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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.