Essays and literary criticism of haiku collections.

APHORISM:

seventeen random syllables

don’t always add up

to a haiku.

- Adam Donaldson Powell (from “Rapture: endings of space and time”).

The novice struggles to make pretty feet dance in the wind, while the haiku of the master yawn and stretch toward infinity … like a century-old bonsai.

- Adam Donaldson Powell

Photo and painting by Adam Donaldson Powell

Adam Donaldson Powell’s preface to the haiku collection “Flying Pope”, by Ban’ya Natsuishi:

A MODERN MASTER OF HAIKU PAINTS THE COLLECTIVE CONSCIENCE.

A gong sounds somewhere in the distance, and in the silence that ensues the reverberations of the collective conscience precipitate a collage of impressions that are at once familiar, and yet far beyond the accepted structures of perception. In this impressive collection of contemporary haiku, Ban’ya Natsuishi expertly challenges and coaxes the reader to join him in a flight of fancy – in and out of reality and illusion – not so unlike the great surrealist Salvador Dali. Both the reader and the flying pope take to the air, suspended above the Earth like an out-of-body experience … observing from afar, and yet experiencing the dream-like state as if it were totally real – as a sort of déjà vu recollection of the fringes between zazen and newspaper headlines … or perhaps the CNN rolling news texts, floating across the bottom of the television screen. While it may be tempting to point out Natsuishi as l’Enfant terrible of contemporary haiku writing, his impudence is not intended to shock. It is, in fact, this sense of detachment in the author that binds together the childlike, the serious, the sarcastic, the humorous and the reflective – resulting in a splattering of surrealistic images that pose far more questions to the reader than give blatant commentary. Because of the masterly free flying construction, the reader is just as easily won over to the haiku of Ban’ya Natsuishi as he/she might be to adventuresome comic books and animated films.

True enough, there is much observation embedded in these pearls of writing: sparkling semi-precious jewels singing, dancing, and jabbering now and then about such themes as politics, haiku writing without seasonal references, the loneliness of papal responsibility, and the burden of conscience. However, the real artistry of this work is perhaps the succession of painterly haiku frescoes, all variations on the same theme: the illusion of consciousness.

Do read this book several times – forward and backwards, and even starting in the middle and proceeding in any direction … sometimes dancing back and forth. There are many hidden levels within the poems, the silent connections in between the poems and in the work as a whole.

- Adam Donaldson Powell, 2008 (based upon the English version of “Flying Pope”). “Flying Pope” is published by Cyberwit.net.

ESSAY ABOUT THE HAIKU OF BAN’YA NATSUISHI.

CONTEMPORARY HAIKU:

the renaissance and the transformation.

Literary criticism (2008) by Adam Donaldson Powell (based upon “Right Eye in Twilight”, published by Wasteland Press, USA, 2006, ISBN13: 978-1-60047-016-5 and ISBN10: 1-60047-016-5, 62 pages, paperback, US$12; and “Earth Pilgrimage” (Pellegrinaggio terrestre), published by Albalibri Editore, Italy, 2007, ISBN 88-89618-52-3 and ISBN 978-88-89618-52-3, 146 pages, paperback, €10).

As I sit before the screen of my laptop computer, the fat of my palms resting on the flat area of the keyboard and my fingers poised to attack – I close my eyes and begin to breathe rhythmically, as a concert pianist. I feel both certain of the notes that are about to flow through the tentacles of my body-mind-spirit machine, but immediately become encapsulated by the poetry of my own breathing. And in the cello-like dark mellow tones, underscoring the inevitability of one breath following another, I am at one with the driving impulse behind the art of Ban’ya Natsuishi. That impulse, that drive has many names but is perhaps best described as “satori” (meaning a state of spiritual enlightenment … but also quite simply ‘insight’).

The haiku of Natsuishi have many dimensions, and forms of expression. Perhaps the most common factors are the renaissance and transformation of duality, and the exposure of illusion caused by the folly of spiritual separation. Natsuishi has the uncanny talent of presenting perspectives from all angles – and yet, never contradictory in spite of individual or collective social experience. True insight, and effective artistic communication, is never exclusive or preaching … but rather expanding and questioning. It is exemplified by the ability to combine perspectives of the ‘external looking inward’ and the ‘internal looking outward’, the left side of the brain in tandem with the right side, the virtuosity of a well-trained and natural violinist on an equal footing with the exquisitely understated harmonies of a monk choir.

And still, Natsuishi does not cheat us of a glimpse into his own humanity – in fact, in “Right Eye in Twilight” he takes us along on his own personal journey, which both literally and poetically describes a search for vision (‘insight’). Here, the author invites the reader to accompany him in his rapturous process – ascending toward a state of satori that had nevertheless always existed in each of us from the very first times we opened (and closed) our eyes. It is this nakedness that reveals the childishness in us all – the fear, the frustration, the wantonness, the infatuation with the process itself – and that creates sublime poetry, in balance with our adult, intellectual and rational expression.

From “Right Eye in Twilight”:

 

A black horse

slowly getting white

in the wood

 

and

 

New York –

the terror of dust

toying with sundown

 

and

 

Water is a white nebula

within me

blown by winds

 

and the very beautiful

 

On a morning swamp

I see

the Palace of Versailles

 

For me, the very essence of the ‘satori’ of Ban’ya Natsuishi is exemplified in the most delicate and sensitive haiku found in the collection entitled “Earth Pilgrimage” (Pellegrinaggio terrestre). Each of these multi-faceted diamonds express both intimacy with oneself, one’s surroundings and with Spirit – free from separation. And yet they do not seek to deny the harshness of living on Terra, but rather allow the reader to see the effects of turning the face of the diamond – just slightly enough to get lost in the momentary light capturing us, our blindness giving true vision for an instant. A few priceless examples follow:

Shoved off the stairs –

falling I become

a rainbow

 

and

 

From the reed marsh

New York appears

like an old UFO

 

and

 

A new moon –

the sublimity of the orchid

not yet achieved

 

and

 

An almond in bloom

leaning against

cactuses

 

and finally

 

Even in the clouds

a mute and a deaf person

arguing with each other

 

Contemporary haiku art simply does not get any better than as expressed in “Earth Pilgrimage”. It is both a renaissance and a transformation – of the essence, and the ever expanding and contracting nature of the haiku.

And my breathing continues in empathetic harmony, at one with the insight and vision of Ban’ya Natsuishi.

– Adam Donaldson Powell, 2008

BAN’YA NATSUISHI (JAPAN) which is the pen name of Masayuki Inui, was born in Aioi City, Hyôgo Prefecture, Japan. He studied at Tokyo University where he received a Masters of Arts in Comparative Literature and Culture in 1981. In 1992 he was appointed Professor at Meiji University where he continues to teach. In 1993, he gave lectures at Jilin University in China, and was invited to a haiku meeting in Germany in 1994, and also in Italy in 1995. From 1996 to 1998, he was a guest research fellow at Paris 7th University. In 1998, and together with Sayumi Kamakura, he founded the international haiku quarterly “Ginyu”, functioning as its publisher and editor-in-chief. In 2000, after attending the Global Haiku Festival in USA, he co-founded the World Haiku Association, based in Slovenia. He currently works as the association’s director. In 2001 Natsuishi attended the Vilenica Poetry Festival in Slovenia, in 2003 the Struga Poetry Evenings in Macedonia, and in the same year he worked as the Chairman of The Steering Committee for the 2nd World Haiku Association Conference, which was held in Japan. In 2004 he was invited to the poetry festival at Porto Santo in Portugal. In 2005 he attended the 3rd World Haiku Association Conference in Bulgaria, the 3rd Wellington International Poetry Festival, and presided over the international haiku session of Euro-Japan Poetry Festival in Tokyo. In 2006 he was invited to Poetry Spring in Vilnius, Lithuania and the Ohrid P.E.N. Conference in Macedonia. In 2007 he visited Inner Mongolia and promoted haiku writing there, and also in that year he held the 4th World Haiku Association Conference in Tokyo, functioning as its chairperson. In 2008 he will preside over the Tokyo Poetry Festival 2008 (functioning as the director of the festival).

Among his many awards can be mentioned:

in 1980 he was recommended as Poet of the Year by Haiku-hyôron

in 1981 he won First Prize in a competition sponsored by haiku monthly Haiku-kenkyû

in 1984 he was awarded the Shii-no-ki Prize

in 1991 he was awarded the Modern Haiku Association Prize

in 2002 he was the recipient of the Hekigodô Kawahigashi Prize of the 21st Century (Ehime Haiku Prize)

 

Main Japanese publications:

Poetics of Haiku, Seichi-sha, 1983.

Dictionary of Keywords for Contemporary Haiku, Rippu-shobô, 1990.

Poetic Spirit of Genius, Yûshorin, 1993.

Haiku: A Century’s Quest , Kôdansha, 1995 (edited).

Contemporary Haiku Manuel, Rippu-shobô, 1996.

Haiku Is Our Friend, Kyôiku-shuppan, 1997.

Haiku Troubadours 2000, Ginyu Press, 2000.

Collected Haiku Poems by Ban’ya Natsuishi: Crossing Borders, Chûseki-sha,2001.

Chibimaruko-chan’s Haiku Class Room, Shûei-sha, 2002.

A Guide to World Haiku, Chûseki-sha, 2003.

World Haiku 2005, Nishida-shoten, 2004.

World Haiku 2006, Shichigatsudo, 2005.

Right Eye in Twilight, Chûseki-sha, Japan, 2006.

World Haiku 2007, Shichigatsudo, 2007.

Renku: A través do ar/Through the Air/A travers l’air, Shichigatsudo, 2007 (co-authored with Casimiro de Brito).

Tenbo Gendai no Shiika vol. 10, Meiji Shoin, 2007 (co-authored).

World Haiku 2008, Shichigatsudo, 2008.

 

Overseas publications:

Haiku: antichi e moderni, Garzanti Editore, Italy, 1996 (co-authored).

A Future Waterfall―100 Haiku from the Japanese, Red Monn Press, USA, 1999 & 2004.

Romanje po Zemlji, Društvo Apokalipsa, Slovenia, 2000.

Цветята на Вятьра, Matom, Bulgaria, 2001.

Poesia Sempre NÚMERO 17, Fundação Biblioteca Nacional, Brazil, 2002 (co-authored).

Haiku: Poetry Ancient & Modern, MQP, UK, 2002 (co-authored).

Haiku: the leaves are back on the tree, Greece, 2002 (co-authored).

Ombres et Lumières, LCR, Bulgaria, 2003 (co-authored).

Haiku: Poésie anciennes et Modernes, Édition Vega, France, 2003 (co-authored).

Странный Ветер, Иностранка, Russia, 2003 (co-authored).

The Road: world haiku, Ango Boy, Bulgaria, 2004 (co-authored).

Ribnik tišine: slovenska haiku antologija, Društvo Apokalipsa, Slovenia, 2005 (co-authored).

L’Anthologie du Poème Bref, Les Dossiers d’Aquitaine, France, 2005 (co-authored).

Right Eye in Twilight, Wasteland Press, USA, 2006.

ÎMBRĂŢIŞAREA PLANETELOR (THE EMBRACE OF PLANETS), Edidura Făt-Frumos, Romania, 2006.

Endless Helix: Haiku and Short Poems, Cyberwit.net, India, 2007.

Le bleu du martin pêcheur: Haïkus, L’iroli, Beauvais, France, 2007 (co-authored).

Madarak / Birds: 50 Haiku, Balassi Kiadó, Hungary, 2007.

Pellegrinaggio terrestre / Earth Pilgrimage, alba libri, Italy, 2007.

 

ESSAY ABOUT THE HAIKU OF SAYUMI KAMAKURA

SAYUMI KAMAKURA:

the timelessness of the veil behind the veil behind the veil.

Literary criticism based on “A Crown of Roses”, a haiku collection by Sayumi Kamakura, published by Cyberwit (India), 2007, 70 pages, ISBN 978-81-8253-090-4, and “A Singing Blue: 50 Selected Haiku”, published by Ginyu Press (Japan), 2000, 63 pages, ISBN 4-87944-032-9.

There is much positive to say about the haiku of Sayumi Kamakura. In her recent haiku collection “A Crown of Roses”, and in her haiku collection from 2000 entitled “A Singing Blue: 50 Selected Haiku”, Sayumi Kamakura presents several impressive haiku – all speaking with the ‘quiet authority’ of an artist who knows her impulses and skills so well that she can make herself heard without raising her poetic voice, without over-dramatizing and without overwriting. Kamakura understands quite well the seductive qualities of haiku that are simple … and simply well written, and which exhibit the grace and delicateness of artistic and contemporary international poetry, dancing – in and out of past, present and future; reaching out from Japanese tradition into the world … and again, from the external world, back into the womb of true Japanese intention in regards to haiku.

In the work of Sayumi Kamakura, the “haiku moment” becomes rather the “momentousness of the haiku”. She has the gift of transforming the all-too-common misunderstanding of reductionism to something that is – in fact – larger than life; like the mystery of the bonsai. Art is never about limitation, but rather about playing within structure(s) – and pressing, kneading, pushing against boundaries to give the appearance of being larger than a mathematician’s (or literary/art historian’s, or critic’s) measurements.

Sayumi Kamakura effectively exerts a feeling of timelessness in her haiku, and in the mind and experience of the reader. She accomplishes this by her adeptness in revealing the veil behind the veil behind the veil. The vibrations of the piano cords of her haiku give one a sense of the sublime, ranging from the romanticism of Sergei Vasilievich Rachmaninoff or Johannes Brahms to Karol Szymanowski to that of more minimalist composers such as Erik Satie or even Philip Glass – all elements of passion for life, pressing forward and peeking out of a tranquil detachment and understated true emotion.

Avid readers of my literary criticism know that I make a point out of assessing the musicality of poetry – and that I stress that the inner rhythms and rhymes are equally, if not more, important as (than) the mechanical ones. Sayumi Kamakura understands and plays upon the natural music of her haiku. In short, the haiku lover cannot help but be moved by the artistry of Sayumi Kamakura, who complements her intrinsic understanding of the art of haiku writing and philosophy with a certain feminine touch that tickles the ivory keys of the piano with the very authority and grace I have referred to above.

A few of her haiku are phenomenal, some are excellent, and many are quite good. On the whole, these are two short collections that are well put together. A few examples of her haiku that I personally feel are phenomenal follow:

A cold circle

called God

or the sun

 

and

 

The end of summer –

water clings

to a sponge

 

and

 

Someday my knees

will be wrapped

in brilliant clouds

 

and

 

The moth’s dead body:

consider it as dust

sent from heaven

 

as well as

 

Having cried out her heart

the sunflower stands

erect

 

and

 

The swimsuit on,

my soles forget

absolutely everything

 

and of course

 

Unable to say

‘I love you’ …

my bare hands, bare feet

implore the mirror

 

Read Sayumi Kamakura’s haiku … and become acquainted with yourself. She is the quintessential “goddess” archetype of the contemporary haiku artist, lifting the veils of everything around her.

– Adam Donaldson Powell, 2008

SAYUMI KAMAKURA (JAPAN) was born in Kochi Prefecture, Japan, 1953. She began composing haiku while a student at Saitama University and studied haiku under the guidance of Toshiro Nomura and Sho Hayashi. In 1988, she won the Oki Sango Prize. The lyrical style of her haiku attracted attention, and in 1998 she established the haiku magazine “Ginyu” with Ban’ya Natsuishi, and has been its Editor since that time. She has attended international haiku or poetry festivals held in Japan, Slovenia, Portugal and Bulgaria. In 2001, she won the Modern Haiku Association Prize. Her published haiku collections include: Jun (Moisture, 1984), Mizu no Jujika (Water Cross, 1987), Tenmado kara (From the Skylight, 1992), Kamakura Sayumi Kushu (Haiku of Sayumi Kamakura, 1998). Hashireba haru(Run to Spring, 2001), She co-authored Gendai Haiku Panorama (1994), Gendai Haiku Handbook (1995), Gendai Haiku Shusei Zen 1 Kan (Contemporary Haiku Anthology in One Volume, 1996), etc. She also published, in both Japanese and English, A Singing Blue: 50 Selected Haiku (2000). Her haiku has been translated into English, Greek, Russian, Bulgarian, Portuguese and Korean. She is a member and Treasurer of the World Haiku Association.

 

ESSAY ABOUT THE HAIKU PUBLISHED BY THE WORLD HAIKU ASSOCIATION

World Haiku 2008, No. 4: a multilingual collection of contemporary haiku from around the world.

(Published by Schichigatsudo Publishing, Tokyo, Japan, ISBN 978-4-87944-117-1, $15, €13, 2008, 230 pages, softcover, edited by Ban’ya Natsuishi for the World Haiku Association)

This year’s edition of World Haiku (the fourth annual) does not disappoint. It is a first-rate collection of haiku from around the world, written in both Japanese, English, French, Portuguese and a myriad of other languages – all proudly representing contemporary haiku from diverse cultural perspectives. The contributors to this collection of short works and essays on haiku include such noted authors as: Casimiro de Brito (Portugal), Mohammed Bennis (Morocco), Ban’ya Natsuishi (Japan), Sayumi Kamkura (Japan), Leons Briedis (Latvia), Jim Kacian (USA), Grant Caldwell (Australia), Marius Chelaru (Romania), Santosh Kumar (India), R. Siqinchogt (Inner Mongolia) and Orlando Gonzalez Esteva (Cuba). However, in the true spirit of the editor Ban’ya Natsuishi and the World Haiku Association, many other lesser known haiku artists are also featured in this multilingual anthology – from Japan and the rest of the world, and of all ages (including a special section dedicated to haiku by children and young persons). The intention of this book is therefore to present the breadth of haiku writing from around the world, to both Japanese and non-Japanese poets and lovers of haiku in a multilingual publication, thus featuring some of the more esteemed contemporary haiku artists alongside aspiring haiku poets.

In addition, this book features several essays on haiku writing, most notably haiku literary critical essays by Ban’ya Natsuishi (Japan) and Orlando Gonzalez Esteva (Cuba), but also including fine essays written by Leons Briedis (Latvia) and Vasile Moldovan (Romania). In his remarkable essay entitled “Future of World Haiku”, Ban’ya Natsuishi not only puts haiku writing in an historical and intercultural perspective, but also explains to readers the difference between haiku and short poems as well as successful and less successful haiku. Like myself, Mr. Natsuishi questions the concept and practice of the so-called “haiku moment”. For Ban’ya Natsuishi and myself, true haiku is more poetic, more concerned with multiple meanings and dimensions, and intrinsically representative of the “essence” of all poetry. As I have written elsewhere, haiku is not so much about “limitations” as it is concerned with creating expressions of artistic, cognitive and experiential expansion within a format characterized (among other things) by reduced size.

A few of my own personal favorites include:

 

O lago não sabe

até que chegue o vento

quantas ondas tem

by David Rodrigues (Portugal)

 

and

 

Une colline de parfum

naît en face du lac

nuée jamais je ne peux l’atteindre

by Mohammed Bennis (Morocco)

 

and

 

O teu corpo nu

Ao lado do meu corpo nu:

Música ou silêncio?

by Casimiro de Brito (Portugal)

 

as well as

 

The blue sky—

horse dung

becomes a castle of ants

by Ban’ya Natsuishi (Japan)

 

and

 

The deep color of girlhood

remains

on a green mandarin orange

by Toshiko Kobayashi (Japan)

 

For more information about the World Haiku Association, its publication, or to schedule an interview, please contact Ban’ya Natsuishi at www.worldhaiku.net, e-mail: haikubanya@mub.biglobe.ne.jp

ABOUT THE EDITOR:

 

BAN’YA NATSUISHI (JAPAN) which is the pen name of Masayuki Inui, was born in Aioi City, Hyôgo Prefecture, Japan. He studied at Tokyo University where he received a Masters of Arts in Comparative Literature and Culture in 1981. In 1992 he was appointed Professor at Meiji University where he continues to teach. In 1993, he gave lectures at Jilin University in China, and was invited to a haiku meeting in Germany in 1994, and also in Italy in 1995. From 1996 to 1998, he was a guest research fellow at Paris 7th University. In 1998, and together with Sayumi Kamakura, he founded the international haiku quarterly “Ginyu”, functioning as its publisher and editor-in-chief. In 2000, after attending the Global Haiku Festival in USA, he co-founded the World Haiku Association, based in Slovenia. He currently works as the association’s director. In 2001 Natsuishi attended the Vilenica Poetry Festival in Slovenia, in 2003 the Struga Poetry Evenings in Macedonia, and in the same year he worked as the Chairman of The Steering Committee for the 2nd World Haiku Association Conference, which was held in Japan. In 2004 he was invited to the poetry festival at Porto Santo in Portugal. In 2005 he attended the 3rd World Haiku Association Conference in Bulgaria, the 3rd Wellington International Poetry Festival, and presided over the international haiku session of Euro-Japan Poetry Festival in Tokyo. In 2006 he was invited to Poetry Spring in Vilnius, Lithuania and the Ohrid P.E.N. Conference in Macedonia. In 2007 he visited Inner Mongolia and promoted haiku writing there, and also in that year he held the 4th World Haiku Association Conference in Tokyo, functioning as its chairperson. In 2008 he will preside over the Tokyo Poetry Festival 2008 (functioning as the director of the festival).

 

ESSAY ABOUT THE HAIKU OF GEERT VERBEKE.

GEERT VERBEKE: An enigma, a modern master and a spellbinder.

Literary criticism of the poetry and prose of Geert Verbeke (Flanders-Belgium), based upon “Brother Buddha”, 2007, Cyberwit (India), ISBN: 978-81-8253-094-2; “Frogs Croak”, 2007, Cyberwit (India), ISBN: 978-81-8253-091-1; “Rain”, 2005, Cyberwit (India), ISBN: 81-8253-021-0; “Jokerman”, 2005, Cyberwit (India), ISBN: 81-8253-038-5; and “Sweeps of Rain”, 2006, Cyberwit (India), ISBN: 81-8253-068-7.

The poetic artistry of Geert Verbeke.

It is not an easy process to become reviewed by “yours truly”. I do make several demands that have to do with professionalism and publishing achievements, as well as my commitment to raise awareness regarding small press published books written by international, bilingual/multilingual, and/or trans-cultural authors of poetry, prose and photography. I aim to re-enact a “renaissance” of literary criticism especially, which is critical, analytical and a subjective (yet professional) assessment of literary achievement and room for further development/improvement.

I write this review of the works of Geert Verbeke both in homage .. and in protest. It is simply “unfair” to challenge a reviewer with five books of such literary and philosophical quality and professional craftsmanship as is here the case. To be blunt, it is maddening .. to be sucked into the world and thinking of Geert Verbeke so easily – even though I consider myself to be a good critic in my area(s) of specialization – and to suddenly take on the role of ‘The Fool’ (in the Tarot) .. spellbound by the ‘magic’ of a master, who is both adept in his craftsmanship with regard to tradition and the expert ‘blasting’ of ever-developing contemporary expressions of haiku, tanka, senyru and haibun. He managed to “rope me in” .. despite several readings to double-check .. and I must simply declare Verbeke as a contemporary master. Damn!

Did I find no faults in these five books? Certainly, there are small issues that have to do with the occasional caesura placement or alternative suggestions in regard to how bilingual and multilingual versions of his haiku are presented on each page (sometimes I would prefer to have more space – i.e. to have each poem and its bilingual or multilingual versions on a page by itself), and the occasional typographical error .. but these things are trivialities. The man is a genius .. or/and ‘mad’ (in terms of artistic genius the two often go together).

Firstly, his understanding of the history and traditions of the art forms he employs is quite evident; and this understanding affords him the ability and the ‘right’ to experiment and further develop the literary forms he specializes in (including further development of the English haiku derivatives).

Secondly, he masters not just the haiku, but in addition tanka, senyru and haibun. And as if that is not provocative enough for a literary critic, he dares to go so far as to combine several literary styles in several of his books. Most dramatically in “Sweeps of Rain”, where he combines haibun in a way that reads as a complete novel.

And finally, Verbeke is so cheeky and daring that he takes his readers and himself to the absolute maximal limit: he writes his masterpieces in several languages, including Flemish, English, French, German etc.

Already, as you can well understand, I am livid as a literary critic .. With some extremely-talented authors I sometimes secretly wish that I had written this or that particular work of literature instead of him/her. However, in the case of this man Geert Verbeke I feel that he is so completely ‘superior’ – not only in regards to his understanding and craftsmanship, but also because he manages to access the inner reaches of philosophy, spirituality, humanity, social consciousness and frivolity .. all at once. AND he pumps these works out effortlessly; as if he is practicing zazen. Effortlessness is – of course – the mark of an ‘artistic master’ – the point where “simplicity” and “difficulty” become indistinguishable because the level of mastery makes the distance between point zero and the ‘unreachable dream’ as short as possible. And that is the essence of Geert Verbeke’s literary genius: not only to achieve the impossible but also to transform literary dexterity into a literary and visual masterpiece at its lowest common denominator.

Geert Verbeke is impressive .. and he is scary. He can take any topic (for example: frogs or playing cards .. nature .. or political/social issues) and ‘spin his magic’.

Okay. You have understood that the man is now highly-regarded by me. Let me illustrate just a few of the many fine examples of his craftsmanship and genius:

 

memorial day –

a lot of grasshoppers

on the stupa

 

 

between

gravel and duneland –

an oasis

 

 

along the river

a row of singing monks –

dew on their hats

(from “Brother Buddha”)

 

 

terraced rice fields –

the annual frog concert

and her hangover

 

 

in the evening

croaks are getting louder –

a downpour

(from “Frogs Croak”)

 

 

half-naked sadhus

at the ritual cremation

click-clack Kodak

 

 

sweet-and-sour

the taste of mango

on her lips

 

 

anti-terror

a flow of body bags

back to the USA

 

 

rising tide

the sky is the sea

outgoing tide

 

 

lasting for days

the singing of the rain

composing sad songs

(from “Rain”)

 

 

I am afraid that I must stop here … most publishers have a maximum word limit, and I have already surpassed the standard commercial literary review limitations. But this is also relevant to my experience of the literature of Geert Verbeke: he knows the traditions, he knows the standards .. and he possesses the genius and the integrity to know when to use the traditional .. and when (and how) to surpass it. And I have a strong intuition that it is “art” which guides him, rather than “commercialism”.

GEERT VERBEKE: Born in Kortrijk, Flanders (Europe). Geert began writing haiku in 1968. The decisive factor to study haiku was the discovery of the Himalayan singing bowls and the travels to Kathmandu, the Sinaï-desert, Istanbul, Tunisia, Djerba, France, Tanzania, Zanzibar and the Grand Canyon in Arizona, USA. Geert has also written a few books about singing bowls. He has, in addition to have published several books on haiku, haibun, senyru and tanka and singing bowls, recorded 11 cd’s with singing bowls, gongs and percussion.

 

Copyright 2007, Adam Donaldson Powell.

 

 

ESSAY ABOUT THE HAIKU OF SANTOSH KUMAR.

NEW UTOPIA

Foreward by Adam Donaldson Powell to the book:

NEW UTOPIA, a new contemporary haiku collection by Dr. Santosh Kumar, 2008, Rochak Publishing, India,
ISBN 978-81-903812-0-8.

NEW UTOPIA .. MORE THAN A MERE “HAIKU MOMENT”.

Much has been written regarding the history, form, essence and literary regulations of haiku-writing. I would here present the premise that effective artistic communication has little to do with limitations, but rather everything to do with the author’s success in engaging the reader in a «pas de deux» which elicits subjective experience and endless co-creation. In common terms, I am referring to the dialogue between writer and audience .. more than a lone author’s soliloquy or performance, but rather an invitation to dance, an admonishment from author to reader to remember one’s own dreams, perceptions and experiences, and to use the author’s expressions as a “kick-off” for one’s own creative life process – thus, a secret shared between the author and each reader/co-creator; spiraling off in many directions, like the branches of a cherry tree: blossoming in symphonic echo; and at the same time expressing through the conscious employment of simplicity the most comprehensive yet rudimentary elements of universal truth and geometry, human experience and the wonders of nature (the most influential sensory building blocks affecting perception).

I would thus encourage writers and readers of modern haiku: firstly, to study the history, the critical literature regarding haiku-writing, and to acquaint themselves with both Japanese haiku and non-Japanese haiku in literary transition and transformation; and secondly, to step outside this understanding in order to freely create one’s own form of haiku expression and modern expression suitable to today’s psyche and literary needs. Why bother with acquainting oneself with the classical forms, only to redefine the parameters and forms of expression based upon contemporary interpretations of individual and collective consciousness? Because all purposeful new art expressions build conceptually, intrinsically and historically upon that which has been a defining set of perceptions and expressions, and then consciously choose to challenge and further develop perspective, tolerance and values. There are many examples of this in all art forms, from literature to visual art to dance to theater to film to music. You cannot fully communicate why you are going where you are headed without having some sense of where artistic expression, your culture, and you as a personality have been. At the same time, the artist must on some level find an appropriate mixture of planning, purpose and craftsmanship together with spontaneity, multi-dimensionality and “plasticity”. By plasticity I refer to the artist’s ability to elicit multiple understandings in the individual readers; enabling each reader to relate to the work of art in perspective to his/her own experience, expression and life creative process.

Contemporary literature often mirrors other artistic styles and forms of expression that are popular today: in particular those that are free in form, economical in format, diverse and multi-dimensional/”plastic” in breadth and outreach. I would challenge modern haiku-writers to more consciously explore expansion of classical form and format beyond a constrictive and mathematical process of syllable-counting, but still echoing the more traditional references and inferences to nature, season, and sensory imagery. The mechanical process of establishing the quintessential «haiku moment» in each poem thus becomes transformed to a state of consciousness where the «haiku-moment» is expanded to expose the basic spiritual essence and aesthetic wholeness of the artistic work in its entirety; if you will, a slice of living perception .. vibrating and pulsating in syncopation with the higher Creative Self of the reader at any given moment in time and space. The “moment” is empty without a clear understanding of the “essence”, and of the relationship between the “moment and the whole”.

Such writing requires substance: both in terms of artistic maturity, and openness regarding understanding of human experience and the «natural» course of Life. It therefore requires a mastery which is both learned through study and experience, and also understood through innate artistic genius. The master haiku-artist is not a «translator», but rather a sieve through which all life essence flows incessantly; changing like the sands in response to the tides, and yet as “mystically stable and predictable” as the effects of the tides upon the Moon. This is the closest man can approach “truth”; an otherwise elusive concept which is both an abstraction and a personal understanding in the context of perception of the ever changing human condition and process.

Dr. Santosh Kumar has successfully shown that he has both a good understanding of the classical form and literary history of the haiku as an art form, and more importantly possesses the literary experience, expertise, sensitivity and dexterity required to update and further develop this classical art form in his own way – thus both ensnaring and enticing the reader to join him in his own contemporary pas de deux, expressive of the wonders and dilemmas of today’s social, spiritual and psychological experience. This resonance in the reader/audience, together with the «magic» of boundless possibilities, is essential to the success and the survival of the artist’s expression as a «living, and ever changing» organism.

I would encourage readers of this gem of a book to put away their musical scores and mathematical-literary formulas, to momentarily forget their guardianship of the more restrictive regulations regarding classical haiku-writing .. and even to attempt to avoid the perils of getting “stuck” in the search for the perfect «haiku moment», as that could possibly inhibit one’s ability to recognize (and co-create) the essence of the poem. Furthermore, I would encourage the reader to try to see all poems in this book as being integral and connected parts of the entire artistic work. Although these individual works function quite well on their own, there is even greater “music” to be heard in discovering the silent transitions from haiku to haiku .. and experiencing the work in its totality: a comprehensive mural which rivals the frescoes of the greatest known and un-named painters from several centuries ago: yes, a haunting image dating from the earliest cave-dweller paintings on record to the Renaissance and Classical periods to Post Modern expressionism.

– Adam Donaldson Powell

 

Essays: WORLD HAIKU.

TWO ESSAYS ON BAN’YA NATSUISHI’S WORLD HAIKU.

EXPRESSION OF EMOTIONS IN THE INTERNATIONAL / MULTILINGUAL HAIKU OF BAN’YA NATSUISHI.

Some old-fashioned “experts” still insist that human emotions in haiku are only to be expressed in figurative ways through depictions of nature, while others are venturing into somewhat more obvious analogies. I – myself – am a bit wary of the pitfalls of falling prey to reading too much into the subtleties of haiku, or to limit the usage of such expressions of subtlety to Japanese culture and tradition.

There are many opinions circulating regarding the mechanics and functions of haiku-writing, as well as some individuals who would seem to maintain that the only good haiku-writers are those who follow strict Japanese tradition. As I have written elsewhere, contemporary haiku – and perhaps especially international haiku and haiku adaptations into other languages – must address many cultural and linguistic differences that may challenge traditional Japanese rules regarding classical haiku, including but not limited to meter, linguistic and culturally-associated rhythms and sounds of words employed, expansion of time beyond “the moment” etc.

I was impressed to read the following in Natsuishi’s essay entitled “Composing Haiku in a Foreign Country” (A Future Waterfall, 2004, Red Moon Press, ISBN 1-893959-46-5, USA):

“[Nevertheless,] not many Japanese Haiku poets have been open to foreign experiences … The main reason is their idée fixe about nature … This situation has effectively prevented Japanese haiku poets from looking at a foreign land from a non-Japanese perspective. Foreign landscapes remain largely alien and incomprehensible.

“A haiku poet in a foreign country has many occasions for inspiration. Many things provoke him to look at them from new and different angles — provide him with a new insight and a different sensibility. This is the way it should be. After all, one principal purpose of haiku is to discover something new in everything and to reveal it to the world …

“More than three hundred years after Bashô, I am trying to create in my haiku diverse, astonishing traditions and phenomena of the whole world.”

It occurs to me that the cultural associative expertise required in international haiku and haiku in translation is perhaps especially significant in regards to communication of emotion – both viscerally and figuratively. While classical Japanese haiku expresses emotions more figuratively than directly, modern forms of haiku and international / non-Japanese haiku forms would appear to be experimenting with and stretching the “old and the traditional” into more “liberal” expressions of emotion and usages of kigo.

Ban’ya Natsuishi is classically-schooled and does employ many traditional Japanese forms in his haiku-writing, but he is also constantly exploring the haiku in literary evolution. His work with World Haiku presents special challenges and many new possibilities in regards to the internationalization of contemporary haiku-writing.

Some outstanding examples of innovative contemporary haiku by Natsuishi follow:

from “A Future Waterfall”, 2004, Red Moon Press, ISBN 1-893959-46-5, USA:

 

page 13:

From the future

a wind arrives

that blows the waterfall apart

 

page 18:

Cherry blossoms fall:

newspapers

suck in a great deal of blood

 

In Tokyo

the angry flower is

a snow crystal

 

page 23

Into the Sea of Japan

lightning’s tail

is plunged

 

page 31

On my tongue

a temple appears

allegro

 

page 43

Above the sea

lightning violates

the Galaxy


Tunisian

blue lightens

the swindling

 

and from “Endless Helix”, 2007, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-072-0, India:

 

page 42

Perfection

is the symphony of the valley –

a stray sheep

 

Parfaite est la symphonie

de la vallée –

un mouton perdu

 

Sinfonía perfecta

en el valle

la oveja perdida

 

page 48

A cloud beyond any shape –

we have lost

our memory

 

Un nuage au-delà de toute forme –

nous avons perdu

notre mémoire

 

Una nube que tiene

más que todas las formas …

¿ perdimos nuestra memoria?

 

page 50

The sea of tears

always waiting

for our haiku

 

La mer de larmes

attend toujours

notre haiku

 

El mar de lágrimas

siempre espera por

nuestro haiku

 

page 53

Under the scorching sun

I have forgotten

how to love myself

 

Sous le soleil brûlant

j’ai oublié

comment je pourrais m’aimer

 

Bajo el abrasante sol

he olvidado

como amarme a mí mismo

 

Page 87, Dream no. 10

One after another our soldiers bleed to death.

We have lost any reason to press ahead.

We make up the blood pressure readings of our king,

the balance so to speak, of his rivers underneath.

Yet, we raise lances, dash forward,

And my voice is drowned out trying to hold us back.

 

Page Dream No. 12

Scratched.

Beaten.

Cut.

Ice sheds tears.

A beauty dances over this frozen swell.

She falls down by its caprice.

 

It is my premise that expression of emotions in art is not merely a question of perspective of nature, but concerns color, form, verb form, sound, meter and time as well.

In the above examples Natsuishi plays with the “rules” most creatively, experimenting with time (“a future waterfall”), direct and less direct references to emotions, sometimes more liberal approaches to the usage of kigo, and purposeful liberation from 5-7-5 meter in favor of culturally-effective adaptations in English, Spanish and French (I cannot comment on other languages which I do not understand). Successful adaptation of haiku from Japanese (or another language) to other languages is not merely a question of cultural and linguisitic translation but perhaps also entails a oneness in expression in the original language that at times surpasses literary and cultural norms in the mother tongue in order to achieve a more universal expression.

The ability to successfully make creative decisions depends on the artist’s understanding of tradition (where artistic expression norms have hailed from) as well as the understanding of how to employ intentional techniques to achieve desired new forms of expression. Decisions regarding usage of meter, form, sound, suggestion, time, length etc. should be conscious and intentional, and yet give the appearance of evenness and technical ease and dexterity. A technically or emotionally difficult passage in a work of music, literature or art should appear as effortless in execution as a technically or emotionally easy one. Here Ban’ya Natsuishi unabashedly shows his mastery of artistic execution and suggestiveness and his intelligence in decisionmaking and planning — resulting in a natural feeling recognizable by readers from various cultures, traditions and in many languages.

Despite his intellectual and technical expertise, Natsuishi has loftier goals than merely to find new ways of expressing emotions. He says himself: “My concern is not expressing emotion in a new way, but something deeper than emotion is my target.”

– Adam Donaldson Powell, 2009.

 

A SHORT ESSAY ON PRESENTATION OF WORLD HAIKU.
An essay based upon the following multilingual haiku books by Ban’ya Natsuishi:
MADARAK / BIRDS, 50 HAIKU, including aquarelles by Éva Pápai, translations by
Ban’ya Natsuishi, Jack Galmitz and Judit Vihar, published in 2007, Balassi Kiadó,
Budapest, Hungary, ISBN 978-963-506-743-5; and VOICES FROM THE CLOUDS,
translations by Leons Briedis, Ban’ya Natsuishi, Jim Kacian and James Shea,
published in 2008, Minerva, Latvia, ISBN 978-9984-637-42-5.

World haiku books are generally characterized by bilingualism or multilingualism, i.e. haiku books published with translations or adaptations in one or more languages in addition to the mother tongue of the haiku writer. This is also true of the world haiku books of Ban’ya Natsuishi. Mr. Natuishi’s literary adeptness is well-established – both by fans and reviewers such as myself, and by the international and Japanese literary communities at large. What I would like to address in this essay is presentation — the function of haiku with translations / adaptations in the same book, and the function of haiku together with and in competition with art / photography. In other words: the aesthetic dimensions and considerations.

I have previously commented upon the now-popular combination of haiku with photography: “I have written elsewhere that I prefer photography books without captions and titles … this is often a sensitive and over-debated question. However, I do not believe that it is solely a question of aesthetics or subjective ‘likes and dislikes’ / personal preferences. There are also the questions of functionality, total artistic impression as well as technical questions such as ‘when is more actually too much?’ Are the haiku captions or poetry? Do they serve a complementary function or an interpretative function, and are they (in fact) essential to understanding the photographs? Is the placement of these haiku optimal, or would another approach to combining photography and haiku have a stronger effect? These are all questions that strike me in my own personal experience …” It is important to me as reader and reviewer that presentation of haiku in book form satisfies the underlying aesthetic values of simplicity, space for thought and reflection, and maximal visual interpretation by the reader himself / herself. Furthermore, it is important to me that the haiku and the artwork function both on their own as artistic expressions AND together as complements, but not as explanations or rationalizations of each other. They should not be in competition with one another, and not too interpretative of each other.

This applies as well to presentation of haiku translations and adaptations alongside one another. The number and placement of haiku in translation / adaptation must not create a sense of constriction in regards to space, or be too overwhelming in terms of text. There are many possible solutions to these challenges, including: separating haiku and photography / art into different sections in the book, limiting the number of translations / adaptations, utilizing artistic imagery that is less concrete (eg. abstract imagery, painted calligraphy which gives a simple visual presentation, etc.) or watercolors or another medium that mimics the lightness of haiku to name a few possibilities. Of course, another possibility entails combining haiku with imagery that does not attempt to comment directly upon the visual imagery created by the haiku artist but rather explores the underlying “feelings” in other visual expressions. These suggested solutions might allow the reader / viewer to experience the visual, intellectual and emotional openness of both artistic forms of expression — both independently, and in “indirect” comparison, without the one form competing with, overshadowing or directly leading / affecting the experiential and interpretative process of the reader / viewer.

The Hungarian book MADARAK / BIRDS, 50 HAIKU is a very attractive hardbound book (12 x 18,5 cm), with fine illustrations by visual artist Éva Pápai. The illustrations are aquarelles, sensitively executed and without too much direct interpretation of the contexts expressed in the accompanying haiku. The illustrations are consistently placed on the pages adjoining each haiku in English and in Hungarian, and the original Japanese haiku appear under each illustration. Although this attractive book is not of a standard coffee table book size, the excellent presentation enables it to function both as a work of art and as a small inspirational book that may be carried in a bag or in one’s pocket so as to be read on the bus, the metro, the train … or during a break at work or in between appointments.

One reason that the presentation achieved in this book is so successful is that the illustrations are more than mere illustrations — they are works of art which function both independently and together with the haiku, they are simple in execution and style — thus mimicking and accentuating the lightness and spontaneity and “space” of haiku as an art form, there are only two haiku translations / adaptations to the page — giving a feeling of time and space for personal reflection in a way that the language that is unimportant to the particular reader can (in fact) disappear on the page, and also because the Japanese original haiku are tastefully reproduced with calligraphy in red — thus giving a sense of writing as visual art, as well as writing and art balanced both on the illustration pages and also together with the haiku in English and in Hungarian (on the opposing pages).

In “Voices from the Clouds” (11 x 19 cm, softcover), there are no illustrations or works of art accompanying each haiku. There are however haiku in original Japanese, Latvian and English on each page. In my view, this small book works quite well in terms of presentation. This largely because of the excellent paper quality, the sequence and placement of haiku on each page (starting with the original haiku in Japanese in one line across the top of each page, followed by the Latvian translation / adaptation, and then with the English version on the bottom of each page), as well as the feeling of “airyness” and space created … all of which give the book a sense of completion.

There are many memorable haiku in these two books which are both beautiful and thought-provoking. I will mention a few from each book:

 

from MADARAK / BIRDS:

 

Old women, pigeons,

winds and gossip

gather in this square.

- page 16

 

A wild eagle

is invited to

the room of mirrors

- page 24

 

Every thing will disappear:

even the rice paddy,

over it a white heron dancing

- page 54

 

To the goldcrest

every water drop

smiles

- page 106

 

and from VOICES FROM THE CLOUDS:

 

In Tokyo

The angry flower is

A snow crystal

- page 23

 

Long, long ago

A fountain

At the bottom of the sea.

- page 39

 

Walking is philosophy’s

Best friend –

Voices from the clouds.

- page 80

 

Wisteria flowers

Suck in our

Sweet nothings.

- page 120

 

If I were to point out one thing that I would criticize with either of these books, it would be the consistent starting of each line with capital letters in the book VOICES FROM THE CLOUDS. Sometimes initial capital letters feel natural and at other times (as in these haiku) they can (in my opinion) tend to disrupt the flow and music of short literary works where lines are supposed to both function on their own and as a continuous flow. However, this is my own personal opinion and experience.

All in all, I would recommend lovers of world haiku to purchase these books, as they are quite worthy of inclusion in one’s permanent collection … for re-reading time and time again, at one’s leisure.

– Adam Donaldson Powell, 2009.

 

Reaching towards infinity.

Literary criticism (2009) by Adam Donaldson Powell (based upon “World Haiku 2009, No. 5, The World Haiku Association, published by Shichigatsudo, Japan, 2009, ISBN 978-4-87944-135-5, 198 pages, paperback, US$15).

This year’s annual World Haiku (2009, No. 5) does not disappoint. Ban’ya Natsuishi and his translation staff have – once again – succeeded in compiling a quality presentation of world haiku featuring some 192 haiku artists from around the world in addition to junior haiku artists and essayists of haiku criticism.

Many of the works are in translation or adaptation. Of course, the book also contains a Japanese version which reads from the opposite direction.

That the World Haiku Association and Ban’ya Natsuishi have produced yet another fine publication featuring world haiku is no surprise in itself. However, the presentation of quality haiku originating from several continents and especially the phenomenal junior haiku (this time from Japan and New Zealand) make this edition noteworthy and distinctive. Some time ago, I was struck by the thought:

The novice struggles to make pretty feet dance in the wind, while the haiku of the master yawn and stretch toward infinity … like a century-old bonsai.

– Adam Donaldson Powell

However, in World Haiku 2009 No. 5 many of the featured haiku by artists from countries where haiku-writing is an “adopted” art form, and many of the “junior” haiku artists, write with a spontaneous dexterity usually exemplified by masters of this age-old tradition. I will cite a few of my personal favorites as examples:

I am as old as rain

And as young as rye:

Golden medium

 

Once in eternity

Even the mountain rises to the clouds

Like a bird of passage

 

Don’t torture your memory,

Insistently asking,

When did you meet last time?

Leons Briedis, Latvia

 

adding its voice to the ocean’s rain

sundown a momentary ache and gone

paddling out changing the shape of the sea

Jim Kacian, USA

 

Red dragonfly,

settle on my hand

that has worked hard

 

I trust a wintry tree

with my soul

for a while

 

Affirming it

will hurt someone –

holly blossoms

Tomie Yamamoto (Japan)

 

and from the juniors:

 

Summer ocean:

noisily a wave

gulps down sand grains

Ayane Inden, Japan, age 12

 

Trees, forests

cut down

are crying

Chihiro Niinou, Japan, age 8

 

The spirit of the sky

Lives in mother earth

Tears flow through rivers.

Te Arani Huia, New Zealand, age 10

 

Ancestors’ treasure

At the end of a river

Waterfall blessings.

Kairau Stirling, New Zealand, age 10

 

The book also contains thought-provoking essays by Toshio Kimura (The Missing Link: From Classic to Modern – Modern Japanese Haiku Observed from Overseas), Aleksandar Prokopiev (A Journey to The Quintessence), Karunesh Kumar Agrawal (Haiku in India) and Jim Kacian (State of the Art: Haiku in North America 2007).

– Adam Donaldson Powell, Norway, 2009.

 

YUKO TANGE: INJURED ROSES.

Injured Roses … the Yuko Tange Haiku Collection.

English translation by Anthony P. Newell

(Published by Cyberwit.net, Allahabad, India, 2009, 79 pages, paperback, US$15)

Injured Roses is a first-time haiku collection by Japanese haiku artist and visual artist Yuko Tange. This short collection of haiku in Japanese and English (in translation) is divided into seven sections. As with most first books, the author has included here a variety of approaches, subjects and subtle style variations. Some of the poems are – in my opinion – of a very high caliber, while others are rather less striking.

I find that the poems that are the most precious to me are those that reveal the mature reflective attributes of the author, and which are less analytical and active. The author has a talent for expressing passive irony in a classical literary sense, which is timeless. I would have preferred to see this book focus upon that particular style of haiku, one on a page with an accompanying work of art by Yuko Tange on the facing page. This because her original cover art reveals the same qualities that I find so endearing in the haiku that I am referring to. Some good examples of this style follow:

on page 14:

The Acropolis

is patient

facing the sun

 

on page 19:

I punctuate

with a sigh

the end of summer

 

on page 23:

It snows furiously

on the dilemma

of an impossibility

 

on page 30:

Red roses

invite bewitchment

and a misunderstanding, too

 

on page 48:

In the setting sun

the sand and the sea

rest in silence

 

and on page 70:

The vessel of pathos

moves to the time

of a miracle

 

I am impressed that the author has written her first book at an advanced stage in her life. When I read and re-read the poems I have cited above I understand that it has perhaps taken a lifetime to be able to express oneself so artistically, and with such quiet and mature reflection. I hope that Yuko Tange publishes more books in the style and spirit of the poems I have applauded, and that she considers perhaps making a lovely coffee table book including her artwork, and her haiku in calligraphy and in translation.

– Adam Donaldson Powell, 2009.

ADAM DONALDSON POWELL (Norway) is a literary critic and a multilingual author, writing in English, Spanish, French and Norwegian; and a professional visual artist. He has published eleven books (including collections of poetry, short stories, novellas and literary criticism) in the USA, Norway and India, as well as several short and longer works in international publications on several continents. His poetry and essays have been translated into several languages, including: Spanish, French, Russian, Japanese and Bengali.

Between us poets … reflections on writing, publishing and reviewing literature today.

1)

BETWEEN US POETS …

i am adamant about the importance of understanding literary styles in historical, cultural and social contexts, and not merely repeating mathematical formulas and styles when writing – especially poetry. one reason i pretty much abhor most modern rhyming poetry is that few comprehend why their verse is not as successful as that of their famous predecessors from previous centuries. it is not only about rigidly-formed rhyme and meter, but mostly about what happens within that overall framework: the consonance and dissonance of rhyme and rhythm that occurs on an experiential level through choice of words, length of words, sequence of words, sequence of images, sounds evoked in the words and patterns of words chosen, the loudness and softness of words and their images – alone and in sequence, the beginnings and endings and overlapping of words, images and sounds in lines, the functions of periods, commas, hyphens, spaces; not to mention the color and psychology of words and sequences of words, and choosing the appropriate level of language. eg. i never use archaic forms such as “Thou” or “O, ….” OR words that most need to consult a Thesaurus to understand unless I wish to show a change of status, wisdom, character of higher regard or of supposed superiority.

in this way poetry (and prose) takes on a cinematic, theatrical and multi-dimensional expression which more easily engages the reader to relate to his/her own experiences, memories, thoughts and feelings. similarly, i have written much about the western “haiku moment”. f**k the damned haiku moment, and f**k the 5-7-5 prison if it does not work with your language. it was devised for japanese, for chrissakes! and the entire haiku should reflect a haiku moment – a state of existentialism, where one breath is not distinguishable from another.

in literature and art and music – as in truther and activist work – we are always working to expose the “veil behind the veil BEHIND the veil”. peeling an onion does not really result in nothingness, but rather a state of being that embraces a confluence of negations and perceptions that have burned their way into the eye-sockets of non-reality of any particular moment in non-space/time. the center of the onion is, if you will: the rhyme inside of / and in spite of / the rhyme.

poetry — get religious about it!

now … please pass the —

2)

A LITERARY CRITIC’S LAMENT … for fellow book reviewers, authors and publishers

While many authors of books of poetry, short stories,novellas and essays are concerned with the problems with getting such books sold I would point out that:

1) people are reading such works today, but many are just not spending money on literature unless the author in question is a celebrity or a newly-discovered “sensation”; and

2) many authors underestimate or forget about libraries as important institutions, and of the inevitability of electronic publication taking an increasingly larger place in book publishing.

To make one’s living solely from book publication is not something many of the world’s authors can boast of. Most modern libraries are now digitalizing their collections so that they are available to multitudes. Try to get your books into local and national library collections. Libraries and national archives will have your books in their collections longer than private individuals, and they can be potentially read by several persons long after you have left this world. Many small press and independent publishers find their authors on the internet. My publisher in India – Cyberwit – found me on the internet, and extended an invitation which I accepted. The rest is history, including eight publications with Cyberwit.net to date. Use the internet wisely … and you will be noticed.

Another thing: I note that many new authors-to-be seem to be offended when asked to share a tiny bit of the initial production costs for their books, when asked to help with marketing efforts, when offered an electronic publication first – in order to test out the market before eventual print publication … GET REAL PEOPLE! It is not ALL about YOU! Writing is an art form; but being an author is a career and a business. Put in the work, prove yourself, pay your dues, build up interest for your work, cultivate a clientele for your writing. That royalty contract you dream of can be yours if you approach the business of being an author in a professional way, and exercise patience. There are small press and independent publishers out there who are looking for the right authors “to work with” (not just to publish); and there are still some reviewers (like myself) that are working to present your books to the world.

That being said, publishers and reviewers of books of poetry, short stories, novellas and essays seem to be fewer in number than previously, and because production and marketing costs are often higher than possible sales profits in the short run, the author must expect to do more than merely write “a good book”. He/she should actively participate in the marketing process and use all possible venues (of which there are now many in this world of internet, Facebook, Twitter, networking sites, blogs, etc.) to market their works. If mainstream publishers are to prioritize these genres then sales must go up. If small press and independent publishers are to survive and compete with mainstream publishers for readers then they need the help of both authors and reviewers.

Now, serious reviewers of books of poetry, short stories, novellas and essays do have their own issues … some of which are important for authors to be aware of:

1) the fast-paced world of today demands perhaps a new discussion regarding kinds of literary reviews that are produced, and their function. In my opinion, for most literary journals there has to be a happy medium between the overly-academic reviews of the past decades and the one paragraph summations that tell you nothing about why the reviewer feels the book has or has not literary quality – a type of review which is popular today also because of limited space in magazines, periodicals, journals etc.

2) I feel that it would be quite interesting with a discussion amongst literary reviewers about the subject and the art and the occupation of reviewing. What standards, ethics, guidelines are in place today? Is reviewing a thankless job or a useless occupation? What are the important elements of review-writing today as opposed to before?

3) How do reviewers today feel about and tackle the difficulties: in placing reviews, in being honest vs. taking care of the author’s or publishers feelings and needs: communicating the importance for the author of having balanced reviews and not just raves, the stupidity of authors flooding the internet with half-assed reviews of their books so that good ones are not interesting for publication, the problems involved with getting too close to the authors or publishers who wish to influence reviews or publish / quote only the most positive commentaries in order to increase sales etc.

4) How do reviewers feel about communicating to authors and publishers the importance of choosing the “right” reviewer – especially for the first review of the book? Serious literary journals rarely publish reviews of a book that has already been reviewed by several other persons and published all over the internet, or books that are more than one year old (yesterday’s news). Difficulties in getting reviews placed in serious literary journals has an effect upon serious reviewers as well. Reviewers are also interested in “discovering” a unique work of literature or a new exciting author, and being the first man/woman out with a review. I always “google” authors that ask me to review their books to see how many other reviews are already on the internet. And I sometimes decline to review a book if there is little chance of getting yet another review published. There are exceptions: new genres of literature, new voices that are so special or avantgarde that they deserve a multitude of critical perspectives, and simultaneous multiple reviews from reviewers in different countries and in different languages upon worldwide book launching etc. Each reviewer must (himself/herself) judge the marketability of a review of a particular book vs. the importance of doing a review anyway either for the sake of supporting a particular work of importance or presenting one’s own literary skills in an essay about a particular work.

5) Is it appropriate for a reviewer to ask an author to tell about his/her marketing plans? I do pose such questions, as it tells me much about the kind of review to write, about the necessity of eventually writing a review that can be tailored by the publisher to be shorter if necessary – while still respecting the context of the criticism, and also much about the longterm motivation and investment the author has. I often review interesting authors more than once in their literary careers, addressing changes and growth and development in their styles from book to book. If the author or publisher is “clueless” about marketing strategies and how a review will be used, then writing a smashing or well-written review can be a waste of time, as most reviewers are constantly looking for more places and more prestigious places to publish their reviews, and the competition is very stiff. Often we compete with ourselves between the various reviews that we write and submit.

Nowadays, many good authors have also been reviewers. Why is it that many reviewers get burned out so quickly? It is perhaps in part due to some of the issues that i have cited above? The job of the critic is to write literary criticism, and selling the book and holding the authors’ hands etc. is really not our problem. It is – however – our problem to get our work published, and in good/appropriate literary journals, newspapers, magazines etc.

And what about the ethics of charging for book reviews? Many housewives make extra cash by writing short summations of books for large corporations in the USA, and make 50-75 bucks a shot. Good literary reviewers of small press literature usually work for free (unless commissioned to write a scholarly essay). Should reviewers get paid? If so, then by whom – the publisher, the author, the marketing company? And what are the possible ethical conflicts involved in that?

Some authors are highly sensitive to negative criticism, but yet authors crave assessment and “validation” … another interesting topic: the psychology of reviewing and desiring to get reviewed. Are some authors simply not “mature” enough for constructive criticism? And are some reviewers too closed-minded and old-fashioned in their likes/dislikes? I encourage all reviewers to publish their philosophy of reviewing, what they look for etc. from time to time. This will help authors not only in their choice of a reviewer, but also give many authors some helpful insight in their approaches to their own future writing.

How relevant is contemporary literature in non-English language countries for today’s global young people? Should all contemporary literature of quality only be in English? To be honest, in today’s international market publishing in English gives the greatest possible world public … albeit entails much competition. However, the reason that I employ multilingualism in most of my works is to reflect how today’s world is and also to drive up interest in other languages and cultures instead of the standardized/Americanized supermarket culture that is replacing everything all over the world. This is – however – hard work for everyone … but especially for you the author. Do not expect that a small press or independent publisher has the staff, the resources or the knowledge of several languages. This is a genre that most mainstream publishers will not even touch. Be willing to work long and hard with special publications, and be patient with and courteous to your publisher. Small press and independent publishers are more often than not only 1-3 persons dedicated to keeping new literature “alive”.

If you as a reader or reviewer do not understand or know a word (in your own language or another) in a book … then look it up and learn something damnit! People are sometimes lazy and impatient in today fast-paced world society. And authors need to remember that every word is precious. Published writing should not solely be an act of self-gratification or literary masturbation. People do not have the patience for it. Choose your words carefully, and economically. Novelists can learn much from good poets and short, short story authors.

Another thing: let’s bring back the novellas. In today’s society they must be perfect for the on-the-go reader. The problem is that most publishers will not publish collections of novellas, nor will they publish prose that is less than 50,000 words because the book binding should be a certain width to be visible on bookstore bookshelves etc.

I am initiating this discussion because I feel that authors and publishers need to understand what reviewing is like in today’s world: what makes reviewers tick and continue to review etc.

- Adam Donaldson Powell

3)

THOUGHTS ON LITERARY CRITICISM.

LITERARY CRITICISM:
A FEW INTRODUCTORY COMMENTS
BY ADAM DONALDSON POWELL.

Much has been written regarding the history and development of literary criticism, the present “crisis” precipitated by trends and practices in the areas of publishing, marketing and distribution, as well as challenges posed for literary criticism by electronic publishing … including a renaissance of the age-old questions regarding which persons are qualified to write literary criticism, and the purposes and goals of good literary criticism.

All of these topics, themes and discussions are actual and important today. My main concern is to provide authors of literary works (poetry, short stories, novellas, essays, novels etc.) and independent presses and facilitators of self-published books of quality with a new form of literary criticism: which is informative, which incites debate, which challenges author and reader, and which provides entertainment, but which at the same time functions as a marketing tool and an opportunity for authors to consider their own development and accomplishments from the perspective of another literature enthusiast. I review both first-time authors and authors who have written dozens of books, assess individual books as well as compare several books by the same author, and sometimes follow a specific author’s development from book to book.

All literary criticism is subjective by definition. However, it can be helpful for both author and readers of literary criticism to discover new ways of perceiving their own writing, and writing in general. I am not an English professor, or even an English major. I am an author, and yet another who constantly struggles with the same questions, choices and challenges all authors confront. It is my experience that reviewing others’ writing gives me greater insight into my own. This is (for me) an ever-going process of personal and artistic development.

I am often asked what I look for in poetry books that I review, or consider reviewing. There are many poetic forms being used today, with many hybridisations. There exists both a sense that there are “no rules” anymore and, at the same time, there are some unspoken literary guidelines that determine the probability for successful literary communication – beyond the subjective, and questions of personal taste. I believe that it is important for me as a reviewer to restate what I look for from time to time. As I have written elsewhere, I look for many qualities including: evenness in quality, diversity in content and form, artistic intent, planning, execution and polish (the degree of polish being both intentional and commensurate with the desired expression), and an overall concept of the book as a complete work of art – beyond an arbitrary “stew” of individual poems. In addition, I pay attention to the author’s sense of originality, political and social awareness, mastery of storytelling, and visual, musical and philosophical expressions indicative of the author’s experiential personal history. I further look for: balance of intellectual rationalism and emotional presence, a solid command of the full palette of language(s) used, descriptive colour, clarity, intentional usage of abstractions, entertainment and theatrical/performance value, humour and occasional irony, and an overall sense of when to use poetic economy versus poetic rapture. And finally I am concerned that the author has an understanding of how to arouse within the reader a sense of personal identification, emotion and engagement – enabling the reader’s ‘inner artist’ to enter into a creative cognitive dialogue with the author, and hopefully even to inspire the reader to embark upon his/her own creative process.

I believe that art is both an intentional and an intuitive process, with many pitfalls: eg. overwriting, non-attention to levels of language used ($5 words can sometimes be more appropriate than $5000 words), stylistic and punctuation liberties that sometimes work and sometimes not, mimicking famous (and usually deceased) writers without sufficiently developing one’s own signature style, and getting all too caught up in – or ignoring – traditions of literature without having thought through why one has consciously chosen this or that style, or a divergence … just to name a few. At the same time, I believe that artists must always keep experimenting in order to grow and to develop further. That means taking risks … and sometimes even falling flat on one’s face. That is okay. We eventually learn from both our own … and others’ mistakes.

So writing is not a static process … and neither is literary criticism. While much criticism for first-time authors can be similar, it must be kept in mind that 1) there is no definitive “correct way” of writing, 2) criticism is personal and subjective to a large degree, and 3) there has never been a “perfect” book (and never will). I do not personally believe that writing a perfect book is an all important goal. Constant experimentation with technique, style, form and language is the real key to self-development and literary development. A not so well received book can be preceded by one or more very well received ones – who is to judge what is “good or not”? And the perhaps “not-as-good” book could teach author and reader much more than the “good” ones.

That being said, I do believe that literary criticism should be balanced – pointing both to that which functions well for the reviewer, and to that which the author might consider developing further or experimenting with in another way in future writing. Every now and then an author gets a complete rave of a review from me, but that is often because the author has managed to impress me in any of many ways that demonstrate overwhelming strength, courage, openness, visual imagery, musicality, movement, theatricality and/or originality … perhaps because I happen to resonate with the author at that particular point in time in regards to a certain form of expression or quality. There is no formula, there is no real checklist or form … it is an objective/subjective process.

Getting reviewed is exciting – for the author, the publisher … but it is also exciting for me as a reviewer to experience the reactions of author, publisher and reader, and to see if my comments help to incite further enthusiasm and growth in the author, and to incite potential readers and new publishers to consider the author and his/her book(s). And yes, I am always curious as to whether (or not) the author and others share or understand my experience of the work in question. A work of art is – after all – a vehicle for mental, emotional and soulful transport, taking each of us to our own self-designed destinations. Reading a work of literature is – at its best – a dialogue between author and reader.

Lastly, I would like to say that I consider literary criticism to be an art form in itself – a form for expression that is constantly stretching and yawning, recollecting older traditions and recognising the contemporary and the visionary in authors, and sometimes making associations between diverse forms of artistic expression and artistic disciplines. However, reading a book review or a piece of literary criticism is no substitute for reading the book, and is not a prerequisite either. Literary criticism is only a personal guide and commentary … a short essay containing the reviewer’s thoughts and reactions to having read a work (or works) of literature by another author.

– Adam Donaldson Powell

4)

PLAYING WITH THE MULTILINGUAL.

From “Le Paradis”, a tri-lingual novella with bilingual poetry by Adam Donaldson Powell:

“Il fait chaud aujourd’hui. Tu n’as pas soif?” asked Erik.

“Afaitu is in one of his serious moods today. He has been trying to get in touch with his spiritual ancestors, and is therefore staying away from the Devil’s brew (you know: pia). But I am certain that he would like some cold water and a joint,” said Eperona with a playful snicker.

“Pakalolo? Sorry man, I wish I did have some marijuana. But I do have some bottled water with me and (of course) a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. Will that do?”

Afaitu graciously thanked his Swedish friend for the water and a cigarette, while suggesting: “Hey, why don’t we take my boat out to a motu and spend the afternoon just chilling out? We can pick up some sandwiches and fruit, and perhaps even some mahi mahi on the way.”

“Mahi mahi sounds good to me,” said Eperona in his slightly post-adolescent manner … grinning, while adding: “and some more beers too!”

Afaitu shot his two-year younger friend a pretend-stern look, and then broke out into laughter.

“What? What did I say that is so funny?” asked Eperona, himself unable to keep from smiling. Erik thought he had been left out of a personal joke, and his eyes quizzically darted from Afaitu to Eperona, finally resting on Afaitu.

“It is nothing, my friend. You have been exactly the same since you were sixteen years old: the joys of your life are so simple. As long as you have fish, women and beer, ‘tu es au paradis’!” replied Afaitu, smiling and throwing a pebble at Eperona.

“Hey, cut it out!” retorted Eperona, as he playfully wrestled Afaitu onto his back, pinning him down with his muscular arms and shoulders. “And speaking of women … should we invite some to join us? What do you think, Erik? I know this hot …”

“Merde! What a fucking braggart. Don’t listen to his crap talk, Erik,” said Afaitu while pushing Eperona off of himself. “You would think that Eperona is the biggest stud and womaniser in the whole of French Polynesia.”

“Et alors!” joked Eperona, now standing over his two friends and thrusting his hips and groin forward in repeated erotic movements – half dance and half sex simulation.

“Damn, Eperona! You look like a raerae or a mahu impersonating an amateur Polynesian dancer for tourists,” shouted Afaitu … causing Erik to laugh and Eperona to pounce on Afaitu again.

“Amateur? Raerae? My uncle is a raerae, so I take that as a compliment. In fact, you should BE so lucky! Here … I will show you how a ‘raerae’ fucks a titoi (a wanker). Roll over … I’ve got something for you!” cried Eperona out as they tussled; and all three men laughed uncontrollably.

- – - – - – -

From “2014”, a multilingual and intergalactic novella by Adam Donaldson Powell:

“Ha konwe ilucó Zeta, saj juhe la” (”Greetings our Zetan friends in Spirit, we wish contact”) repeated Eonurai telepathically in Vegan (the language used by the Greys), directing her energies toward the constellation that was home to the Zeta Reticulians. “Ha konwe ilucó Zeta, saj juhe la” … ”If you can hear this message, then please respond. This is Eonurai from Terra, with an important message to you from the Intergalactic Higher Command.”

“Ha konwe Eonurai-at. Saj miile ennwo. Len em Cuezpå. Ken ta sommo ?” (”Greetings she who is Eonurai. We are listening. This is Cuezpå. What is your message ?”) replied the Zetan on the receiving end of the telepathic communication directed at the Zetan Central Command Headquarters.

He then added: “Not to be disrespectful, but we speak English quite well here at the headquarters. Perhaps we should continue in English, as it would be more convenient for us. Your accent is a bit difficult to decipher telepathically.”

- – - – - -

Authors who write bilingually or multilingually usually employ one or more of the following alternatives:
1) to write and publish a work in one language, and then to adapt the work into another language and then publish it again in the new language;
2) to write sections of a work (usually poems) in one language, and repeat all of them into one or several other languages within the same book;
3) to write sections of a book in different languages, sometimes repeating the same small works and sometimes combining adapted and other works in the different book portions;
and 4) combining several of the above-mentioned techniques in the same book, and/or over a progression of books.

I employ all four approaches in my literary publications, and public readings – usually writing in English, Spanish, Norwegian and French, but also occasionally using bits of text in Greek, Arabic, Latin and other languages where appropriate.

Why do I find this fascinating ? First of all, we live in a globalized greater society today where many persons speak and understand multiple languages to various degrees, where few speak “the Queen’s English” anymore but rather national and local adaptations of English, French, Spanish and other major languages, where several individuals and groups of expatriates, immigrants and persons who have lived in many countries and cultures quite naturally employ several languages in the course of a simple conversation – you can hear it on the streets and busses in major cities all over Europe: persons in dialogue with another, in person, or on the cell phone, switching over from Urdu, West African dialect, French or Spanish to perhaps Norwegian, Swedish or Danish, and then to English, and back again. I enjoy matching this phenomenon together with the adjoining mixtures of culture – both as experienced by natives, by immigrants in their new countries of residence, by tourists who are experiencing and learning about other cultures … and also in culturally-hybridized forms, just as hybridized language today.

Secondly, by presenting the reader with this new globalized multilingual and multicultural reality, I hope that several persons will find interest in learning new languages (other than British and North American English) and that many will also begin to challenge their local and national perspectives on world culture today … and tomorrow.

This is not a “new” genre; as many authors throughout history have played with using different languages in dialogues within the same work; and bilingual and multilingual adaptations in all possible forms is as popular today as ever before (especially in the international haiku network). However, the intent to use this literary form to reflect a modern globalized and mixed up cultural and linguistic world is a fairly new concept. We are moving from national literature in translation to multicultural/multilingual literature and “global literature”.

The challenges for writing and publication are immense. Writing generally requires much decisionmaking, and when the question of merely choosing one’s target audience is suddenly opened up to something greater than primarily the English-speaking, French-speaking or Spanish-speaking world, the writing challenges increase proportionally. No longer is it good enough to find the right translation of Hindu ritual texts in the local dialect as practiced in Kathmandu (as I discovered in my book “Rapture”), but I needed to find a dialect that would be understood and accepted by all Hindus in Asia. In the end I opted to translate some of the special texts back to English, both out of global linguistic and religious-cultural considerations. There are many decisions that have to do with level of language used, grammatical and punctuation rules used (for example, which language’s rules should be followed in a manuscript that should show consistency ?), and the complexity of the text and story/poetry, decisions that have to do with whether one wishes to present a culture as a native might or as the outside world peering in (complete with stereotypes that are both promoted and challenged), decisions that have to do with political, religious and cultural values mirrored on all levels and in all perspectives (locally, nationally, internationally, and globally) and the accompanying perceptual differentiations therein, problems with getting language and cultural consultants, editors and colleagues to agree upon the “best” or “most correct” way to translate or adapt a text into another language … and then to arrive at the best possible compromise for presentation in the final book, finding a publisher who will take a chance on publishing a book where he or she does not understand all of the languages used and does not have staff or finances to check every detail in several foreign languages used … and the added responsibility this places on the author. There is much research, much reliance upon others, much insecurity and a lot of adrenalin that flows with expectation until the book has been on the market for at least a half year without a major international scandal or crisis having occurred. Words are not merely “words”, you see. Words have incredible power.

However, the thrills of doing this kind of global writing are also enormous. One gets the feeling that one is truly both “reaching across the world”, and “binding the world together” – contributing meaningfully and intentionally to global communication and understanding through literature. And the mental calisthenics can only be compared to successfully completing a long distance race with hurdles all along the way. It does get confusing sometimes. You need to have a solid base line – as in music – to hold it all together, but the “dance” itself is mesmerizing and offers countless possibilities to both fall on one’s face … and to get up again, and (at times) to soar through space like an eagle – with a view of the world rarely acknowledged in the hub bub of day-to-day situations.

It is my hope that more “global literature” will be written and published in the near future – including the employment of international cyberpunk and international urban dialects as language forms. Language is changing daily, and authors need to keep up … and stay ahead artistically. This is just the beginning of a whole new world of literature.

- Adam Donaldson Powell

5)

LA CRÉATION DE L’ART ET LA LITTÉRATURE EXIGENT UN ENGAGEMENT CONSTANT.

MES RÉACTIONS AU TEXTE … DE LA PERSPECTIVE D’UN AUTEUR.

De la part d’un auteur qui utilise activement le multilinguisme comme technique … et également de la part de quelqu’un qui a vécu dans trois pays différents avec trois langues maternelles … je trouve le multilinguisme très intéressant. Bien sûr, je reconnais qu’il y a des problèmes inhérent à chaque langue employée et qu’il faut les surmonter en raison des différences culturelles, afin de ne pas mélanger les mots et les définitions. Parfois j’estime que je n’ai aucune “langue” du tout, entre l’anglais, le norvégien, l’espagnol et le français. Ce serait plus facile pour moi de vivre quelques années en France et ensuite peut-être un été dans un pays hispanophone au lieu de continuer à résider en Norvège en tant qu’expatrié.

Cependant, je ne suis pas tellement intéressé par l’anglais parfait, le norvégien parfait, l’espagnol parfait ou le français parfait dans mon écriture. D’ailleurs, la perfection existe-t-elle, même chez les monolingues? Je suis plus concerné par l’utilisation des langues dans leurs formes intrinsèques, voire expérimentales. Cela exige souvent plus de connaissance que je ne possède, donc je dois souvent chercher l’aide d’autres personnes et d’autres sources. Il y a beaucoup de recherche impliquée dans mon écriture. Ceci est aussi valable pour l’écriture dans ma propre langue maternelle : l’anglais. Quand je fais une analyse critique de jeunes auteurs je leur dis souvent de penser au niveau de la langue qu’ils utilisent parce que le niveau de la langue conditionne la performance et l’exécution théâtrale, à partir des émotions. Les mots rares ou précieux (des mots compliqués, obscurs et intellectuels) ont leur place et les mots plus populaires ou du language parlé, également. Ecrire – tout comme l’art – implique un engagement.. TOUT LE TEMPS! Quel niveau du langage, de la narration est approprié, et quels effets cela aura-t-il sur le lecteur ?

La création de l’art et la littérature exigent un engagement constant, ainsi que des rajustements, dès lors que la création commence à prendre vie et doit se définir vis-à-vis du lecteur.

Mes lecteurs me demandent souvent pourquoi je suis “contre la rime poétique. Je ne suis pas – en soi – contre la bonne rime pour autant que l’on sache ce qui est considéré comme bonne rime. Je crois que c’est la voix de poésie elle-même qui doit définir la forme … la rime féminine, la rime masculine, des variations sur des styles, pas de rime, le mètre externe, ce que je désigne comme “le mètre interne” (que l’on ne repère pas nécessairement en lisant rapidement la poésie, mais qui est bien là dans sa forme), le niveau de langue utilisé (des mots de 5 € contre des mots de 5000 €) est important car ils donnent le ton, la voix, ainsi que le degré de difficulté de la création. La question est alors celle-ci: quelle langue utiliser et quand (l’anglais uniquement, comme langue principale? l’utiliser avec les autres langues afin de créer un environnement multiculturel et multilingue ou une culture dite mondiale, en imitant la vie quotidienne dans toutes les sphères d’une culture donnée, en employant de surcroît des dialectes, ou peut-être le mot français ou espagnol au lieu du mot anglais ou norvégien, afin d’obtenir la plus juste expression – exemple: lorsque l’on dit ‘ciao’ en se quittant, dans plusieurs pays -, etc. Les poètes majeurs jusqu’au 21e siècle avaient un appui plus solide dans l’art de la rime. Rimer est beaucoup plus que la découverte de mots qui paraissent semblables musicalement et où le nombre des syllabes comptent. Le Haiku par exemple est beaucoup plus que le nombre de syllabes strict, car en procédant de la sorte on peut arriver à des résultats ridicules. Non, c’est l’esprit du Haiku qu’il faut respecter et non l’exactitude de son mètre. D’autre part, chaque mot possède sa force et son pouvoir de suggestion; particulièrement dans la poésie et les formes littéraires plus courtes – rien ne doit être perdu des intentions et de la force de l’auteur – parfois nous voulons raccourcir ou allonger des textes pour affecter le lecteur ou prêterau texte une certaine identité … cela vaut également pour l’utilisation des mots difficiles que la plupart des personnes doivent constamment consulter un dictionnaire.

La rime qui ne prend pas en compte les effets la musique du mot originel peut inconsciemment ennuyer le lecteur ou transformer une voix pleine d’humour en poésie plate … ainsi, les mots perdent leur signification première, ce qui par la même occasion, neutralise l’essence poétique elle-même.

Quand dois-je me décider quelles langues utiliser et comment ? C’est surtout dicté par la nature et le thème du texte, mais aussi par la culture … ou mieux, par “ma propre perception de la culture concernée”. Dans mon livre “Paradis”, qui est écrit en anglais, en français et en dialecte Tahitien, j’ai essayé de rester le plus simple possible, en m’approchant le plus possible du Tahitien parlé, le français dominant dans ce cas précis, tout en maintenant une certaine distance vis-à-vis des deux autres langues, la poésie anglaise dans le livre est la langue fonctionnelle et descriptive … elle est souvent le fait d’une impatience suggérée et du tumulte interne. Dans le même travail, j’alterne entre poésie et prose afin de créer le sens de la perte du temps et le ‘climat’ du Pacifique. Toutes ces décisions … et d’autres non mentionnées ici … sont consciemment et inconsciemment au travail par le truchement de créations littéraires et artistiques. Plus vous êtes mûr comme artiste, plus vous aspirez à “cette symphonie incroyable”. J’estime être un novice perpétuel … pourtant, je vise toujours très haut en espérant atteindre le paroxysme de la langue que j’utilise, quelle qu’elle soit, allant jusqu’à consulter divers méthodes linguistiques sur Internet, mais là il faut être prudent, car il y a à boire et à manger, et la qualité n’est pas souvent au rendez-vous.

D’autres décisions impliquent le rythme, le cadre, la quantité de détails, la vitesse à laquelle le lecteur entend lire le texte qui lui est soumis : Prenons l’exemple du Candide de Voltaire, ou mon roman “2014 : la vie et les aventures d’un ange incarné” – Il s’agit d’abord d’introduire le lecteur , pour ensuite le laisser voguer dans son imagination en lui donnant l’impression qu’il a écrit l’histoire lui/elle-même.

Beaucoup a été écrit sur règles de l’écriture, particulièrement quant à l’utilisation de la première, la troisième et la deuxième personne. Le défi est grand, car on ne raconte pas la même histoire à la 1ere, 2ème ou 3ème personne, et l’impact sur le lecteur peut être faussé. Un exemple illustre ce que je veux dire: les concertos de piano pour la main gauche seule, comme “le Quartet pour la fin des temps” qui avait été à l’origine écrit pour un violoncelliste ayant seulement trois cordes à son instrument, etc.

Je peux continuer jusqu’à l’infini…, mais il y a une cour de récréation énorme là-bas pour tous les auteurs. Et non seulement pour les auteurs, mais également pour les musiciens, les peintres et les artistes de la scène. Les règles servent à nous donne un contexte et une formation. Nous devons décider, selon nos propres émotions, comment les utiliser (ou ne pas les utiliser), la palette de styles, de formats, des genres étant très vaste, elle permet à certains même de créer de nouveaux genres qui transcendent le seul roman ou la seule poésie.

AMUSEZ-VOUS DONC ! Et si par accident ou si vous n’écoutez que votre intuition en ignorant le plan original, vous découvrez peut-être un nouveau chemin, allez-y, le voyage risque d’être passionnant.

– Adam Donaldson Powell

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Read some of my literary reviews HERE

All about Adam.

I have published various literary works: poems, stories, novellas/short novels, literary criticism, essays, art photography criticism; and also work with painting and photography. I was born in the USA, and reside in Norway. I have been a professional visual artist (since 1995) and a writer (since 1987). I have published 11 books, in USA, Norway and India, as well as several short works in literary publications. Among my many literary and artistic themes are multilingualism, the transcultural, spiritual development, societal development, LGBT issues, hiv/aids etc. I have written, performed and published works in English, Spanish, French and Norwegian. My poetry and essays have been translated into several languages, including: Spanish, French, Russian, Japanese and Bengali.

I have had one-man and group exhibitions at art galleries and public institutions in Norway and Sweden. My most recent exhibitions include a group exhibition at the R5 Gallery – Government Ministry Gallery in Oslo, a one-man show at the Rådhus galleri (Oslo City Hall Gallery) in November-December 2009, and my one-man exhibition (art photography) at S9 Galleri in Oslo in June of 2011. My art serves as book cover art and internet art as well as fine art.

OM ADAM (PÅ NORSK)

Adam’s profile at Saatchi Online Gallery

Printed book publications:

MOST RECENTLY RELEASED (BY CYBERWIT.NET):

The tunnel at the end of time (co-written with Rick Davis and Azsacra Zarathustra), Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-160-4 , © 2010, India.

PREVIOUS PUBLICATIONS:

Malerier og fotokunst,a short 38-page retrospective overview of some of Adam Donaldson Powell’s best known oil paintings and photographic art works. Published by Cyberwit.net as a special limited and numbered full-color, soft cover edition (55 copies only), ISBN 978-81-8253-154-3, India, © 2009.

Gaytude: a poetic journey around the world, gay poetry in English and French by Albert Russo and Adam Donaldson Powell, 335 pages, published by Xlibris Corporation, © 2009,
Library of Congress Control Number: 2008907964, ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4363-6396-9, ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4363-6395-2, USA.

2014: the life and adventures of an incarnated angel, 135 pages, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-118-5, © 2008, India.

Critical Essays, literary and photobook criticism by Adam Donaldson Powell and Dr. Santosh Kumar, 108 pages, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-110-9, © 2008, India.

Le Paradis (Paradise), 80 pages, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-81-8253-103-1, © 2008, India. Includes a booklet with symbols from The Universal Language of Light, as seen by Laila Holand.

Rapture: endings of space and time (86 pages), Cyberwit,net, ISBN 978-81-8253-083-6, © 2007, India.

Three-legged Waltz, (80 pages), Cyberwit.net, ISBN 818253058X, © 2006, India.

Collected Poems and Stories, (175 pages), Cyberwit.net, ISBN 8182530288, © 2005, India.

Arcana and other archetypes, (special limited edition – hardback collection of poetry), AIM Chapbooks ANS, © 2001, Norway (now out-of-print).

Notes of a Madman, (hardback collection of poetry), Winston-Derek Publishers, Inc., © 1987, ISBN 1-55523-054-7, USA (now out-of-print).

NEW E-BOOK, RELEASED IN NOVEMBER 2010! ORDER “THE STALKER – Tale of a French Bitch” NOW AT: AMAZON KINDLE BOOKS!

The Stalker (Tale of a French Bitch) is a story that explores the battle between the sexes, sexual orientation, questions of gender and the psychological aspects of personal identity. Rachel, the main character, suffers from multiple personality disorder and enters into a relationship with a transsexual in transition (a shemale). There are many twists and turns to this bilingual tale, which is mostly written in English but which also includes a bit of French.

NB. Don’t own a Kindle device? No problem. You can still read e-books from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk. See iTunes for free kindle apps for your iPhone, iPod, iPad, personal computer and other devices.

MY OTHER AMAZON.COM E-BOOKS INCLUDE:

- The Tunnel at the End of Time: ORDER IT AT AMAZON KINDLE BOOKS!

- 2014: the life and adventures of an incarnated angel: ORDER IT AT AMAZON KINDLE BOOKS!

- Entre Nous: ORDER IT AT AMAZON KINDLE BOOKS!

SEE MY AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE: AT AMAZON!

CHECK OUT MY NEW PROMOTIONAL VIDEO HERE!

NB. This is best viewed with Safari or Mozilla Firefox. Enjoy!

Other publication experience (selected):

Essays, literary criticism and photobook criticism by Adam Donaldson Powell have appeared in many literary magazines, literary websites, newspapers etc., including but not limited to: Small Press Review, Ginyu, Los Muestros, Inyathi, Lynx Online Literary Magazine, Skyline Review, Taj Mahal Review, Samora Magazine, Kritya: a journal of poetry, Writer’s Cramp, Portugal News, Skyline Magazine’s and Hudson View Poetry Digest’s literary criticism website etc. Adam has reviewed many talented authors and art photography book artists, including: Albert Russo, Pradip Choudhuri, Jan Oskar Hansen, Shirley Bolstok, Robert P. Craig, Mary Barnet, Literary House Review 2007, Orania Hamilton, AZsacra Zarathustra and Jgor Pyatinin, Geert Verbeke, Barbara Elizabeth Mercer, Alan D. Busch, Fernando Rodríguez, Victoria Valentine, Vijaiganga, Marie Mappley, Robert M. Wilson, Linda A. Peters, Ban’ya Natsuishi, Sayumi Kamakura, Moshé Liba, T. Wignesan etc.

Adam has written prefaces for books, and edited novels and books of poetry, as well as individual poems and short stories, written by several other authors.

Adam’s own literary works and artworks have appeared in several literary reviews and journals, anthologies, online magazines, literary websites etc. on several continents.

Distinctions and memberships:

GAYTUDE IS THE 2009 NATIONAL INDIE EXCELLENCE AWARD WINNER FOR THE CATEGORY GAY/LESBIAN NONFICTION!

Adam Donaldson Powell has been listed amongst notable GLBT writers of all time: here!

Steering committee, WORDS: one path to peace and understanding, Oslo, 2008. Read the ONLINE REPORT.

Winner of the AZsacra International Poetry Award, 2008

Recipient of Norwegian Foreign Ministry’s travel stipend for authors, 2005.

MEMBER OF:
BONO
World Poets Society
Poetas del Mundo
Norwegian P.E.N.
Bilingual MCA
IFLAC-Argentina

DEGREES AND EDUCATION:
New York University, Master of Public Administration, 1985.
Goddard College, Bachelor of Arts, 1974.
Language studies in Norwegian, Spanish and French in the USA and Norway.
Post-graduate studies in international business administration (BI School of Management).
Private piano studies with several renowned concert pianists, including: Jacob Lateiner, Arminda Canteros, Berenice Lipsen-Grüzen and John Ranck.

POETRY PERFORMANCE:

Adam has performed his poetry in English, French, Spanish and Norwegian, and at various venues from New York City to Oslo to Buenos Aires to Kathmandu.

(above photo courtesy Blikk Magazine, Norway)

Extreme poetry (English + Russian): Adam Donaldson Powell & azSacra zaRathustra

Presenting the introduction to “The tunnel at the end of time” (the sci-fi novel which takes conspiracy theory and religious propaganda to their extreme … and beyond). Introduction written by Adam Donaldson Powell and azSacra zaRathustra.

(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)

PART ONE: LEFT AND RIGHT HANDS OF THE GODS.

01

Это возникало из – за щитов …
из – за ракет, которых “там” не было сначала,
но которые будут “здесь” в конечном счёте.

Yes, the shields … humans are born with them,
much as angels are born with wings.
It is propaganda, of course …
the truth has always been an existential relativity.

Funny …
They say I am balding … getting old and senile.
But the truth is that I have always been bald.
I am “Transforma” … the symbol of the old
empire now fallen.

I am … the bearer of vision and conscience.
I am … the judge and the predator.
I am … the eagle.

We saw it coming, didn’t we “Vrebatima”?

I kept silent … and no one believed you.
But who is laughing now?
Yes, only us …

The Armageddon was inevitable …
We needed it, and so we created it.
But it is only illusion …

Только иллюзия.

02

No illusions!
No delusions!

We knew only the Truth of Destruction!
We – Über! … and my one-legged
father taught me only how to kill:

kill Buddha!
kill Hitler!
kill yourself!

my mother – Nothing, but older
and more sorrowful …

my father – Nobody, but more merciless
and sadder …

Look: my daughter goes from Emptiness
to Emptiness in order to kill every tear
before her birth:

And now Absence doesn’t cry anymore,
Emptiness doesn’t spend any more money
on funerals –

that’s the Truth of Non-existence!

“Nothing” is my mother –
“Nobody” is my father –
and there are no tears between
them

Nein!

03

левая рука Бога?

Ahh, the left hand of God!
yes, I saw it once: floating
over the Sahara.
Little did I then know that
it was the rosebud of Intervention.
Who could have guessed?
It danced so gracefully, like
Salome’s dance of the veils –
stirring up a frenzy of sand
against the windless sky

I miss the slithering creepy-crawlers
which once tattled the mysteries
of the night. They are long gone;
as are the polar bears, the whales,
the crocodiles, the bees and the sharks.
What have you done, Terrans?
What were you thinking?

Lost in meditations upon finances
and power, you lost sight of the
greatest wealth you owned.
And you crowded only a few
humanoids onto your hastily-built
arks when the floods and dis-ease
ravaged so mercilessly.

Some called it the work of
the antichrist, but the antichrist
was humanity itself: which
had been too long on the rampage
of greed and apathy and imbalance.

You raped and you raped;
and defiled both humanity and
nature.
A barren Terra wails but we
are not comforters Vrebatima.
(nods)
We are merely the scribes
who observe and note the
crimes for future reflection.

Tell me a story Vrebatima,
but allow me to keep my Buddha.
I have nothing else.

Tell me again about the
fires and the tsunamis and
the screaming; and
the fallen Buddha statues.
Поведайте мне Vrebatima …

сообщите мне!

Break with your emptiness
and violate the nothingness,
Vrebatima.

Tell me about the dried-out
moss on the floors of the
naked forests, and of the
sad Russian lullabies sung
by the dying hummingbirds.
Remind me of the carcasses –
long since picked clean by
crows that had become vultures
out of necessity of survival.
Jog my memory, O Vrebatima:

сообщите мне!

04

Believe: in the Sacred Rats.
The Execution of the world is –
the execution of a Ritual.

An angel, rushing down,
made a heart-rending cry:
Let rats fuck their daughters;
coin dolls born from the
Dollar –

On the gold of their fathers
fucked in manure …

Let rats fuck their daughters!
…………………………

Power
Power
Power of prices alone –
ascending from the worthless world
to Zero: 0000000000000000000000!

After zeros
(instead of bullets)
only holes are left –

00000000000000000!

There are no more
Great Chinese Walls!

The decay!

The Empire died like
a pitiful trembling
rabbit.

In cash-machines there is
a “share” for each –
the Universe will no more be
rammed through by the hawk.

It’s clear now:

God didn’t die –
the Will died …

Der Wille zur Macht?

Nein! –

Das Nichts zur Macht!
Das Leere zur Herrschaft!

0000000000000000000000000!

05

I am fucked … we are all fucked.
The Great Bear is howling in
the Siberian woods …
and Vrebatima has hunger
in her soul – as do I.
Our forefathers were perhaps
foolish to give up the Cold Wars,
to kill Saddam Hussein and
to invade Afghanistan.

I followed the Sacred Rat,
and he deceived me
time and time again …
fucked me up real good.

As the leading superpowers
we had control – and we
agreed to disagree, making secret
strategies together, for viewing
and consumption by the world.
The people of the world were stupid.
They never understood the farce …
that every argument and action
was contracted and choreographed.

We provided both excitement and
the security of balance.
But now we have lost our rhythm,
and our equilibrium is shaky at best.

I miss the rat …

Do you still remember how to
dance Vrebatima?
You used to be so elegant …
a true Russian princess.

Let me rest my beak on your
womb my beautiful predator;
and please caress the feathered
nape of my neck with your
claw – two unlikely lovers
baring resemblance visible
only to the initiated:
of beak and claw, both royalty and
scavengers of the spoils
of imbalance.

Where is Buddha? He has
disappeared from the mountaintop.
And where is Christ? He has
descended from the cross.
(It was cold here on Terra,
and we needed the wood.)
They are both having tea
with Nietzsche, who is
dressed up like a ballet dancer.

Where am I, Vrebatima?
I am lost in my own transformation …
in the winter of my own samadhi.
Wake me up from my dreams …
but let me hold onto my illusions
and my delusions.

I need the escape … I crave the drug.

Maya is heroin for the tired soul.
I am fucked …
I am …
I …

06

Ich –
Ich bin –
Ich bin tot –

Ich tot bin!

I – Vrebatima! Я – Mahakala!
I – Yama! I – Shiva, dancing
only on corpses …

I – Destroyer of this
too (super-too!) human
Universe!

I – Bhairava, but not rapturous
God Eros –

to hell with sex, Transforma:
Cut off the balls of each
inamorato!

Shoot off the head of each
beautiful doll!

I – des Todes Tod –
I – Clear Death –
I – Clear Death –

The ABSOLUTE OF ATTACKING DEATH!

For: all “people” are riffraff!

For: Transcendence Itself
and He who transcends wants to drink
their blood and shoot them down!

What, Transforma, didn’t you
know that?

Didn’t you feel the Clearest
Unevitable Essence of Death?

I – DESTRUCTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I – ABSOLUTE SPIRITUAL BREACH!

NO PITIFUL REMNANTS!

In the ass are fucked
only yelping sluts …

… all soft ottomans
have been shat on by young
pussycats …

But Nietzsche ordered
to bomb Las Vegas!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

07

Funny about the military missile
platforms in space.
Only one-third of them are pointed
to Terra; the rest are pointing
to outer space.
Man is a predator out-of-control;
a soul-virus and a threat
to the whole universe.

I mourn for the aliens who were
tortured and killed by us, in
order to steal their intelligence.
Information we were not ready
to use properly, and which led
to our own demise as a world.

And the Intervention (says the
voice in Transforma’s head).

(sighs)

And the damned garbage floating
around in the Terra orbit system …
as below – so above.

What? Shhhh! (says Transforma
to the voice in his head)

The old USA was a “whore-goddess” …
a giant golden vagina with penis-like
hairs, hoarding and fucking and
standardizing all in its path.
“In God We Trust, and his name is
Dollar.”

Blah, blah, blah …
and all that blaehhhh …
(Transforma laughs hysterically,
then sobs, and hiccups and farts.)

You know, you tell me to
forget about sex … but
did you know that
I was once fucked by the
finger of the God?
It is true; by the middle finger
of his right hand.

Impaled, like the Spaniards who
were forced by the Incas to sit on
sharpened tree stumps until
their guts exploded … as
punishment for their greed for gold.

Yeah … (thoughtfully). Impaled.

At my moment of death I saw the
Sky of the Last Days; the Destruction
was a magnificent show:
beautiful pink, orange and purple
skies, with mushroom clouds as far
as the eye could see – and beyond.
And all was so quiet, too;
except for the gentle lullaby that
hummed in my head.

Сладкая колыбельная.
Сон – это спасение… отсрочка.

Sweet lullaby.
Sleep is salvation … reprieve.

To my left there is a child in
tattered clothing, half-starved and
too resigned to beg anymore …
and to my right there is
a whirling dervish, spinning
’round and ’round – lost in
his own private ecstasy.
Both are barefoot.

Alas, there is no death …
only sleep.

08

Are you listening, Transforma?

Ich ist das Nichts zur Macht!
Ich ist das Leere zur Herrschaft!

Between us there can’t be
Any Harmony.

Between you there can’t be
any Germany.

The Fair Eagle of Severe Spirituality
has died forever.

The Chinese “I Ching” hexagrams
didn’t turn into Ravenous Beasts.

Confucius is not inspired by
the voids of “Mein Kampf”.

But, Transforma … Tao killed the
dragons in vain –

Now bullets won’t
find the revolver!

Nobody will shoot
The Yellow Emperor!

People forgot:

God’s Dick – is the Ram of the Sky! –

The Аmerican Saturating Revolution
is not worth even a single dick of the
japanese kamikazes!

Europeans …

pleasant Takheshi Khitano
will never repeat the hara-kiri of
Yukio Mishima.

Look –

exponent of piffling lives
“life of spirit” after suicide by
Hitler.

09

бритый

Bald … barren … bare
as the mountaintop on
which we stand.

Our new vision shall
rise from the ashes,
as the Phoenix.

And I shall learn
to love you Vrebatima.

If not, then we shall
ride the missile of Hell
together – bareback …

(snickers)

a crazy cossack
and a psycho cowboy

Azrael is my witness …

we will never die …
only our bodies will wither
and disintegrate to dust

and we shall be remembered
in the annals of history …
perhaps as mere footnotes
remembered only by trivia fanatics
in decades to come.

But I will always dream of
our voyage, Vrebatima –
over and over again,
like a merry-go-round that
never stops, changing simple
joy to horror.
A bittersweet nightmare …

If only the dreamer would
never wake up.

Can you promise me that …
Vrebatima?

Бритый

yes, I love my bald dreams …
and Russian caviar.

10

worms …

only worms …

now only worms are – Holy! –

always continuing, creeping through

dead God …

Snakes slide away …

Rats run away …

The Mystery of Creatures wakes even God up …

But when Jesus hears the word “culture” –
He doesn’t take out a revolver:

John Lennon can masturbate,
jump, masturbate, jump,
masturbate, and jump
on and on …

Do you see, Transforma –

even Lord Krishna left the Battlefield
and took Arjuna with him.

What for, O Lord?

To fuck Saint Silvia
in two holes.

Do you understand?

Gods and people – are only the Spirit’s Porno!

Ja! Ja! Ja! –

Buddha’s ejaculation into His own

Skull!

Nobody wants to eat
corpses of sybaritic
natives …

Germans?

Where are the marching
Germans?

… there are no Wild
Holy Exotics …

… no one exercises
in Breaching of the Spirit …

… there’s no one to be fed to
the rats …

… the blood stopped to look for
Light …

…a dick doesn’t thirst for twats
of the Sun …

………………..

ex nihilo nihil fit.

satori?

samadhi?

Shun’ja!

(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)

PART TWO: THE GREAT ENDING OF THE END.

01

ego cogito, ergo sum?

Auf!
Auf! Nicht röcheln!
Nicht röcheln!

cogito Todt Ist,
sum ist Summa Summarum
Nichts =

Nein ist Nichts!
Nein ist Nichts!
Nein ist Nichts!

Auf –
Auf –

Nicht!

Here is the Key to it all:

Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts Nichts Nichts

das Nichts zur Macht!
das Leere zur Herrschaft!

02

(sobs)
You undress my gods shamelessly,
Vrebatima!
I huddle and shiver in the shadows
of my own spirituality.
There is no god but God …
and I am God – naked
and exposed in the face of
my own and collective
illusions and indiscretions.

What is the use?

Billions upon billions of gods
running around, making their
own realities in confusion.

Let us cut out the spiritual pork!
Bring back the Age of the Guru …
and bring back the Prophets.
It is too much responsibility to
be my own god.

Tell me what to believe …
show me how to act.
Lead me back into the
Darkness.

The Darkness of the Eternal Womb …
the elixir of Nothingness.

03

I am not a Dark Tao. I’m not Nirvana.
I am not Om ……………………..

I am – Isana. I am – Nataraja.
I am – the Clear Transcendent of Death.

I am – The Left Hand of God –
and I can only Kill.

I Kill all the Truths.
And first of all – Myself
as a Truth …

I AM – ABSOLUTE BREACH OF SPIRIT!

That’s why – Killing myself! –
I know for sure:

Western gods – shit!

Eastern gods – huge
manure heap!

I know! – the old Will to Power
should be replaced with Nothing to Reign:

das Nichts zur Macht!

I see! – The Great Noon should
turn Emptiness into Domination:

das Leere zur Herrschaft!

The existing formulas are not enough:
“Be strong”, “Werdet hart” …

Now you should Kill
“yourself” – within Yourself …

and even –

the Omnipotent within you!

Exactly so! It is only by killing the Omnipotent,
that you can understand the last
Truth of Horrors’ Horrors:

“The Devil is Dead” – it is truly more
horrifying, than “God is dead”.

O Great Gods! You are – Stinkers! –
too many of you … but You are all still
alive. What a Lie …

only one Devil is the Spirit of Honour! –
because he is always dead.

Deus est mortuus?

Diabolos mortuus est!

04

I stand naked before you, Vrebatima …
yeah – even naked before myself
and the god within me.

I have faced Death,
but Death was only mortality:
an experience that I longed for
only because it was faceless.
Hiding a secret that no one
really cared about anyway.

I am not proud, Vrebatima.
I weep for Amerika …
and the <> …
long since exposed as illusion.

Yea, I am naked and dirty, Vrebatima

… and blinded by the sunshine
reflected on the snowcaps.

I hear you … but you must
court me if I am to believe you.
I only know Détente …
I have never known Love.

Silence is greater than
the absence of Noise.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare.
It is in the Nothingness
that I find meaning, and there
that my Existence has value.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare …
stripped of all intent;
an existence devoid of fear
and purpose.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare
as the Now … the moment,
of Silence …
without expectation or
apprehension.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare …
as the word “no” –
whispered in orgasmic
ecstasy.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare …
stripped of all humanity
and self-respect
by the airport scanners.

05

Also sprach Zarathustra:
Gelobt sei, was hart macht!

Naked? … But that’s not enough –
you need more,
you need to strip your skin off
while still alive:

reveal your bones –
reveal your intestines –
reveal your Emptiness!

Aha! … Transforma demanded
“to cut the spiritual pork out of gods” –
and suddenly … immediately surrendered
without a battle.

Spiritual rebellion but for a moment?

Do you only wish to “suck off” the Gods? –
in this case Hölderlin will question you with severity.

It’s better to be like Lord Krishna –
to fuck the 100 000 beautiful gopis
immediately and all at once.

But it is – the same decadence, Transforma!

Better yet, let me quote
“The Dhammapada” for You:

He killed his mother and father, and two kings from

Kshatriya’s caste, destroyed the kingdom together
with its population, the brahmin became imperturbable –

Does it mean anything to you?

Here are the words regarding Spiritual Luxury from the regal
“Bhagavad-Gita”:

I have become Death,
I have become the shatterer of worlds!

Kill the Gods, Transforma!
Kill this eternal whining, crying, quaggy,
tear-dropping god Eros!

Kill your own dick!

Exterminate all the stupid lovers,
poets, readers, spectators of Your
Exhibitionist mania –

shoot them all down!

As earlier in old, good Germany,
we will talk in the language
of the Clear Transcendent –

Transzendentalphilosophie!

THE HIGHER TRANSCENDENT IS SHAPED FROM NOTHING –

WITHOUT dicks!
WITHOUT twats!

Only – “das Ding an sich”!

Do you know that Kant was good at shooting
with his “Shmaiser”?

hitting: 10 out of 10!

And can you do that?

I remember, that in “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”

the following was written:

There will be a time –

Hitler constantly shooting himself
might miss sometime
and make a hole in somebody’s head –

it will be Your head, Transforma!

It is so mulish
that even Buddha could break
a stick against it …

Bang! …

Bang! …

Bang! …

How many sticks are necessary to break
against your bald head?

The Right hand of God should do
more than just masturbate.

Stop wasting seed
and tears …

Buddha said: no more Existence!

THERE WILL NEVER BE EXISTENCE!!!

Nullpunkt!

Nichts!

………………

Schreibe mit Blut:
und du wirst erfahren,
dass Blut Geist ist.

06

Vrebatima, surely I will never
reconcile with you in this world.
The old rules worked just fine
until recently; money, power,
greed and the threat of missiles
and sex have always been
our personal gods.
Do not fool yourself.

I will send you some beautiful
black orchids, dripping with
the blood of one thousand
national anthems … and then
you will understand and
once again cry tears of joy
for our lost Cold War.

It was our only hope for peace.
Our only real expression of Love.
The only proof of Existence.

What is the use of Divine Intervention?
What was the point of the crucifixion
or the Holy Wars?

If we achieve peace then we must
find new enemies in outer space …
it is the way of humans, Vrebatima.
It is the way of the Warrior God.

Meet me at nightfall – in the barren courtyard.
And bring your Sword of Silence!

07

… this and then there is Victory?

I will quickly draw a Sword of Silence,
strike a blow –

and Silence has already approached …
………………………..
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………………………..
………………………..
………………………..
………………………..
………………………..
………………………..
… ……………………

08

(sobs)
… and so it ends, Vrebatima.
In cold silence – détente.
Once again we agree not to
communicate, not to seek
resolution or understanding. <br
Is it really human nature and
the way of the gods, or is it us?
If it is truly destruction that we
both really want, then surely it is
Silence that is the Great Destroyer.
(sighs)
It is an uncomfortable silence, hostile and
fraught with projections and scheming.
It is a “noisy” silence … quite different
from the Oneness of Unity and
the Absence of Separation.
It is a silence that makes angels and
the soldiers of Divine Intervention
cry with sadness.
(indignant)
But it is a silence that we know
all too well, Vrebatima …

and so far, the only silence
we truly trust – deep down
inside ourselves.
(snickers nervously)
Es triste … pero es cierto.

09

Be afraid of the Absence of
Evil:

not the dark,
not the beast,
not the blade,
not the poison –

but the Tear Itself will kill
the child!

The Grass Itself will kill
the lamb!

Not the shadow,
not the tiger –
but the Aroma and the Rose will kill

you!

I saw the terror of the first flower
on a Spring Field:

alone – it didn’t want
to bloom for the Sky …

didn’t expose
itself to a Kindred Sun

and the first dew
trickled down it

and the first moth
was startled by it

and the first bee
flew away

show Your Nothingness on
the petals!

expose Yourself
without any blooming!

You are – the Void
without name
and shape …

Come from
Nothing …

And Again
Vanish …

10

Expose yourself – and wake up.

Yes … wake up.
Wake up and
destroy the dream.
Embrace the nightmare
of Nothingness.

Caress the baldness.
Lick the Sword of Silence.
Stop waiting for Divine Intervention.
Become the Divine Intervention.
Let it be your zazen.

Sing me a lullaby without words,
and without sound.
I no longer believe in the messiah …
or in the antichrist.
I see both in my own reflection
in the mirror of darkness.

The only tears that I have left
are tears of blood …
it is only blood that I can offer you,
Vrebatima.

Tear down the cross and
send the virgins home.

I, Transforma, will sit on my mountaintop
and you, Vrebatima, will sit on yours.
We will bridge our differences by
watching over the goings on and
when necessary – cooperating on
keeping the populace in blindness.

Together, we will maintain the smokescreen,
with the help of religion and the media.
Always a sideshow on the stage of consciousness …
distracting the masses from the real danger:
the sweet-sounding lies that soothe and abet.

I believe in the worms, Vrebatima …
and the unspeakable names of
the gods within all who both embrace
and cower in Darkness.

Tear down the cross and
send the virgins home.

THE END.

Photo: azSacra zaRathustra (courtesy azSacra zaRathustra)

Photo: Adam Donaldson Powell (courtesy Adam Donaldson Powell)

THIS WORK IS THE INTRODUCTION TO MY BOOK ENTITLED “THE TUNNEL AT THE END OF TIME”. ORDER “THE TUNNEL AT THE END OF TIME” AND SEVERAL OF MY OTHER BOOKS FROM CYBERWIT.NET OR AMAZON.COM

Excerpt from “The tunnel at the end of time”.

ACT 10: “Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us!” Hamlet Act I sc. 4

“Lugh, work your way towards me, this one seems to be following me, and has at least one guard with him.”

“On my way, ‘Ifafi. Same here. I think we need to be in as open a space as possible – towards the center of the dome.”

“Agreed. On my way.”

As the pair converged towards the center of the dome, ‘Ifafi grasped the handle of Ga’s sword which was still sheathed, and loosened the tie of his cloak. As soon as they were within eye contact of each other, both ‘Ifafi and Lugh turned towards their adversaries which were advancing a few yards behind them.

Addressing them with all the authority of his angelic presence, ‘Ifafi stated “I don’t know who you really are, or what this little masquerade game is all about, but it will soon be over. We will find the real Niall and this charade will end.”

“No, it is over for you.” The Ekbar double closest to ‘Ifafi responded as he pulled out a gun.

‘Ifafi shucked his cloak and drew Ga’s sword simultaneously. A shot rang out, but was deflected by a lightening fast swing of the sword, as ‘Ifafi took wing towards his adversary faster than Lugh had ever seen any angel move, and with another fierce swing of the sword, the head of the fake Ekbar/Niall was rolling on the floor. The other Ekbar and his companion began to flee, as had anyone else within view. Lugh took flight giving chase, but the elusive doppelganger apparently also had an escape route planned as he disappeared into a hidden panel behind an information kiosk.

“I’ve lost him, damn it.” Lugh transmitted to ‘Ifafi.

“Let him go, I just got a mental image from Ga, we are needed below. Meet me back here. This poor bastard was just wearing a mask.”

By the time Lugh got back to ‘Ifafi, a small crowd of bold, but curious onlookers were beginning to advance as were a number of security force members. “We have to leave, now.” Ifafi said to Lugh who was looking at the unmasked dismembered head lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

“’Ifafi, remind me not to piss you off.”

“Yeah, that was a bit messy wasn’t it.” ‘Ifafi half-chuckled as the pair quickly made their way to their well-planned exit.

Back on Alpha Level, upon realizing the enormity of the conspiracy upon seeing the body of the Prefect laying before him, Ga had paused to send the image to ‘Ifafi.

Turning back to the Sergeant, Ga stated “I must return to our headquarters. Join your men. If you can apprehend one of these fake Ekbars, then do so, I have many questions. If you must wound one to do it, so be it. There has been enough killing here today, but the one we seek is not here. This has been a distraction, a ploy. I will not take a life without reason. Beware, they will have many allies and accomplices, even among the security forces. It is likely they will attempt to lead you into a trap. Keep them out in the open if possible, but they seek me, and my team. I will not be made the fool.”

“Yes sir.” replied the Sergeant.

Grasping the dagger from the body of the Prefect, Ga wiped the blade on the tunic of the body, and returned the weapon to his belt. He then grasped the small device Ulrich had given him as he turned to return to the security offices. “Ulrich, it is more critical than ever that you get to Epsilon Level and make your preparations. We need to immediately shut down all outside access to the facility. No one must leave, and no one must enter. He is still here, and I must make sure he stays here.”

“You’re correct that he is here, Ga, I picked up a faint signal from the NSA chip just a second ago. It appeared to be inside the tunnels, but it was too weak and to brief to get an accurate fix. I have picked up no less than twenty of these fakes though, all throughout the facility. Who the hell are they?”

“They are part of a deception, but also an elaborate plan to distract and ensnare us. One of them was no less than the Prefect himself. His body lies in the main corridor of Alpha level, near the entrance. They are wearing masks.”

“Holy shit! If the Prefect is involved, anyone can be suspect.”

“Exactly. Now you see why your mission is so critical. Do not fail me, Ulrich. All rides on your success now.”

“I shall make all possible haste, Ga. I will not fail.”

“Thank you, Ulrich. Keep me posted.”

Within minutes, ‘Ifafi and Lugh had returned to Alpha Level, and rejoined Ga at their makeshift headquarters in the security offices.

‘Ifafi looked around and asked, “Where’s Ulrich?”

“He’s on his way with the Lieutenant and two other trusted officers to Epsilon Level to hopefully set both our trap and our failsafe.”

“Good. What the hell are all these Niall/Ekbar look-alikes all about?”

“Obviously, it was Niall’s plan to distract and ensnare us down here, but there must be some other motive to it as well that I haven’t quite figured out yet. It is way too elaborate to be just a hoax, and way too transparent to be just a trap for us. Right now, I am assuming that is also a way to mask his own escape from this facility. He wants us to be chasing ghosts, so to speak, while he carries out whatever plans he has. I refuse to play his game.” Ga replied as sternly and angrily as ‘Ifafi had ever seen him.

“So what exactly is your plan?” Lugh asked.

“Ulrich discovered that the original plans for this facility, before the intervention changed everything, was to have the central operations center housed in a rather secure area on Epsilon Level. After the intervention, the newer facilities where our quarters were, were constructed. However, they left the original ops center abandoned, but still fully functional – as some sort of back-up, apparently. Ulrich believes he can bypass both the new ops center on level II and take control of all the environmental systems and other systems housed down on Zeta level as well. That is if Niall has been careless enough to overlook the old ops center and hasn’t done any major redesigns of the old systems that were down there. At the very least, we should be able to seal off the entire facility so that no one can enter or leave.”

“Ah, so whatever he has planned, you intend to trap him here with us.” ‘Ifafi replied.

“Exactly. He will have to come to us.”

There are only three of us. Ulrich will be totally absorbed in his duties.” Lugh interjected.

“I am aware that we are spreading ourselves thin. We have a few members of the security forces. You haven’t met my new friend, the Sergeant. I believe he knows this place as well as anyone, and was loyal in my brief battle with the Prefect. I believe I have a way to tilt the odds a bit more in our favor as well. We will address that shortly, and I shall need your help. Which brings me to your escapade in the dome, ‘Ifafi.”

‘Ifafi seemed to almost blush. Lugh had never seen quite that reaction in an Angel. “Ga, if it’s about your sword, it wasn’t damaged. I just reacted. It was all I had.”

“It’s not about the sword, I’m glad it defended you well. However, we must give you both a few lessons in subtlety. Flying around the central dome in full few of literally thousands of humans and aliens is not exactly keeping a low profile.”

At just that moment, the device in Ga’s ear buzzed again lightly. “Yes, Ulrich. Speak.”

“I’m on Epsilon Level, but it wasn’t without incident. We were attacked by one of the Ekbar clones or whatever you want to call them and his entourage. The Lieutenant is dead. I was grazed by a stray shot. The other two security guards with me managed to kill the two guards with him, and wound the fake Ekbar, but he escaped.”

“Are you certain it was one of the fakes?” Ga asked.

“Yes, at that distance, and with whatever he is using to cloak the signal, I would have been able to pick up at least some trace of the NSA chip.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, just a slight flesh wound. Looks far worse than it really is.”

“Very well. We shall join you as soon as we can. Start your operation as quickly as you are able.”

“We must hurry now. Ulrich may have been detected and I don’t want to give Niall a chance to figure out what we are up to. I just wish I knew what his scheme is.” Ga stated flatly to ‘Ifafi and Lugh.

Deep below, now on Zeta Level, the real Ekbar/Niall was moving forward with his plan. He had managed to have constructed, under the prefect’s forged authority, a rather elaborate bunker, apartment, and suite of offices. He summoned his closest accomplice, a young human, who had been the Prefect’s Aide de Camp, Arthur Kent. Arthur, only twenty-three years of age, was descended from old British royal bloodlines and very much acted the part – always very formal, and his education and training very evident.

“Yes sir, you called?” the young man responded as he opened the door to Niall’s private office.

“Yes, how is our plan proceeding?”

“I’m sorry to report, sir, that the Prefect is dead. He was killed on Alpha level by Ga. ‘Ifafi and Lugh managed to escape the dome after killing an operative there. Ulrich was spotted in the tunnels somewhere near the entrance to Delta Level, but managed to elude our operative there, but was apparently wounded in the battle. We presume that ‘Ifafi and Lugh have re-joined Ga by now, but we still have not figured out how they are moving so quickly and freely, or why Ulrich had gone deeper into the facility alone, save for his security escort.”

“Bloody incompetents, all of them, especially our esteemed Prefect. I should have killed that bastard myself and Ga would have been dead by now. All of this masquerade business seemed ridiculously complex anyway, but it may yet serve its purpose. Well, it is of no matter, Ga and his team will die if I have to kill everyone on Alpha and Beta levels to do it, which is precisely our next move. Have Wilhelm prepare to flood both levels with the nerve gas agent.”

“Yes sir, but don’t you want to try to get at least some of our operatives out first? Also, should I send another team to search for Ulrich?”

“That would be my first choice, Arthur, but I don’t want to do anything to tip my hand to these … these … abominations. They must die. Nothing must interfere with the master plan. Ulrich is of no consequence, we shall eliminate him later. Arthur, you are too young to understand, but this has taken years to prepare. Some sacrifices are necessary. Were it not for the Divine Intervention, and the meddling of this infernal Federation, this would have all happened in 2012. People like you and I have been chosen to rule this planet. We have been given an opportunity like none other in human history. We have spent generations controlling genetics to achieve a superior race, and with our technology, the messy business of pairings and breeding is no longer even necessary. The day of the eugenics wars has arrived, and we shall be the master race – the only race. It is the next step in evolution. First however, we must eliminate … well … the undesirables. The engineered viruses stockpiled here and in sister facilities in Archangelsk and Brazil will be released on what is now left of the population of this planet, and will spread globally within seventy-two hours. The irony of the plan is that the very vaccines given to most of the population over the past generation to fight various other engineered viruses such as certain strains of influenza, and even HIV, were specifically designed to actually break down other parts of the human immune system, making it one hundred percent vulnerable to the weapon we shall release soon, while we and others like us, who truly have nothing to fear from this little bug, just sit back and watch.”

“Yes sir, I truly do understand, but there is something I have always wondered about. Won’t there be a few undesirables who may not be affected – some that for whatever reason weren’t vaccinated?”

“Probably, but they will be so few as to be insignificant, and can be easily found and eliminated in other ways This facility, and the few others like it, will finally serve its original purpose. Now, though, back to the business at hand. How long to prepare the gas for Alpha and Beta Levels?”

“At least ten to twelve hours, sir. It will have to be done manually and carefully to ensure there are no leaks down here. All the safeguards are yet to be tested.”

“Very well. Well let’s get it ready, but I’ll signal you before we begin. Make all haste.”

Back on Alpha Level, Ulrich was calling again and had instructed Ga on how to put him on the speakers at the terminal he had been using, “ I’m in, and I now have control of the computers down here. It looks like everything is just as I thought. I have also established a link to our com system back in our quarters. I have just gotten a communication from Lysiel.  It appears that the Federation agents in Buenos Aires have good news.  Chavez, the brain behind the anti-NWO militia movement in South America, has been captured.  And secondly, Ilya (Antonin and Niall’s accomplice) has just broken down in an interrogation round and he has revealed some significant information about Niall.”

“Yeah?” replied Ga eagerly.

“It would seem that Ilya was the one who hypnotized Niall years ago when his microchip was first inserted.”

“Hypnotized?” exclaimed ‘Ifafi.  “For what?!!”

“Well, apparently it was part of the indoctrination procedures back then.  But the important thing for us to know is that Ilya gave Niall a hypnotic suggestion that would help him to control his microchip detection.  The suggestion was in the form of a code word.”

“Yeah, well?  Spit it out man!” said an agitated Ga.

.
“The code word is: ‘cage’, and every time Ilya hears that word his microchip signal is disabled — essentially making him invisible.”

“Can Niall control this himself … and does he know about it?”

“Apparently, they think that the only ones that know the code word are Antonin and Ilya.  And, by the way, that was the other news: Antonin is dead — he committed suicide before he could be transported to the rehabilitation facility on Zeta Reticuli.  The threat of deportation was what got Ilya to crack under the last interrogation.  It must be quite a nasty place if these NWO guys are so afraid of it,” said Ulrich.

“No nastier than the NWO-facilities right here on Terra,” said ‘Ifafi with a smirk. “Besides, I have it on good knowledge from Lysiel that we are closing in on the ‘Big R’s', and that they also will soon be transported to rehabilitation centers. So it will soon be a ‘status symbol’ to become rehabilitated. Personally, I feel that those ruling NWO and Illuminati family members need to be tarred, feathered and run off this planet as soon as possible … I am not even certain that rehabilitation of them is possible!” They both sniggered, and ‘Ifafi continued: “But didn’t Niall use ‘the cages have been opened’ or something like that when all this started? I’m guessing he must know and be using it. Maybe Antonin told him the code word.”

“Let us hope not, and perhaps the phrase including the code word is Antonin’s idea of a ruse. Sounds like his sick sense of humor. Well, well … this explains Niall’s disappearances on our surveillance system, and it also gives us some leverage.  We must be VERY CAREFUL not to use the word ‘cage’ around him … and also to cut him off every time we think he will use the word himself,” said Ga thoughtfully.

“Cut him off?” asked Ulrich.

“Yeah,” replied Ga.  “ ‘Ifafi and I must try to read his consciousness and thought patterns in detail every time we are in communication with him in order to anticipate what he might say.  It is a good thing that Antonin is gone and that Ilya is under control… But this is very good news, that Chavez has been finally caught.  The Federation is fighting against both the NWO and the anti-NWO militia groups, and Chavez’ groups were really starting to be a huge problem for us. I also must assume that Ilya, and Antonin are vital components of whatever the master plan is, and that Niall doesn’t know they are out of the picture. Alright then Ulrich, we will be joining you in a couple of hours or so down there. So finish your preparations quickly. Good work!”

 “Will do, Thank you, sir.”

About that time, the Sergeant came in with a shackled and bloody unmasked Niall’s double in tow.

“Sergeant, you managed to catch one.” Ga stated with a smile.

“It wasn’t easy, sir, as soon as we picked him up, a mob started to attack us, until I grabbed his face and peeled the mask off and laid down some crowd dispersal gas canisters. I guess they figured a fake wasn’t worth the effort.”

“Very good Sergeant, what happened to the other one?”

“Dunno. He just vanished. Obviously there was some planned panic escape. I’ve been here since the place was first opened to non-CIA personnel in 2009, and I thought I knew every escape hole there was, but that guy simply vanished.”

“Do you know this one we caught?”

“Yes, sir. His name is Smythe. He was the head of the communications section last I knew. He was in charge of all the telecommunications functions of the entire facility.”

“Thank you, Sergeant McConnell. Meet the rest of my team, this is my partner, ‘Ifafi, and our dear friend, Lugh.”

“Very pleased indeed.” The Sergeant stated, shaking both their hands.

“Sergeant, Please cuff our friend here to that chair, hands behind him, and please excuse us. We don’t have time for the usual interviews and shall have to use some unorthodox interrogation methods that you probably don’t need to see.”

The sergeant grinned broadly and quickly complied with the request and exited the room.

“What are you going to do to me?” the prisoner asked.

“We are only going to find out what you know.” Ga stated flatly.

“I am former MI-6. I will tell you NOTHING.”

“Oh, I suspected as much. You don’t have to, but I hope there won’t be any permanent brain damage.”

“Brain damage?” the man’s eyes widened as the three angels approached him, shedding their cloaks with their wings beginning to stretch.

“Ifafi, Lugh, join me if you will.”

Ga placed his left hand on the man’s head. ‘Ifafi placed his right hand on Ga’s shoulder. Lugh placed his left hand on Ga’s opposite shoulder. The man began to tremble noticeably as his eyes rolled back in his head. Soon, the man began to scream.

After the Sergeant dragged the unconscious prisoner from the room. Ga turned to his companions. “If what this man knew is even close to accurate, it is time to summon some help immediately. Then we shall join Ulrich on Epsilon Level.

Conjuration of the sword.

‘Ifafi, Lugh,. I need your assistance here in an angelic ritual. Lock the door.”

Lugh locked the door, and they were directed to assume their places in the Great Triangle of Angelic Strength, which had been marked onto the floor with chalk. ‘Ifafi was on the left hand side of the triangle, Lugh was on the right hand side and Ga faced them at the apex of the triangle. Inside the triangle was a plinth supporting a large purple candle, which had been inscribed with various symbols from the Universal Language of Light and Latin words. The candle had been annointed with eucalyptus oil, and it burned a strong and steady flame.

Ga raised his sword above the flame from the purple candle in the center of the angelic triangle and began to recite in Latin the “Conjuration of the Sword” from the Grimorium Verum:

“Te Gladi, Vos Gladias, trea Nomine Sancto, Albrot, Abracadabra, Jehova elico. Estote meum castellumque praesidium contra omnium hostes, conspicuusque nonconspicuus, in quisque magiceum opum. Nomeno Sancto Saday, qui est in imperium magnum, et his alio nomine: Cados, Cados, Cados, Adonai, Elohi, Zena, Oth, Ochimanuel, primoque ultimo, Sapientia, Via, Vita, Virto, Principio, Oso, Otatie, Splendoro, Luce, Sol, Fono, Gloria, Mono, Porta, Vite, Lape, Scipio, Sacredo, Pravo, Messiah, Gladi in omnium meum negotia regnas et in illos res quem me resistunt, vincite. Amen.”

He then looked at ‘Ifafi and Lugh and asked them to chant the invocation together with him … in all thirty-three times. Lugh thought he would pass out by the time they reached the 29th invocation but a stern look from ‘Ifafi prompted him to snap out of his drowsiness. As they completed the thirty-third incantation Ga proceeded to consecrate his sword with the Power of Archangel Michael:

“Oh Holy One – Angelic Warrior of Warriors. I beseech Thee to lend me the power of Thy Holy Sword and the sharpness of Thy Mind in my battle with the Antikristus … herewith known as Niall. May the force of Holy Strength and the Light of Angelic Conviction be forged from Thy Sword unto mine. In the Name of the Almighty — the Name only recognizable in the scream of the infant at the moment of birth and the final gasp of the dying mortal at life’s transition – I stand before you O Archangel Michael and ask you to embody my consciousness, my Spirit, my Mind, my Body and my Sword for the next twenty-four hours. I am at your service O Lord. In the Name of the Almighty, and in the presence of my two angelic witnesses in this sacred Triangle, I tell you verily that: I AM MICHAEL … I AM … THE SWORD!”

And with that the flame in the purple candle was suddenly snuffed out but the room was all but consumed by Darkness. Ga had taken on the spiritual energy and visage of Archangel Michael and had begun to glow and vibrate with an amazing intensity, never before experienced by the angels conducting the ritual. Ga appeared to have grown to over two meters high in stature and his sword was ablaze with the power of Divine Light. Lugh’s mouth was hanging open in amazement, and ‘Ifafi just grinned from ear to ear while mumbling: “Now THAT’S what I’m talking about!”

The sword was so powerful that Ga could barely hold it steady at first. It seemed to weigh 20 times what it normally did, and the slightest movement had enormous swing to it. They broke the triangle and ‘Ifafi and Lugh were sent to retrieve their own swords. When they returned minutes later they were challenged by Ga to a two-on-one practice duel. They were without a chance or a prayer … Ga’s new-found agility, strength and directness of mind could not be matched even by two against one.

“I think I am getting the hang of this now,” grinned Ga.

“Kewl!” exclaimed Lugh. “Could I try it?”

“Sure,” said Ga while winking at ‘Ifafi. They both knew that the only one that could manage the sword was Ga, as it was Ga that had conjured the force of the Sword of Michael into his sword and Ga that also had received the transference of Michael’s angelic warrior consciousness. Lugh could barely lift the sword above his head, and could not master the seemingly erratic energy of the sword at all. The sword actually threw him about from left to right until it finally literally flew out of Lugh’s hand and returned to the firm grasp of Ga, where it belonged for the next twenty-four hours.

Both ‘Ifafi and Ga had a good laugh, and Lugh looked sheepish and embarrassed at first but soon joined in on the laughter. And then while Ga went off to meditate, ‘Ifafi and Lugh practiced their fencing skills – each determined to show off his own sword mastery.

Ga returned shortly, refreshed, and summoned the Sergeant. “Sergeant, you will remain here, have your hazmat suits on if you or your men venture out into the main corridors, and have your breathing apparatus at the ready. This man we seek is capable of anything. I need three of your best men and best shots fully equipped to accompany us to Epsilon Level in ten minutes.

Adam reviewed: “The tunnel at the end of time”, commented on by Dr. Isagani R. Cruz

REVIEW BY DR. ISAGANI R. CRUZ, THE PHILIPPINES:

The Tunnel at the End of Time is a masterful symphony of languages, religions, cultures, and literary techniques, all journeying to one inevitable destination: the individual wrestling with self. Covering our most human to our most divine urges and activities, the poetic, science fictional, experimental, even cinematic book leads us through words to what is beyond or behind words: the inscrutable mystery of our own being or, more precisely since the book revels in Emptiness, our non-being. In the process of stripping away the several skins that we use to protect our inner selves and to keep us from exercising our freedom to live a full life, the book also comments on writing itself, turning itself inside out, so to speak, so that we are forced as readers to become the writers themselves, merging our selves with theirs without meaning to and without remembering the meaning that we wanted to find, finding ourselves apparently in the future but actually in the present, or even more precisely, in the past, as time stops for us. In the end, the future humans, aliens, and angels turn out to be really us today, as we find ourselves aliens within ourselves, alienated not from the world as lesser writers would have put it, but from ourselves, as only the truly alive realize, perhaps as only angels really know. For those less inclined towards philosophy, the book offers gripping suspense, continuous action, and provocative scenes; the narrative scaffolding, however, is there only to lead readers to deeper levels of reading. I recommend this book to everyone honest enough to admit that we do not know ourselves or that we are not just nothing, but perhaps even Nothingness itself. Have fun, but be warned!

- Isagani R. Cruz, Professor Emeritus, De La Salle University, Manila

The tunnel at the end of time, an extreme science fiction novel by Adam Donaldson Powell (Norway) and Rick Davis (USA), and with a poetic foreward by Azsacra Zarathustra and Adam Donaldson Powell, is a bestseller at Cyberwit.net.

PRESS RELEASE: THE TUNNEL AT THE END OF TIME IS A CYBERWIT BESTSELLING BOOK!

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Crumpled paper, and other short poems.

GLAMOUR.

Walking the fine line
Between glamour and
Sobriety .. taking care not
To fall between the
Cracks .. not to believe
In the darkness of the
Daylight alone,
Away from the glitter
Of champagne cocktail nights,
Designer jackets,
Tastefully-torn jeans
And uncomfortable shoes.
The music must not stop;
Shine the camera on me
Just a little bit longer. See:
I am setting the pace,
Flaunting a fashion statement.
Synthetic is but a natural
Reaction against reality.
Just give me my moment.
A self-made idol;
Cliches spat out and
Regurgitated.
Yes, I could be a star.
What .. my name?
I am just part of the
Rhythm, the lights are
My melody against the
Night of glittering glam.
A torn off piece of
Average sparkling
Against the annals of
History and the
Forgettable.

UNDER MY SKIN.

An overturned glass;
red wine rushes
across the tabletop.
I let it run over
The edge and stain
My off-white carpet,
Knowing that it will
Forever remain a
Signature of our
Kiss of passion;
A reminder of a
Moment of forgetfulness
And a time when
I had you ..
Under my skin.

CRUMPLED PAPER.

Crumpled paper.
Edges blood-stained
From paper cuts –
Ridges of emotion
Desperately trying to
Conceal the words
Of love that were
Never meant to be
Written for all posterity;
But merely muttered under
My breath in a moment
Of mindless passion.

MY STRANGER .. SO SWEET.

So sweet
are your suggested promises.
My stranger.
My unobtainable
moment of passion.
You coax me;
you cast me aside.
We can only have each other
in our leap-frog dreams:
both out-of-sync and yet
totally – oh so totally ..
in syncopation.
The relentless fantasy is more
Than the sum of reality’s
Individual parts.
I see you everywhere;
In the gait of strangers ..
In my memories.
Beginning from the
Waist down ..
Easing toward the toes
And then quickly
Darting upwards
To a fleeting and
Indiscriminate
Photographic flash
Of your insignificant face.
My stranger.
My passion.
My stranger…
So sweet.

NORWEGIAN HAIKU.

norwegian haiku –
salmon in a sushi roll;
exotic and fresh.

A BEAUTIFUL THING.

the mind is quite a
beautiful thing – until
one begins to lose it.

APHORISM.

seventeen random syllables
don’t always add up
to a haiku.

BUDDHA TRANCE.

Gyrating, pulsating rhythms
From stores, restaurants and bars
Echo the collective chaos in
The streets of Thamel.
Enticing .. pushing .. egging on
Passersby and pedestrians who
Dance and wander up and down
Evercrowded streets and alleyways;
Continuously sidestepping
The endless stream of
Taxis, rickshaws and peddlers.
Everyone is forever on the
Lookout for personal contact and
The first economic gain of the day.
The exoticism of spirituality
Blended with indigenous capitalism
Encaptures even the most
Unwitting novice almost
Immediately upon arrival.
Religious shrines interspersed
Among beggars and sellers
Of Thangkas, books, Tiger balsam,
Clothing, jewelry, teas, Internet services
And remnants from the Hippie era.
Kathmandu is a living organism –
Always expanding and contracting,
Like a vagabond lotus blossom
Navigating with both aimlessness and intent
On a rushing mountain stream.
It is the modern trance of Buddha ..
Welcoming the uninitiated with
Open arms, and yet constantly
Confirming that life is not so easy for
Those without prior experience.

“Namaste! Where are you from?!!”

- all poems copyright Adam Donaldson Powell, and all previously published.

(Images: “Crumpled paper” (oil painting), and all photographs by Adam Donaldson Powell)

Poems: Bisexual, and in love.

DIRTY TALK.

Dirty talking shadows in
dimly-lit, smoke-filled bars
stir restless gonads to
suggestion, proposition
and sweet, nasty lies.
The scent of body sweat
mingles with department store
perfume like oil and water,
leather and silk –
unlikely, yet strangely magnetic.
Oh yeah …
I love the way the lie
exuding from your posing stance
binds my wrists and genitals,
pulling me to my knees;
demanding nameless submission.
Across the distance we begin a
sultry dance of anonymous flirtation:
I turn to catch your stare,
you look away;
my eyes drop to my cocktail,
yours slowly scan my torso and loins.
I acknowledge with a smile and you
walk away because I broke the rules,
was too eager to collude fantasy
with reality and was, therefore, unsafe.
You feign indifference as you watch me
leave with another two hours later.
And I’m already half-spent as
I prepare to torpedo our dirty talk
into the bowels of my compromise.

STUD.

Responding to the call
of a warm summer night,
the muscled youth surveys the
streets from his Oakland stoop
with the vigilance of a vulture.
He soothes the heat
pervading his loins
with beer and cigarettes,
and gyrates to rhythms
from his Sony Walkman to
intensify his baiting scent.
At the passing off each female,
he extends greetings and suggestions –
lastly to a haughty one who
requests that he kindly ‘drop dead.’
The youth throws a kiss and laughs
in sport and self-defence,
until he spies the adoring stare
of another boy, and yells:
“What are you looking at, faggot?!!”


DRAG QUEEN.

You know — I hardly recognised you
out-of-drag this afternoon!
Your clever disguise
enabled you to sit down
before I could run away.
You both surprised and intrigued me
when you lamented the slow
passage of time — for I
have often envied and despised
your freedom, and almost fickle
sense of reality.
Funny how …
all these years …
I regarded you as crazy.
But now that we share disillusionment
with expectation and time,
I recognise you in myself.

LET’S GET SOMETHING STRAIGHT …

Let’s get something straight …
I am not ‘gay’, and this is a
one-time thing … so don’t
go expecting anything more;
don’t say ‘hello’ to me on
the street, at the mall or at the gym;
and for God’s sake don’t you ever
tell anyone about this …
(if you know what is best for you.)
Agreed? Good! Now ‘manhandle’ me bitch …
Yeah!!! … now THAT’s what I’m talking about …

CELLULOID SEX MAGIC.

Eureka!
Slap me with your sex magic,
and drive me home via my nipples.
I’ve found my silver lining
in the strand of pre-cum
drooling from your precipice.
Tease me with the flex
of your oiled biceps
as you grab me by the hair
and draw me into the
chasm of celluloid beauty.
Tempt me, force yourself upon me,
and — for God’s sake — stay in my
consciousness while I examine
the photo on the next page.

STRAIGHT BOYS.

Being the old-fashioned faggot
that I am, I delight in
chasing straight boys
until they catch me.
I buy them drinks,
light their cigarettes,
and tell them they are
the biggest and the best.
Then I take them home
and give them what they want
and deserve –
as deep and as hard as
possible.

THIS CRAZY VISION OF MINE.

I lie on the sofa – half-asleep in a wet dream,
my body lubricated with sweat and the
room pungent with the imagined scent of
dripping man-cunt and semen.
The ringing of the telephone disrupts my fisted dance
with an impudence that only can be described
in four- or five-letter words, and a disturbing
feeling comes over me – somehow
I know that something is amiss –
this crazy vision of mine offers no
humane release; there is no humanity
anymore – only the immorality of
so-called ‘morality’ and idleness.
They say that idleness is the work of
the Devil, yet society binds us to
television and global propaganda
ranging from politics to advertising:
a sadomasochistic mind control.
Big Brother is not watching us –
we have become Him willingly,
embracing uniformity and ratting
out suspected dissidents – be they
enemy or friend, neighbour or mother.
I pick up the receiver and before
I manage to grunt ‘hallo’ I hear
a husky breathing sound –
not quite panting, but a
relentless deep-seated
emanation evolving from
the caller’s spleen.
After two minutes of mutual
breathing into the receivers,
I excuse myself to go get
a cigarette, and we continue
our duet – my caller singing
the baseline while I willingly
exhale the melody.
When my suitor abruptly
hangs up the telephone
I fall back onto the sofa,
finally spent – and
immediately depressed.
I cannot get the experience
out of my mind, it is forever
embedded in my libido and
I will never again be the same.

THE ADOLESCENT YEARS.

The adolescent years caught us off guard.
Fighting the travesties of acne and war
in a world we did not really know,
we marched through youth as soldiers of mercy
compelled by the romanticism of mass dissent …
feeling much, with little certainty.
If knowledge vanquished gullibility,
then surely inexperience bred expectation;
and faith cradled us in naked dreams
of prodigious sexual love yet bereft
of both lust and rationality.
I remember how you once told me that
the sexiest word in the French language
has to be “pamplemousse”.
You broke up in laughter and exclaimed:
“It means grapefruit. Can you believe that?
G-R-A-P-E-F-R-U-I-T!”
I laughed because your amusement was contagious.
Looking at your wild eyes and farm-girl smile,
I fell captive to your callow charm and
soon we were deep in each other’s arms,
giggling hysterically.
We awoke from our laughter gazing at
one another in momentary sobriety.
And then, I buried my head in your breasts
whispering “p-a-m-p-l-e-m-o-u-s-s-e!”
and our seriousness died laughing.

L.A. HOMEBOY.

Hey Homeboy!
Rain into Faith, your woman,
Up in the barrio last Saturday.
She wanted to know how her ‘homeboy’ is.
I told her you was still doin’ time.
Her ma won’t let her write,
but it ain’t been the same, bro’.
Little Julio’s started dealin’ crack,
and she’s two months pregnant.
When I asked her if the kid
was yours, she started cryin’.
I didn’t know what to do, man;
So I put my arm around her
And mumbled: “You gotta keep the fai…”.
Then I stopped, dried her tears
and smiled, while sayin’:
“If Homeboy was here, he’d tell you
to keep the baby, Faith.”

BREATHLESS.

In the guises of feminism and masculinity,
we paced and stalked definition
with the cunning of a mother lion:
’round and ’round, closer and closer,
until our precarious showdown brought us
face-to-face with insecurity and dream.
As the war-drum heartbeats of a
million Amazons prepared to vanquish
my masculinity at its first indiscretion,
I loaded my tongue with silver arrows
and mercilessly catapulted the words
‘I love you’ against your brazen shield.
And simultaneously we fell … breathless.

RHYTHM AND TEARS.

The rhythmic atonalities
of steely, staccato tears
pelt graying pigmentation
almost senseless.
But the romance of flesh
frozen emotionless by
half-dried ablutions is
the poetry of endings
muting into beginnings.

PSYCHE AND PHANTASY.

Psyche and Phantasy play artfully
at suggestion and intrigue;
their lovemaking weaves miracles
through the fabric of dreams.
There, in the Valley of Styx,
endings mute into beginning
like swirls of blue-grey smoke
creeping toward alabaster palaces
in primordial consciousness.
And soon, the fiery ashes of
one zillion charred impulses
rain heavily upon furrows
of creativity, cultivating
retrospect with expectation.

LE MOMENT.

The way your staring green eyes
had suddenly bleached to grey;
your gaping mouth and stiffened muscles –
all frozen into a photographic still;
the stillness of space around us,
empty of airflow and sound;
all confirmed by the syncopated,
racing rhythms of my own heart –
and I knew that the moment had …

THE LOVERS.

While the allure of the secret garden
lay in the promise of Paradise regained,
the strange fruits hanging from its
lowest boughs yield but bittersweet
marriage of affection and need.
Knowing that no entity is complete in
itself, the Children of the Voice Divine
adjust their own shortcomings and
graces after the responses of those
they interact with.
Together, their diverse personalities
conspire to reach the more distant but
sweeter fruits of harmony, and in that
unity find divine love and realization
in an otherwise imperfect world.

EDDERKOPPKVINNE.
(My original Norwegian version.)

Du, edderkoppkvinne.
Som bestandig er iblant
de best kledde i byen,
men som aldri bruker
penger når du er ute.
Du, edderkoppkvinne.
Så sjenert at gutter
leter etter deg inntil
du fanger dem.
Du, edderkoppkvinne.
Så ensom. Så lei.
Så redd for deg selv.
Du edderkoppkvinne.
Er det rart, eller …?

MUJER ARAÑA.
(Spanish adaptation by Fernando Rodríguez)

Eh tú,
Mujer araña.
Que siempre
estás entre
las mejores vestidas
de la ciudad,
pero que nunca
gasta un peso
cuando sales
de noche.

Eh tú,
Mujer araña.
Tan timida
que los chicos
te buscan
hasta que tú
los atrapas.

Eh tú,
Mujer araña.
Tan sola.
Tan triste.
Tan temerosa
de ti misma.

Eh tú,
Mujer araña.

- all works copyright Adam Donaldson Powell, and all previously published.