—Judith Hurly Prosser, Cedar Ridge
She wrote.
She stopped.
She wrote.
She stopped.
Where's the flow?
She wants to know.
Blocked by unwillingness
To hear the Truth,
Experience the Power,
She hides out in work
And romance novels.
Some day soon
She'll break through the cocoon
And Be her Destiny.
_______________________
Judith was at The Book Collector last night, along with a healthy gaggle of folks who had traveled all the way down the hill from Grass Valley to hear Kowbell and Cirillo. Rhony Bhopla read from her new broadside, too. 'Twas a noisy night, with plenty of action; hope you were there. By the way, Richard Hansen had two new Poems-For-All on hand: poems by Todd Cirillo. They're free; pick up one of each at The Book Collector.
Friends of the Sac. Public Library will hold their big spring sale this weekend in the Friends warehouse at the rear of the Book Den, 8250 Belvedere, Ste. E (between Power Inn and Florin-Perkins Roads, just south of 14th Av.). Saturday: 12-5 pm (members 9-12) and Sunday: 10-4 pm. Everything 25¢ to $2!—books, records, videos and CD's. Info: 916-264-2880.
Click on the Poet's Corner Press link to the right of this column; when it comes up, click on the "New Audio CD2" at the far left of the page to hear NorCal poets reading, including our own Formalist-in-Residence, Joyce Odam!
Here are two poems from Taslima Nasrin, a doctor who was born in Bangladesh but who has had to take asylum in Sweden since the '90's, due to her liberal, feminist stance:
CHARACTER
—Taslima Nasrin
You're a girl
and you'd better not forget
that when you step over the threshold of your house
men will look askance at you.
When you keep on walking down the land
men will follow you and whistle.
When you cross the land and step onto the main road
men will revile you and call you a loose woman.
If you've got no character
you'll turn back
and if not
you'll keep on going
as you're going now.
_______________________
BORDER
—Taslima Nasrin
I'm going to move ahead.
Behind me my whole family is calling,
my child is pulling at my sari-end,
my husband stands blocking the door,
but I will go.
There's nothing ahead but a river
I will cross.
I know how to swim but they
won't let me swim, won't let me cross.
There's nothing on the other side of the river
but a vast expanse of fields.
But I'll touch this emptiness once
and run against the wind, whose whooshing sound
makes me want to dance. I'll dance someday
and then return.
I've not played keep-away for years
as I did in childhood.
I'll raise a great commotion playing keep-away someday
and then return.
For years I have't cried with my head
in the lap of solitude.
I'll cry to my heart's content someday
and then return.
There's nothing ahead but a river
and I know how to swim.
Why shouldn't I go? I'll go.
(Both poems were translated from the Bengali by Carolyne Wright and Farida Sarkar)
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
