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Angola

“The Rhythm of the Tomtom”

The rhythm of the tomtom does not beat in my blood

Nor in my skin

Nor in my skin

The rhythm of the tomtom beats in my heart

In my heart

In my heart

The rhythm of the tomtom beats especially

In the way that I think

In the way that I think

I think Africa, I feel Africa, I proclaim Africa

I hate in Africa

I love in Africa

And I am Africa

The rhythm of the tomtom beats especially

In the way that I think

In the way that I think

I think Africa, I feel Africa, I proclaim Africa

And I become silent

Within you, for you, Africa

Within you, for you, Africa

A fri ca

A fri ca

A fri ca

-António Jacinto

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Egypt

“Poem to the Sun”

All the cattle are resting in the fields,

The trees and the plants are growing,

The birds flutter above the marshes,

Their wings uplifted in adoration,

And all the sheep are dancing,

All winged things are flying,

They live when you have shone on them.

The boats sail upstream and downstream alike,

Every highway is open because you dawn.

The fish in the river leap up in front of you,

Your rays are in the middle of the great green sea.

-traditional

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Mali

“Crowned Crane”

(1)

Crowned crane

Beautiful crowned crane of power

Bird of the word

Your voice took part in creation;

You the drum and the stick that beats it

What you speak is spoken clearly

Ancestor of praise-singers, even the tree

Upon which you perch is worthy of commendation

Speaking of birds, you make the list complete

Some have big heads and small beaks

Others have big beaks and small heads

But you have self-knowledge;

It is the Creator himself who has adorned you!

(2)

People of this place,

Look, the crowned crane is dancing!

Crowned crane, praise-singing woman

During the day the shameless one weaves,

Astonishing!

(3)

The beginning of beginning rhythm

Is speech of the crowned crane;

The crowned crane says, “I speak.”

The word is beauty.

-Bamana—traditional folk poem

from This Same Sky

Cameroon

“Sparrow”

Year we worked

My mother got sick

Year we ate

My mother, cured!

This year, mother is sick

That year, mother is cured

Shall we eat, or shall we save the seeds?

Shall we eat, or shall we save the seeds?

-Ewondo-Beti—traditional folk poem

from This Same Sky

Nigeria

“Python”

Swaggering Prince

Giant among snakes.

They say python has no house.

I heard it a long time ago

And I laughed and laughed and laughed.

For who owns the ground under the lemon grass?

Who owns the ground under the elephant grass?

Who owns the swamp—father of rivers?

Who owns the stagnant pool—father of waters?

Because they never walk hand in hand

People say that snakes only walk singly.

But just imagine

Suppose the viper walks in front

The green mamba follows

And the python creeps rumbling behind—

Who will be brave enough

To wait for them?

-traditional

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Mauritius

“The Sky is Vast”

Once in this vast sky

Lived a tiny cloud

A tiny solitary cloud

Many vast clouds moving around it

The little cloud was tearful

He said, “How great are those clouds!

They will crumple me, let me hide!

I am so small, they will crush me!”

The tiny cloud drifted

Many clouds laughed at tit

And said, “See how ugly it is”

The tiny cloud cried

And looked for its mother

“Oh Mama, come soon,

The giants are coming!”

The mother cloud hearing the

Child’s voice

Fast she came and they merged

Into one

The sun was behind them

As they rolled forward

The sun smiled at the little cloud

And the little cloud blushed in the vast sky

-Pramila Khadun from This Same Sky

Senegal

“My House”

I have built my house

Without sand, without water

My mother’s heart

Forms a great wall

My father’s arms

The floor and the roof

My sister’s laughter

The doors and the windows

My brother’s eyes

Light up the house

My home feels good

My home is sweet

-Annette Mbaye D’Erneville

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

South Africa

“Lucky Lion!”

It sleeps by day!

How blessed it is,

Lion.

-Traditional Zulu

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Tunisia

“The Pen”

Take a pen in your uncertain fingers.

Trust, and be assured

That the whole world is a sky-blue butterfly

And words are the nets to capture it.

-Muhammad al-Ghuzzi

from This Same Sky

Mozambique

“The Wheel Around the World”

If all the world’s children

Wanted to play holding hands

They could happily make

A wheel around the sea.

If all the world’s children

Wanted to play holding hands

They could be sailors and build a bridge across the seas.

What a beautiful chorus we would make

Singing around the earth

If all the humans in the world

Wanted to dance holding hands!

-Traditional

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Liberia

“An Elder’s Prayer”

O Great spirit of my forest,

I have nothing in my hand

But a chicken and some rice,

It’s the gift of all my land.

Bring us sunshine with the rains

So the harvest moon may blow,

Save my people from all pains;

When the harvest time is done

We will make a feast to you.

-Bai T. Moore

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Kenya

“Footpath”

Path-let…leaving home, leading out,

Return my mother to me.

The sun is sinking and darkness coming,

Hens and cocks are already inside and babies drowsing,

Return my mother to me.

We do not have firewood and I have not seen the lantern,

There is no more food and the water has run out,

Path-let I pray you, return my mother to me.

Path of the hillocks, path of the small stones,

Path of slipperiness, path of the mud,

Return my mother to me.

Path of the papyrus, path of the rivers,

Path of the small forests, path of the reeds,

Return my mother to me.

Path that winds, path of the shortcut,

Over-trodden path, newly made path,

Return my mother to me.

Path, I implore you, return my mother to me.

Path of the crossways, path that branches off,

Path of the stinging shrubs, path of the bridge,

Return my mother to me.

Path of the open, path of the valley,

Path of the steep climb, path of the downward slope,

Return my mother to me.

Children are dowsing about to sleep,

Darkness is coming and there is no firewood,

And I have not found the lantern:

Return my mother to me.

-Stella Ngatho from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Ghana

“Mawu of the Waters”

With mountains as my footstool

And stars in my curls

I reach down to reap the

waters with my fingers

And look! I cup lakes in my palms.

I fling oceans around me like a shawl

And am transformed

Into a waterfall.

Springs flow through me

And spill rivers at my feet

As fresh streams surge to make seas.

-Abena P. A. Busia

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Sudan

“The Gatherer”

Blooming gardens are my words

My words are dusky gardens…

Gather them O bamboo pen…

And drink to inebriation from an ink pot…

My words are like flowers…

Exuding fragrance,

When pressed by the scorching summer…

Gather them O bamboo pen.

For tonight I want to write about Sid Ahmed—

A milkman was he.

The milk drowned in water.

O Sid Ahmed!

And we are liars…

I, the chief of the quarter and the mayor.

Gather my words O bamboo pen,

For I intend to talk about a silk cap

Glowing on a bridegroom’s head…

And about Aisha the Taamia vendor

And about Gebran the Yemeni

And about a bean pot on a dry wood fire

And about the kids in the local school—

Chanting “ja, ha, kha, la, ka, wa’l”

…Let us remember Musa, the chatterbox,

And Ibrahim the tattletale,

And Eissa, dry as wood,

And do not forget laughing Ishaq.

And our teacher Sheikh Al-Bushra…

Sheikh Al-Bushra was…

Silence!!

Honor the teacher… …

-Ali al-Mak from This Same Sky

Iraq

“Ants”

A thread of red ants

Moves between the door and my bed

I rise from sleep and grope

Then crush the ants

And sleep again and wake

To find the thread

Of red ants between the bed

And door has grown

To a thick rope

-Yusuf al-Sa’igh

from This Same Sky

Thailand

“On My Short-Sightedness”

To my short-sighted eyes

The world seems better far

Than artificial aid

To sight would warrant it:

The earth is just as green,

The sky a paler blue;

Many a blurred outline

Of overlapping hue;

Shapes, forms are indistinct;

Distance a mystery;

Often a common scene

Conceals a new beauty;

Ugliness is hidden

In a curtain of mist;

And hard, cruel faces

Lose their malignity.

So do not pity me

For my short-sighted eyes;

They see an unknown world

Of wonder and surprise.

-Prem Chaya from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Turkey

“Morning Song”

Listen!

The morning has three doors in the sky.

One of them is hope.

Take it and give it to the child

Let him grow with it

Let him grow tall and walk tall.

Listen, listen!

The morning has three doors in the sky.

One of them is the daily bread

Shining in your hands.

Let it shine on and increase

All the bright way long.

Listen, I say, listen!

The morning has three doors to the sky.

One of them is fear.

Silence it!

The bread is yours, the hope is yours.

What can fear do

When hands can speak unto other hands?

-Sennur Sezer from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

India

“Day-Dream”

There is nobody anywhere near him.

The boy unwinds his kite string by himself.

The shapely piece of paper called him out

Early in the morning. He came into the sky.

Space is calligraphic in the clouds. The boy

Understands although no one else may read it.

The kite does not want to return to earth

And keeps watch for a possible second kite.

The society of the blue will be shaken and

Birds take fright when the two painted squares

Attack each other, embrace and weep until one

Drops, falling face down in the boy’s daydream.

-Samarendra Sengupta from This Same Sky

Japan

“Picnic to the Earth”

Here let’s jump rope togetherhere

Here let’s eat balls of rice together

Here let me love you

Your eyes reflect the blueness of sky

Your back will be stained a wormwood green

Here let’s learn the constellations together

From here let’s dream of every distant thing

Here let’s gather low-tide shells,

From the sea of sky at dawn

Let’s bring back little starfish

At breakfast we will toss them out

Let the night be drawn away

Here I’ll keep saying, “ I am back”

While you repeat, “welcome home”

Here let’s come again and again

Here let’s drink hot tea

Here let’s sit together for awhile

Let’s be blown by the cooling breeze

-Shuntarō Tanikawa

from This Same Sky

Iran

“Morning Song”

In the shy blue sky

A bird cried:

“Where is it, then?

Where is the Morning?”

“It is on your wings,”

I said in reply.

And the bird flew away;

And the morning bloomed

In my eyes.

-Nader Naderpur from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Indonesia

“Dew”

Dew adorns the morning world

Dew sets our senses shivering

Dewdrops of thought and feeling

The layer of dew upon the land

Simmers beneath the silent sun

Dewdrops drip like falling tears

Dewdrops, the manifold plans of distant men

Oh, how the heat and the dew of this world

Become the body’s steam and drops of sweat

-Linus Suryadi AG from This Same Sky

Pakistan

“Touching”

This is a song

About touch and touching.

You touch me—a way of feeling.

I touch you—a way of understanding.

We are touched

By a film or a book.

We are touched

When a stranger is kind.

How can we live

Without touching and being touched?

There is a healing touch,

It makes the sick whole again.

Let’s keep in touch

We say to a friend who’s going away.

To have the right touch

Means to know how it’s done.

Touching is an art,

It’s the movement

To and from the heart.

Some are easily touched.

Some are hard to touch.

You are often touched.

I am often touched.

-Nissim Ezekiel from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Korea

“An Old Temple”

Goaded by drowsiness

While beating a wooden prayer bell

A handsome boy monk

Has dropped off to sleep.

Buddha smiles,

Silent.

The road leads ten thousand li to the west.

Under the flaming evening glow

Peony petals are falling.

-Chihun Cho from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Syria

“The Orphan”

Oh, the dream! The dream!

My strong, gilded wagon

Has collapsed,

Its wheels have scattered like gypsies.

One night I dreamt of spring

And when I awoke

Flowers covered my pillow.

I dreamt once of the sea.

In the morning my bed was rich

With shells and fins.

But when I dreamt of freedom

Spears surrounded my neck

With morning’s halo.

From now on you will not find me

At ports or among rains

But in public libraries

Sleeping head down on the maps of the world

As the orphan sleeps on pavement

Where my lips will touch more than one river

And my tears stream from continent

To continent

-Muhammad al-Maghut

from This Same Sky

China

“Isn’t It…”

Isn’t it true that mothers everywhere

Love to nag?

Don’t do this, don’t do that,

Scolding without stop.

Every morning when Mom goes to work

How happy my sister and I are!

Yet when she’s late coming home from work

We rush to the curb and wait and wait…

-Ke Yan from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Israel

“When I Was a Child”

When I was a child

Grasses and masts stood at the seashore,

And as I lay there

I thought they were all the same

Because all of them rose into the sky above me.

Only my mother’s words when with me

Like a sandwich wrapped in rustling waxpaper,

And I didn’t know when my father would come back

Because there was another forest beyond the clearing.

Everything stretched out a hand,

A bull gored the sun with its horns,

And in the nights the light of the streets caressed

My cheeks along with the walls,

And the moon, like a large pitcher, leaned over

And watered my thirsty sleep.

-Yehuda Amichai

from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Philippines

“The Tin Bird”

There is an amazing bird:

Its beak an old umbrella

Its body nothing but empty tins

Of corned beef and sardines.

It sees with the eyes

Of a doll now broken and forgotten.

Its nest is a dump all smelly and rotten.

When the moon rises like a cradle in the sky,

The bird flies and sings and cries:

Sleepytimes, little sleepy heads

Of those who have no food.

I am the angel of your dreams.

I am the birdsong of your sighs.

Ugly as I am,

All rustled and torn,

My song is sweet,

My friendship even sweeter.

Sleepytime, sleepytime, o beloved children.

I watch over babies who know no pillows,

Over the little sleepyheads who have no suppers.

-Ramón C. Sunico from This Same Sky

Saudi Arabia

“Distances of Longing”

When you go away and I can’t

Follow you up with a letter,

It is because the distance

Between you and me

Is shorter than the sound of Oh,

Because the words are smaller

Than the distance

Of my longing.

-Fawziyya Abu Khalid

from This Same Sky

Lebanon

“The Bridge”

Poetry is a river

And solitude a bridge.

Through writing

We cross it,

Through reading

We return.

-Kaissar Afif from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Sri Lanka

“Freedom”

Words, one by one

Arrive on the empty page

Like honored guests.

Ordered thoughts move

Gracefully.

Outside the window,

On the sill,

I see the figure of a bird,

Sun on its feathers—

A brownish, medium-sized bird.

I try to wave it away,

But it intrudes more stubbornly.

It has a quizzical look in its eye.

Ignoring its rude presence

I try to compose my lines,

But I feel uneasy

Being observed by a brownish, medium-sized bird

With sun on its feathers—

-Wimal Dissanayake

from This Same Sky

Armenia

“The Question Mark”

Poor thing. Poor crippled measure

Of punctuation. Who would know,

Who could imagine you used to be

An exclamation point?

What force bent you over?

Age, time and the vices

Of this century?

Did you not once evoke,

Call out and stress?

Bt you got weary of it all,

Got wise, and turned like this.

-Gevorg Emin

from This Same Sky

Kuwait

“A Sailor’s Memoirs”

I don’t believe in a sun

That illuminates caves

While my home remains steeped

In total darkness.

I don’t believe in a land

Where thorns and cares

Are my share of its yield

While the harvest belongs to others.

Peace be to the Gulf breeze

Though others claim its pearls.

Peace to the sand of the shores,

Bed of dying dawn.

Peace to past memories that loom

Like a covey of pigeons crossing the sky.

Peace to returning ships

And their singers in moonlight.

Peace to the sails in the Gulf,

Roaming the seas, loving risk.

Peace to him who goes out pearl-diving,

And to him who returns from a voyage.

Peace be to women beating tambourines

And their triumphant vows that make dreams

Come true.

Peace be to a gathering in the dark

Lit up by songs and vibrant strings...

-Muhammad al-Fayiz

from This Same Sky

Australia

“The Sick Room”

When I was frightened by the spots upon the wall

I called them spiders and they moved and ran

Until my parents came to me.

I could not tell the daylight dreams

From dreams when all is dark.

This was the room where all my fears began.

The doctor came, and he was Doctor Gloom

For he was dressed in black. He put the spoon

Into my mouth until it touched my throat

And I was almost sick. He did not know

The bed became my grave and sheets became my earth

And this was loneliness like days upon the moon.

-R.A. Simpson from This Same Sky

Papua New Guinea

“Sun and Shade”

Sun you are beautiful, oh beautiful,

You give us warm sunshine,

We love you so much, oh sunshine.

Shade you clumsy nonsense go away,

Nobody loves you,

Everybody hates you.

Shade you are beautiful, oh beautiful—

And cool.

We love you so much.

Sunshine you clumsy nonsense go away,

Nobody loves you,

Everybody hates you,

Shade cool shade, oh come

-Michael Mondo from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

New Zeland

“Flying Fox”

More rat than bird,

More superstition than fox,

You hang from that banyan

Branch like a deflated black

Umbrella, and when you flap

Through the sky across a waxen

Moon and the dead rise up

To haunt me, you’re more

Real than Batman.

With your razor-sharp teeth

You eat the ripe mangoes

And pawpaw in my plantation,

But wait until I catch you:

I’m going to skin you, gut you,

Roast you and eat you.

I’ll enjoy the eating because

I’ll be chewing Batman,

Count Dracula and all superstitions

About vampires.

-Albert Wendt from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Spain

“Seashell”

They’ve brought me a seashell.

Inside it sings

A map of the sea.

My heart

Fills up with water,

With smallish fish

Of shade and silver.

They’ve brought me a seashell.

-Federico Garcia Lorca from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Finland

“The Stars”

When night comes

I stand on the stairway and listen,

The stars are swarming in the garden

And I am standing in the dark.

Listen, a star fell with a twinkle!

Do not go out on the grass with bare feet;

My garden is full of splinters.

-Edith Södergran from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Greece

“Peace”

Peace is the odor of food in the evening,

When the halting of a car in the street is not fear,

When a knock on the door means a friend

Peace is a glass of warm milk

And a book in front of the child who awakens

-Yannis Ritsos from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Denmark

“Lizard”

The beginning of a lizard

Almost always becomes: Lizard.

The lizard rather easily reaches

The result: Lizard.

The beginning of a lizard

Almost never becomes a sparrow.

In this way most beings become

Their own sort of lizards from the beginning.

Once when I was a human being

Quick as lightning I saw a lizard.

-Bundgard Povlsen

from This Same Sky

Russia

“A Kiss on the Head”

A kiss on the head—wipes away misery.

I kiss your head

A kiss on the eyes—takes away sleeplessness.

I kiss your eyes.

A kiss on the lips—quenches the deepest thirst.

I kiss your lips.

A kiss on the head—wipes away memory.

I kiss your head.

-Marina Tsvetaeva from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Ireland

“All the Dogs”

You should have seen him—

He stood in the park and whistled,

Underneath an oak tree,

And all the dogs came bounding up

And sat around him,

Keeping their big eyes on him,

Tails going like pendulums.

And there was one cocker pup

Who went and licked his hand,

And a Labrador who whimpered

Till the rest joined in.

Then he whistled a second time,

High-pitched as a stoat,

Over all the shouted dog names

And whistles of owners,

Till a flurry of paws

Brought more dogs, panting,

As if they’d come miles,

And these too found space

On the flattened grass

To stare at the boy’s

Unmemorable face

Which all the dogs found special.

-Matthew Sweeny from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Bulgaria

“Believe It or Not”

Mother looms up on the prairie out there.

And the mountain’s been moved south

By Mother, believe it or not.

Years and years have gone by since then,

Yet for Mother I’m still as tiny

As a grain of mustard seed.

-Nicolai Kantchev

from This Same Sky

Norway

“Rain”

One is one, and two is two—

We sing in huddles,

We hop in puddles.

Plip, plop,

We drip on rooftop,

Trip, trop,

The rain will not stop.

Rain, rain, rain, rain,

Bucketing rain,

Chucketing rain,

Rain, rain, rain, rain,

Wonderfully raw,

Wet to the core!

One is one, and two is two—

We sing in huddles,

We hop in puddles.

Plip, plop,

We drip on rooftop,

Trip, trop,

The rain will not stop.

-Sigbjorn Obstfelder from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Austria

“Monkeys”

The fact that we

Don’t understand

Their language

Doesn’t mean

That they don’t converse

If they could

Understand us

They would

Consider us to be

Completely incomprehensible

And mad to boot

-Klara Koettner-Benigni

from This Same Sky

Sweden

“Nightmare”

I never say his name aloud

And don’t tell anybody

I always close all the drawers

And look behind the door before I go to bed

I cross my toes and count to eight

And turn the pillow over three times

Still he comes sometimes

One two three

Like a shot

Glaring at me with his eyes,

Grating with his nails

And sneering his big sneer—

The Scratch Man

Uh-oh, now I said his name!

Mama, I can’t sleep!

-Siv Widerberg from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Romania

“Playing Icarus”

I went begging to the birds

And each of them gave me

A feather.

A high one from the vulture,

A read one from the bird of paradise,

A green one from the hummingbird,

A talking one from the parrot,

A shy one from the ostrich—

Oh, what wings I’ve made for myself.

I’ve attached them to my soul

And I’ve started to fly.

High flight of the vulture,

Red flight of the bird of paradise,

Green flight of the hummingbird,

Talking flight of the parrot,

Shy flight of the ostrich—

Oh, how I’ve flown!

-Marin Sorescu from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Estonia

“Sawdust from under the Saw”

Once I got a postcard from the Fiji Islands

With a picture of sugar cane harvest. Then I realized

That nothing at all is exotic in itself.

There is no difference between digging potatoes in

Our Mutiku garden

And sugar cane harvesting in Viti Levu.

Everything that is is very ordinary

Or, rather, neither ordinary nor strange.

Far-off lands and foreign peoples are a dream,

A dream with open eyes

Somebody does not wake from.

It’s the same with poetry—seen from afar

It’s something special, mysterious, festive.

No, poetry is even less

Special than a sugar cane plantation or potato field.

Poetry is like sawdust coming from under the saw

Or soft yellowish shavings from a plane.

Poetry is washing hands in the evening

Or a clean handkerchief that my late aunt

Never forgot to put in my pocket.

-Jaan Kaplinski

from This Same Sky

Yugoslavia

“Wolf-Ancestry”

Under the linden in Sands

My great grandfather

Found two wolf-cubs

Sat them both

Between a donkey’s ears

And brought them to the farm

He fed them sheep’s milk

And taught them to play

With lambs their own age

Then he took them back

To the same spot under the lindens

Kissed them

And made the sign of the cross over them

Since earliest childhood

I’ve been waiting

For my years to equal

My great grandfather’s

Just to ask him

Which of those wolf-cubs

I was

-Vasko Popa from This Same Sky

Latvia

Do what you like with my face.

If you find ruins

Or lies there—I won’t be insulted

Go where you want to—

To my old age or youth.

No, I won’t look, I must hurry—

I must catch the next train.

Paint from your memory work in my hands

Or laziness, a caress or nothing.

And in the background—I beg you—

Paint a quiet life.

-Amanda Aizpuriete from This Same Sky

England

“Dear Mum,”

While you were out

A cup went and broke itself,

A crack appeared in the blue vase

Your great-great granddad

Brought back from China.

Somehow, without me even turning on the tap,

The sink mysteriously overflowed.

A strange jam-stain,

About the size of a boy’s hand,

Appeared on the kitchen wall.

I don’t think we will ever discover

Exactly how the cat

Managed to turn on the washing machine

(specially from inside),

or how the self-raising flour

managed to self-raise.

I can tell you I was scared when,

As if by magic,

A series of muddy footprints

Appeared on the new white carpet.

I was being good

(honest)

but I think the house is haunted so,

knowing you’re going to have a fit,

I’ve gone over to Gran’s for a bit.

-Brian Patten from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Greenland

“Ayii, Ayii, Ayii”

Ayii, ayii, ayii

My arms, they wave in the air,

My hands, they flutter behind my back

They wave above my head

Like the wings of a bird.

Let me move my feet.

Let me dance.

Let me shrug my shoulders.

Let me shake my body.

Let me crouch down.

My arms, let me fold them.

Let me hold my hands under my chin.

-Traditional Inuit from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Costa Rica

“Coils the Robot”

Coils the robot

Named by some scientists

Is the smallest one in school.

They sent him to learn

To cope with numbers,

Letters and things

But Coils the robot

Only understands poetry.

His square tiny tummy

Glows in the sun

And rings like a bell

When he dances and sings.

He enlightens his eyes,

His hands are of wire,

His little antenna twinkles magically.

Coils needs love,

Oily light, silvery

With the sparkles of sunlight;

Deep down inside

His little heart glitters and throbs.

-Floria Herrero Pinto

from This Same Sky

Jamaica

“Jamaican Song”

Little Toad little toad mind yourself

Mind yourself let me plant my corn

Plant my corn to feed my horse

Feed my horse to run my race—

The sea is full of more than I know

Moon is bright like night time sun

Night is dark like all eyes shut

Mind—mind yu not harmed

Somody know bout yu

Somody know bout yu

Little toad little toad mind yourself

Mind yourself let me build my house

Build my house to be at home

Be at home till I one day vanish—

The sea is full of more than I know

Moon is bright like night time sun

Night is dark like all eyes shut

Mind—mind yu not harmed

Somody know bout yu

Somody know bout yu

-James Berry from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Canada

“Spring Poem”

HEARING: hearing: hearing:

The engine warming up: warming

And the Earthworm going zupzupzup through the brown ground

Chased by that same hot crank.

Through the tunneled air trundle the marvelous merry birds:

All carrying rich pokes, wearing super stoles

And showing off the fine detail of freckles on their tails; just as clearly

As the big block: the elephant block: the big E

Of my mammoth city shows its grim windows and dopey blinds.

O the Engine: the Elevator: of me and mind:

It goes down it stretchy rubber cables:

Capable or incapable:

But going zupzupzup.

-Colleen Thibaudeau from This Same Sky

Mexico

“Solidarity”

Lark, let us sing!

Waterfall, let us leap!

Streamlet, let us run!

Diamond, let us shine!

Eagle, let us fly!

Dawn, let us be born!

To sing!

To leap!

To run!

To shine!

To fly!

To be born!

-Amado Nervo from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Cuba

“The Wall”

The wall is high

Very high

It has cracks where orderly ants live

They are not alone

The wall is several kilometers high

It almost touches the north star

The fleeting one

The double or the triple one

The star over the sea

—I was born under a good star they say

that is why now my star

has just struck this very high wall

-Tania Diaz Castro

from This Same Sky

Nicaragua

“Sonatina”

The princess is sad…What can be wrong with the princess?

Sighs escape from her strawberry lips

Which have lost their laughter, which have lost their color.

The princess is pale on her chair of gold,

The keyboard of her sonorous harpsichord is silent;

And in a vase there droops a forgotten flower.

-Rubén Darío from Around the World in Eighty Poems

St. Lucia

“Mango”

On Sunday afternoons in mango season,

Alleyne would fill his enamel basin

With golden-yellow fruit, wash them in clean water,

Then sit out in the yard, under the grapefruit tree,

Near the single rose bush, back to the crotons,

Place the basin between his feet,

And slowly eat his mangoes, one by one, down to the clean white seed.

His felt-hat was always on his head. The yellow basin, chipped near the bottom,

With its thin green rim, the clear water, the golden fruit,

Him eating slowly, carefully, picking the mango fiber from his teeth,

Under those clear, quiet afternoons, I remember.

Me sitting in the doorway of my room, one foot on the steps that dropped

Into the yard, reading him, over a book. That’s how it was.

-Robert Lee from Around the World in Eighty Poems

El Salvador

“A Short Story”

The ant climbs up a trunk

Carrying a petal on its back;

And if you look closely

That petal is as big as a house

Especially compared to the ant that

Carries it so olympically.

You ask me: Why couldn’t I carry

A petal twice as big as my body and my head?

Ah, but you can, little girl,

But not petals from a dahlia,

Rather boxes full of thoughts

And loads of magic hours, and

A wagon of clear dreams, and

A big castle with its fairies:

All the petals that form the soul of

A little girl who speaks and speaks…!

-David Escobar Galindo

from This Same Sky

United States

"I, Too, Sing America"

I, too sing America.

I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong.

Tomorrow,

I’ll be at the table

When company comes.

Nobody’ll dare

Say to me,

“Eat in the kitchen,”

Then.

Besides,

They’ll see how beautiful I am

And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

-Langston Hughes from Around the World in Eighty Poems

Brazil

“Souvenir of the Ancient World”

Clara strolled in the garden with the children.

The sky was green over the grass,

The water was golden under the bridges,

Other elements were blue and rose and orange,

A policeman smiled, bicycles passed,

A girl stepped onto the lawn to catch a bird,

The whole world—Germany, China—

All was quiet around Clara.

The children looked at the sky: it was not forbidden.

Mouth, nose, eyes were open. There was no

Danger.

What Clara feared were the flu, the heat, the

Insects.

Clara feared missing the eleven o’clock trolley:

She waited for letters slow to arrive,

She couldn’t always wear a new dress. But

She strolled in the garden, in the morning!

They had gardens, they had mornings in those days!

-Carlos Drummond de Andrade from This Same Sky

Uruguay

“I Was Born in Jacinto Vera”

I was born in Jacinto Vera.

What a neighborhood was Jacinto Vera!

Ranch houses made of tin on the outside

And on the inside, scraps of wood.

At night white would run

White would race the moon.

And I would run after her

And I would fly after her.

Suddenly I would lose her,

Then suddenly she would appear

Among the houses made of tin

And on the inside, scraps of wood.

Oh moon, my white moon,

Moon of Jacinto Vera.

-Liber Falco

from This Same Sky

Guyana

“Snow-cone”

snow-cone nice

snow-cone sweet

snow-cone is crush ice

and good for the heat.

When sun really hot

And I thirsty a lot,

Me alone,

Yes me alone,

Could eat ten snow-cone.

If you think is lie I tell

Wait till you hear the snow-cone bell,

Wait till you hear the snow-cone bell.

-John Agard from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Argentina

“The Ombú”

Each region on earth

Has a prominent feature;

Brazil, its burning sun,

Peru, mines of silver;

Montevideo, its hill;

Buenos Aires—beautiful fatherland—

Has the majestic pampas,

And the pampas have the ombú.

-Luis L. Domínguez from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Ecuador

“Life of the Cricket”

An invalid since time began,

He goes on little green crutches

Stitching the countryside.

Incessantly from five o’clock

The stars stream through

His pizzicato voice.

Hard worker, his antennae,

Dragging like fish-lines,

Troll the high floods of air.

At night a cynic,

He lies inert in his grass house,

Songs folded and hung up.

Furled like a leaf,

His folio preserves

The records of the world.

-JJorge Carrera Andrade

from This Same Sky

Chile

“Kissed Trees”

What is it that upsets the volcanoes

That spit fire, cold and rage?

Why wasn’t Christopher Columbus

Able to discover Spain?

How many questions does a cat have?

Do tears not yet spilled

Wait in small lakes?

Or are they invisible rivers

That run toward sadness?

-Pablo Neruda

from This Same Sky

Peru

“Autumn and the Sea”

With autumn coming in,

I go down to the sea and look for golden shells,

They lie like leaves,

The ocean casts them up precipitously

On the sand,

And in between the waves,

And while the sea runs off and edges back,

The white scales of the fish

(Shed at the sound of the autumn wind

That reaches to the bottom of the ocean)

Appear, ready to be gathered in by hand.

White shells,

I still can hear the ocean sounds

I used to hear when childhood

Was small and sweet

I still can hear, within the depths

Of every sleeping shell,

The vast sea-roar!

They lie like leaves,

Fallen to the bottom of the ocean.

The ocean moves them and renews them,

Beats against them, smashes them

And barefoot autumn hands them over,

Gathering them in and shoving them away.

-Javier Heraud from This Same Sky

Paraguay

“The New Suit”

Striped suit,

A terrific tie,

Buttoned shoes

And brown socks—

My outfit

For the party.

And the recommendations

Drove me crazy—

—Don’t eat ice cream

Because it might drip.

—Juice, drink it slowly

Since it dribbles.

—And nothing about

Chocolate bombs

That might explode!

Happy birthday!

Who’s that stuffed breathless

Inside a tight suit?

Next year will be different.

I’ll wear old clothes,

Be ready to dribble,

And enjoy

Ice cream, cake, and everything else.

-Nidia Sanabria de Romero

from This Same Sky

Bibliography:

Nye, Naomi Shihab, ed. This Same Sky. New York: Four Winds Press, 1992

Berry, James, ed. Around the World in Eighty Poems. San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2001.

Map image credit: http://www.staff.fcps.net/rroyster/spring%2009%20calendar.htm

Celebrate National Poetry Month at the LRC!

“You are a wolf

I am a goat”

I walk around the table

And am a wolf

Windowpanes gleam

Like fangs

In the dark

While he runs to his mother

Safe

His head hidden in the warmth of her dress

-Tadeusz Rózewicz

From This Same Sky

Poland

“Transformations”

My little son enters

The room and says

“You are a vulture

I am a mouse”

I put away my book

Wings and claws grow out of me

Their ominous shadows

Race on the walls

I am a vulture

He is a mouse

Go and open the door.

Even if there’s only

the darkness ticking,

even if there’s only

the hollow wind,

even if

nothing

is there,

go and open the door.

At least

There’ll be

A draft.

-Miroslav Holub from

Around the World in Eighty Poems

Czech Republic

“The Door”

Go and open the door.

Maybe outside there’s

A tree, or a wood,

A garden

Or a magic city.

Go and open the door.

Maybe a dog’s rummaging.

Maybe you’ll see a face,

Or an eye,

Or the picture

Of a picture.

Go and open the door.

If there’s a fog

It will clear.

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