In the balmy afternoon wind
I was sitting on a bench
on the Boulevard du Général
STRENGTHEN LOVEGcina Mhlophe
Strengthen love, dear Africans!
Let it stand rock solid!
Our conversations slowed down
we answered our questions by looking
at the slow world
This fatuous effort in watercolours
and ash trays from Istanbul
while an aimless
STROLL IN A PARTICLEAjmer Rode
If you can find
a path into it
there is enough
space in this
STUPID DAUGHTERDuo Duo
Dark night—dyes Mother’s hair, clip clop,
Horses are approaching. Mother's
STURM UND DRANGHaris Vlavianós
In the storm of roses
the night is lighted by thorns
and the leaves that formerly lay on the
SUBJECT: BRODSKYAdam Zagajewski
Please note: born in May,
in a damp city (hence the motif: water),
soon to be surrounded
SUBWAY HARPZhang Zao
Let us stop in mid-journey, no light either side
The cutlery ghosts of the dining car pinging
SUCH JEANSChandrakant Shah
Can someone get me genes
That never need laundering?
With stitches of joy, the colour
SUDDEN HEARTDan Pagis
Sudden heart, tightrope walker with no rope
and no rest, how long will it be?
SUGAR ON THE LIPSArmando Romero
From the wife of the shopkeeper to Conchita the redhead, and from Jesus the shoemaker to Roberto
She will not think of suicide
It is difficult to devise
ways of dying
SUICIDE KIDYi Sha
water-pistol in hand
jumped out at us
from God knows where
Last week’s rain
escorted June with pictures and flags
skeletons and teeth
SUMMA SUMMARUMMarko Vešovic
The leaves of the ilex by the graveyard
The calm, transparent brook runs
through the meadow
The diligent children learn their
SUMMARY OF A CONVERSATIONErez Biton
What does it mean to be authentic,
to run down the middle of Dizengoff Street and shout in
SUMMERHéctor Rojas Herazo
I shall go in the morning
and will look for a lilac color on the field
and I shall stop under
We are not of that kind. This is not what the January wind whispered about. Too many
You could hear them
on the bridge, crossing the river
and going from house to
The swinger the swirler the swirled: stop grieving.
I drink all night but in a diminishing
SUMMER AGAINYves Bonnefoy
I go through the snow. I closed
My eyes, but the light can still get through
SUMMER END ON THE LEIEMiriam Van hee
this is what a painter would see:
the bleached grassy bank, chestnuts
and lime trees, the
SUMMER IS NOT SACREDDorta Jagić
you relentlessly wanted everything to happen this summer.
we should convert and
SUMMER OF KONBU CANDYYosuke Tanaka
These days, I’ve been eating something called “Plum Konbu Candy”.
Plums and konbu are both
SUMMER POEMThi Mar Win
Because of a petition in verse
The poet is allowed to live.
Because of this poem
SUMMER ’99Nikos Fokas
With my own free will, each morning I create
The vineyards and the olive groves as though on
SUMMER’S SIDE (4)Jan Baeke
How to stay ahead of the heat?
Sweat, sit still, think of one’s duty
SUMMUM BONUMMustafa Stitou
At night, in a remote corner of the universe,
drunk adolescents reduce a reconstruction
I saw a sun that had no
in an art book
I came across
two paintings by Van Gogh
they hadn’t been mounted on
SUNDAYIlja Leonard Pfeijffer
give me any poet today
who either doesn't start with give me
or draws circles
Getting up in the morning
I take my hunting gun down from the wall,
shoot the coffee on
SUNDAY AT HOMENuno Júdice
Tomorrow might be Sunday, and
sunless; I might hear the bells and
say that it was just
SUNDAY LATE, BARCELONADanie Marais
Rambla de Catalunya at a festive little table
with a red tablecloth;
SUNDAY MORNING Alexis de Roode
For one whole empty day
the car stands and waits behind the house.
Tomorrow at this
SUNDAY RESTJan Glas
We had our own supply of words
and knew what each and
every word was for,
SUNDAY SONGMaría Mercedes Carranza
It is useless to choose another way,
to decide between this wounded word and a yawn,
SUNDAY, THE UNKNOWN Irena Matijašević
f# is sharp pitched, the work of the armchair system, the radio is on
blanket set carelessly
the sun behind burned hills
we’re scanning the dusk
SUPERMAN IN A JARVasant Abaji Dahake
In the see-through jar of this century,
you see preserved
a Larger-than-Life Figure.
SUPPLY CHAIN MANAGEMENTDominique De Groen
waking up, buried alive
under $$$, fast fash & fluorescent powder
He takes her unawares
Like a happy fate
Illumines the dimness of solitude
It was on the umpteenth day, the arrival
of the armies which hid, decimated.
SURVEYEster Naomi Perquin
Do you like to rest during the day and at night make a man happy?
Do you feel depressed at
SUSANA’S BATHNuno Júdice
Between her and the water, a thread
of gold. Then, she turns off the light, and
Emancipation was the last bate of bitterness
which we had named in our stupendous hopes
To Thanos Konstantinidis
In the sky, possibilities
are naught but thrilling.
SWEEPING THE FRONT YARDAnitha Thampi
In the front yard
of a house deep in slumber
its eyes fast shut
the broom sweeps
SWEETS FOR REPTILESDmytro Lazutkin
you’re secretly learning a dead language
could be for naught
but then again
“See, see, see,
see! see! see!
see!! see!! see!!
Every swimmer swims a sleeper further
in the other, dark hemisphere. Each floating, each
Hitler and Stalin, they both couldn’t swim,
which says loads about fish,
SWINBURNE IN HELLFernando Denis
Now that time denies me the mortal dream,
The dream I dreamt in the sea of England.
SYLLABLESAntónio Ramos Rosa
The alcohol of December is cold and hoarse.
The cigarette bitter. It’s a clinical
SYNONYMSUdaya Narayana Singh
Dreams can’t speak;
They have no words.
Deaf, dumb, numb,
they express in
a hot breath on my neck that woke me: you were sliding your
tongue into my ear I was already
SYRINX ESCAPEAifric Mac Aodha
The swan will waddle in
from its easy shadow
Leave its tear-shape imprinted