Page 208 of 433

Life, Poetry, Art and the Wired Universe


An interview of Dr. Aprilia Zank, poet, artist and lecturer for Creative Writing and Translation in the Department of Languages and Communication at the Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich, Germany, by Dr. Jernail Anand, poet, writer and an established name in the field of education, philosophy, and spirituality. Originally published in Galaktika Poetike “ATUNIS” and shared here with both Aprilia’s and Dr. Anand’s permission. Enjoy! It’s rich.

LIFE, POETRY, ART and the WIRED UNIVERSE

ANAND: Zank, how do you look upon yourself essentially. Do you consider yourself a poet or a teaching professional who is conscientiously touched?

Dr. Aprilia Zank

ZANK: I consider myself a many-faceted humanist. I graduated university as a very promising professional, but I did not hesitate to put back my career ambitions for a while for the sake of child raising and education. Transmitting humanistic values to young generations, whether your own children or your students, is possible through both writing and teaching poetry. I was lucky to have the chance to do them concomitantly. Being a poet myself has been an optimal prerequisite for a better understanding of the creative process, and enabled me to select the most appropriate manner of approaching poetry in class.

ANAND: Let us know how you stumbled into poetry. Is there any parental legacy behind your interest?

ZANK: My affinity to poetry and literature dates back to my school time. I was fortunate to enjoy a thorough education both at school and at home. My parents’ professions were not very poetic, they were both judges, but they held literature and art in great esteem. We had a considerable collection of books at home, which offered me the possibility to get an early contact with universal literature. Furthermore, my mother, who had an amazing memory, used to recite poems and quote prose fragments from the most various books and authors. Thus, the challenge was early there for me to try and find my own poetical voice.

Dr. Jernail Anand

ANAND: You are a multi faceted personality. How do you align one aspect of your personality with the others? Don’t you think they overlap at times?

ZANK: My range of interests is indeed very wide. To my main occupations, teaching and writing, I must add my passion for photography, which I experience as a form of art and a most creative act of deciphering the world. There is poetry in photographic images, as well as pictorial effects in verse. I am pleased to say that many of my photos have been awarded in various competitions, and several have been used for poetry book covers or have served as prompts in poetry workshops, or paired with poems in various publications. Further hobbies are travelling, gardening, dancing – to mention just a few.

ANAND: Can you define the role of the poet today? Is it enough that they pour out their art and heart, or do you find a political angle to whatever is being written? Is everything that we write political? Can an author be neutral in a wired universe?

ZANK: There are two main points in this question. The first relates to what T. S. Eliot called the “turning loose of emotions”, a poetic attitude which I absolutely reject. I think there is too much “I” and too much “heart” in the poetic scene, virtual as well as real. Nothing against sentiments in poetic creations, as their denial would contradict the very essence of poetry, but there is too much raw, metaphorically unprocessed feeling in today’s verse. There can be no poetic originality where there is no filtering of emotions through stylistic refinement. That is why many poetic voices sound very much alike.

As for the question whether poetry and politics have anything in common, I must say that being political or not is a matter of definition. Nobody is completely apolitical. Even non-involvement with politics can be an attitude of either rejection and refusal to comply, or tacit agreement to what is going on. Happily enough, there are many poets who overtly challenge social and political issues. Nevertheless, in the same way in which many people nowadays are more concerned to take selfies than to capture the reality around them, a great number of aspiring poets have both ears open for the sighs of their own hearts more than for the cries of humanity.

ANAND: If I say all art, poetry included, is autobiographical, will you contradict my statement? Can you imagine a toy of clay without the presence of clay in it?

ZANK: Each act of creation emerges from a complex interaction of factors which shape one’s personality – it is therefore autobiographical to a certain extent. But no true creator of art or poetry will remain trapped in their own shells. It is the ability to transcend one’s personal feelings and experience in order to reach a dimension of universality that makes art viable and everlasting. Here again I must quote T. S. Eliot with his famous line, “Let us go then you and I”, which points to the “oneness”, to the synthesis of author and reader. Basically, we walk similar ways, we have the same needs and longings, and often enough similar victories and defeats. But then what makes a poet different from one who pens his or her bits of life in a dairy? It is precisely that particular skill of turning personal emotions and experiences into original but generally applicable patterns with which the readers may fully or partly identify and recreate themselves.

ANAND: You are an artist also. How are a poetic work and an artistic creation different?

ZANK: They are only different in the materials used for the end products. The impact, both spiritual and aesthetic, on the receptor can be comparable to a large extent. It is a common place to say that you can paint with words, or tell stories with images and colours. One talks of visuals in poetic lines, as well as of the poetry of photographic or painted images. And of course we can extend these observations to music, too.

ANAND: What are your views on feminism? Is it essential for a woman writer to write against their menfolk? How can you reconcile feminism with home?

ZANK: Feminism is a word of many shades, depending on the time, place and intention of its use. I am not a programmatic feminist. When necessary, I am a combatant against injustice, abuse, exploitation in all domains. I speak up on behalf of children as well as of adults irrespective of gender; I am also active in animal protection. And when wrong is done by men, I raise my voice against those particular men, not against menfolk as a whole. Unfortunately, women are still underprivileged in many cultures, and I am positive you know it better than I do, so they need lots of loud voices to bring about the necessary changes for fair chances and equal social acceptance.

ANAND: Most of poetry erupts out of a broken mindset and the major role in it is played by love rejection, dejection and disruption in marital affairs. Who after all is at the centre of your poetry?

ZANK: There are indeed many examples of literary geniuses with distorted mindsets, but this is in no way a must for brilliant creative works of any kind. Marital, or more often extra marital dramas, also play a role, but when literature focusses on this alone, it is not, in most cases, truly great art. As far as I am concerned, it is not about who, but about what is important in poetry. Love? Again, it depends on the semantics of the word. There are tons of poems and anthologies dedicated to love – one must wonder why, with so much love around, there are so many conflicts in the world. Maybe precisely because most people keep rotating around their one-and-only own self, with no intention or ability to look beyond and above it, to cast a glance to other realms of human love and life, or even further, to other issues of this poor blue planet with its multitude of problems. And, back to your question, there is no central concern in my poetry, but the attempt to explore and feature as many facets of our existence as possible.

ANAND: Every author exhales a feeling of half fulfilment. What more do you think you wish to accomplish?

ZANK: Basically, artists of all kinds are never content with their accomplishments. But then neither are scholars, scientists, educators, even honest politicians. There are many things I would still like to do, foremost activities in collaborative projects with poets and artists from around the world. My experience so far has shown that these intercultural exchanges are most enriching in every respect: not only literary, artistic and scholarly targets are met, but also the cherishing of great humanistic values such as friendship, peace, harmony within the mankind and in people’s relationship to nature and environment.

ANAND: How do you react to the idea of virtual literature? Can it be considered literature proper? How you relate it to the futuristic projections of literature?

ZANK: I think there is no such thing as virtual literature, not yet anyway. Literature is always real, only the new media of transmission are different. More and more literature reception happens in the virtual space with its amazing availability and visibility. But, as I have already stated in a previous article, it is precisely this easiness of accessibility that renders the encounter with e-media contents accidental, fugitive, and often enough perfunctory. Will we from now on write with this awareness in mind? Will the cyber-space engender new stylistic and aesthetic dimensions? Let us hope that we will live to see it. I think there is no point in trying to solve the quandary whether the virtual world with its social networks are a blessing or a curse. Living without them has become unthinkable, so why not make the best of it. The possibility to display our work and creativity here, to enjoy borderless visibility and access, and to have the chance of getting feedback from the most unexpected corners of the virtual but also of the real world is priceless.

© 2018, Dr. Ananad and Dr. Zank


DR. JERNAIL S. ANAND is the author of two dozen books in English poetry, fiction and non-fiction, Dr. J. S. Anand is an established name in the field of education, philosophy, and spirituality. Born on 15th Jan., 1955, he hails from village Longowal [Distt. Sangrur,Punjab, India]. He got his school education from the best schools in Ludhiana, the highly industrialized city of Punjab, famous for its hosiery and cycle parts industry. He was a student of famous Govt. College, Ludhiana, during his graduate studies, and he did his M.A. in English literature from Punjabi University, Patiala, securing 2nd position in the University. His doctoral thesis, submitted to Panjab University, Chandigarh, was on “A Comparative study of Mysticism in the poetry of Walt Whitman and Prof. Puran Singh”. Dr. Anand is an educationist, an able administrator, a talented writer, a novelist, a poet, and a philosopher, who is a multi-dimensional personality, particularly, in view of his interest in Saving the Earth. He planted around 20 thousand saplings in and around Bathinda. He has also delivered lecturers on Spirituality, Human Rights, and Moral Values. “We are inheritors of the wealth of this earth and this sky, and it belongs equally to us all” – Anand

A Million Desitines is Dr. Anand’s English language collection.


DR. APRILIA ZANK is a lecturer for Creative Writing and Translation in the Department of Languages and Communication at the Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich, Germany, where she received her PhD degree in Literature and Psycholinguistics for her thesis THE WORD IN THE WORD Literary Text Reception and Linguistic Relativity. She is also a poet, a translator and the editor of two anthologies: the English–German anthology poetry tREnD Eine englisch-deutsche Anthologie zeitgenössischer Lyrik, LIT Verlag, Berlin, 2010, and the anthology POETS IN PERSON at the Glassblower (Indigo Dream Publishing, April, 2014). She writes verse in English and German, and was awarded a distinction at the “Vera Piller” Poetry Contest in Zurich. Her poetry collection, TERMINUS ARCADIA, was 2nd Place Winner at the Twowolvz Press Poetry Chapbook Contest 2013. Aprilia Zank is also a passionate photographer: many of her images are prize-winners and several have been selected for poetry book covers.


ABOUT THE POET BY DAY

The State of Blogging

Blogospher Map, A Network of Interconnections courtesy of Jenna Greenbaum under Attribution license and originally published in Discover Science. I was unable to find references for the numbers but still think it’s visually interesting.

Thanks to Die Erste Eslarner Zeitung for bringing the WebsiteBuilder.org graphic report to our attention.  This is mostly about blogging as business, but there’s some information of possible interest to hobbiest bloggers, writers and poets toward the end of this report: ideal number of words in a title, best post-length, best time to blog … that sort of thing. You should find a few helpful hints amid the engaging trivia. Enjoy!


THE STATE OF THE BLOGGING INDUSTRY

courtesy of WebsiteBuilder.org


ABOUT THE POET BY DAY

Ms. Weary’s Blues, a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt


blues

the helpless, hopeless, remorse-filled blues
when you’ve seen the doctor and she’s seen you
when Time runs out and Eternity beckons

blues

the darkest hues with shivering slivers of
pewter muting to gray, muting to black,
muting to light fractures in a surface
permeable and permissible, heavenly Light

or, so “they” tell me …

But lost in that Universe of Light
will “I’ still be?
will “you” still be?
answer me that

What is the character of this Light?
Matter or myth?

Ah then…
after all, pondering on
I find I really don’t care
I’ll poem my blues and poem my light
until all that’s left of me is
what I leave behind…

and you?

Will you leave your unwritten
blue poem hanging in the air to be
sensed by the few who can?
Or, will you, like slaves of old,
paint yourself blue and boiling tears
dance round the fire’s edge and rebirth
your broken blue soul into wholeness?

This poem is written out of being diagnosed some eighteen years ago with a fatal condition. Still kicking!  Nothing untoward is pending … except, of course, for the fact of a world gone mad and who knows what’s next with that …

Apologies to all for any confusion. I put up a different writing prompt a few minutes ago and immediately took it down when I realized I’d offered it as prompt once before. Some of you may have seen it and, of course, I can’t delete it from email subscriptions.

© 2017, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved


WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

As a poet/artist/human being, what do you hope to leave behind? What message for those who follow?  Tell us and leave your work or a link to it in the comments section below.  All work shared on theme by Monday evening 8:30 pm PST will be published here next Tuesday.  If it is your first time responding to a Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a photo and short bio to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com. They’ll be used by way of introduction to readers and other poets . . . and me. 🙂  All are welcome to participate in this prompt: novice, emerging or pro poet.  Wednesday Writing Prompt is about exercising the writing muscle, sharing our work and getting to know other poets, perhaps some who are new to you.


ABOUT THE POET BY DAY

Sonnet of State Secrets … and other responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt


These are the responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, January 17, Dancing Toward Infinity. It garnered a neat collection of responses, including work by three poets new to these pages: Carolstar286, Pamela Ireland Duffy, and Pleasant Street. Welcome to all!  Back for this round and in stellar form are: Paul Brooks, Renee Espriu, Sonja Benskin Mesher, Mike Stone and Anjum Wasim Dar.  Enjoy! And do join us tomorrow for the next prompt.


Sonnet of State Secrets

As I told the State the other day, I rarely
dance but when I do I dance some Latin
sort of thing, like a salsa, in which one seems
never to stop moving, which makes it more difficult to pin
me down. My hips sometimes get tired so I have
to stop; two days later I ache but I am that much
closer to the goal, the infinite, the end-that-is-not-
the-end. The State is very goal-oriented,
hence the two questions that must be asked
of everyone with only four possible answers.
I almost always want to invent my own
responses but there you have it: no other
possibilities. Frustration ensues. Occasionally
I have thoughts of threats, murder, assassination.
The solution is to look up, to contemplate clouds, or stars
that look like lively souls in their dance to infinity.

© 2018, Carolstar 236


“Old lady dancing”

Not much music
at the end of the line
in this half-world
of might-have-beens
and time run out
but still she dances
on iridescent water
oil spillage not dreams
but still she dreams
of other universes
other lives
of endless possibilities
where words change worlds
and her grandchildrens’ laughter
is real
and she is dancing in her sleep
daring to dream
of somewhere
where the music
never stops.

© 2018, Pamela Ireland Duffy

Pamela Ireland Duffy

PAMELA IRELAND DUFFY is interested in Qi Gong, reading/lecture, writing/écriture, poetry/poésie. Pamela is also published on on “I am not a silent poet” and in “L’Inventoire”, She studied at the University of Leeds and at Larkhill House School, Preston, Lancashire. She currently lives in Périgny, Poitou-Charentes, France and is originally from Macclesfield. 


‘Do you fear the fire’
(for my mother, 1940-1997)

Walking through the woods
my mother spoke of fire–
of course I had noticed it
a lack of green, and the scent
of the foray of pitiless flames
in a matter of months
and the ashes beneath our feet

Was it a dream? Perhaps–
upon opening my eyes
seeing her feet, immaculate
walking amongst the flames
in a frantic dance for life–
and afterward, the renovation–
her attempt to cover it up
with a smile and a flower

Overjoyed to see something
colorful and blooming
my jaw went slack, while the flower fell
from where she had taped it
to the scorched vine, fooling me
with the comfort of red petals
amongst the endless black.
‘But black is your color.’

Black had been the color
of cool and calm, during a time
when I could not settle myself–
tailor-made for me, the crisp lines
of white cotton over black silk
were enough to blur the vision
of soot smudges
on her cheek and forehead

I had not been there for her.
I wanted to stay.

And, bending to grab at the rose
I moved too quickly
a thorn piercing my finger–
‘You have blood on your
shirt”, she said
‘you have work still to be done–
wake up.’

© 2018, Pleasant Street (Are You Thrilled)

PLEASANT STREET is a mother, baker, and poet. She has been writing poetry since fourth grade. Now she is writing a neo-noir thriller and a collection of poems about the seasons of life and God’s abundant and ever-changing earth. She thinks too hard and feels too deeply, and appears to be stuck in 1948. She is still dreaming up a way to use baked goods as legal tender.

Pleasant lives on a tree-lined street where nothing seems to happen on the outside, but she is certain many thrillers are contained behind closed doors. She is often carried away by flights of fancy, but that suits her very well.


once such night black

was a chance to gather strength
for the coming day; to invade
the stars in order to appropriate
their pinprick energy;
now its curious restless oblivion
is merely a rehearsal for the long sleep
that’s to come – the living out
of trillions of years
with nothing to think about

it tosses & turns and sometimes
dreams of swimming again amongst
those stars so often gleaming
through the apple trees of youth

come spring and I suppose
I will contrive to fling the curtains
wide once more to greet the sun
for the beginning of time once more
but now I hardly dare to wake
into this familiar night black

© 2018, Colin Blundell (Colin Blundell, All and Everything)

 


On A Road  

a wick young lad meets Devil.
Wise with old tales

he goads Devil.
“Before I do owt for you

I want tha soul.” Devil gobsmacked
replies “I have no soul

of my own. Only souls of others.”
“Then gi me those.” answers

lad and I’ll do whatever tha hankers for .”
Devil hands him a mobile.

“This phone contains all my souls.”
“There is a woman who
would have your tongue. I ask
you visit her and take hers.”

“God didn’t sleep with me.
He chose that cow Mary.”
Devil put you on to me,
Young un’ tell you I need
Your tongue and you need
To take mine.

“I offer you hunger,
wrinkles, short life
and disease, and me
as an ugly bitch.
Except
on Saturdays when
I look like a model
and you have eternal life,
youth and health.
Manage your expectations.”

Young chuff replied
“To me you’re beautiful
for six days. Only a monster
on Saturdays when you’re a serpent
from waist down. Accept this mobile.
It contains all Devil’s souls.”

And young man returned
To Devil with her stories
“Accept the Sibyl’s tongue.”
He said and Devil scowled
at this young buck’s cleverness.

© 2018, Paul Brookes  (The Wombwell Rainbow, Inspiration, History, Imagination)


Angels Infinite

A symbiotic relationship in
a universe stretching infinite
where stars are like angels
their wings as chariots
taking flight becoming
a safe harbor for the soul
now desolate with grief
now hungry for peace
now joyous in its’ vision
however brief that it too
will be immersed
in that infinity

© 2018, Renee Espriu


::air::

layered in air

we dance with glass

small souls with small lives

rise

to the challenges

she says you know we do not gets what we want

we gets what we get

really

ours has been much easier than so many others

*listen to the radio

they threw them all on the fire

there

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher (Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA and Sonja’s Drawings)


“A Poem about Nothing”
(Raanana, October 24, 2015)

This is a poem about nothing
How it happened that
Today nothing happened.
I didn’t turn on the radio
Well maybe I did for a moment or two
But then I turned it off again
Before something happened.
I slipped on some jeans and
Took Daisy for a walk
She still had a slight limp
From the night before
And I said a silent prayer
To the One who Barks at Infinity
That she’s not getting old on me
Remembering her shivering
First time I held her to my heart.
Then I thought about Dad
For no good reason on this earth
When I’d laid him gently down into the ground
How all the prayers we say
Were meant to send him on his way
But all I wanted was to call him back
Some prayers will never pass my lips.

© 2017, Mike Stone  (Uncollected Works)

“Saint Yellow’s Gate Revisited”
(Raanana, March 24, 2017)

Through light Saint Yellow’s gate I’ve fled
Leaves long fallen, trees long dead
To come full circle as she said
No meaning, only clues instead.

Clues pointing to eternity
Open graves to see through pity
Stilted men walk through the city
The death of rationality.

What say you now of dreams my friend?
Succubi make love pretend
Climax waking in the end
Nothing left to comprehend.

© 2017,Mike Stone  (Uncollected Works)

“Walking to the Moon”
(Raanana, September 1, 2012)

Sometimes you have to walk a poem
To see the shadows of it go in front of you
And then behind you,
A funny kind of locomotion
Walking crablike, orthogonally.
It’s been so long since I’ve written,
You must have thought I’d forgotten,
If you thought about me at all.
No, I hadn’t. Couldn’t. Ever.
These were the dimensions of your loveliness,
The smell of sunlight on a field of wheat in your hair,
The cool touch of my rough hand on your soft thigh,
The vibrations of your voice as your meaning danced across it,
But the publicity of your smile
For all around you to see,
Not just for me,
Meant the sunlight soft vibrations of you
Might as well be like walking to the moon.

© 2012, Mike Stone  (Uncollected Works)

“When a Poet”
(Raanana, June 30, 2017)

When a poet wakes up in the morn
He puts his pants on
One leg then another,
And when he buys his milk and wants to pay
He stands in line between
The woman with her screaming kids
And the foreign workers,
But when the poet looks up at clouds
Or the night-time constellations,
Orion’s scabbard or Cassiopeia’s tilted throne,
He sees encyclopedias never writ nor read
By the likes of you or me,
And when he loves,
It’s Trojan Paris
Who’s faced ten thousand ships
And went to war for naught but one.

© 2017, Mike Stone  (Uncollected Works)

“Life’s Cold Eye”
(Raanana, January 7, 2016)

Hello Orion my old friend
I’ve come to battle you again
Though your sword is in its scabbard
You hold above my head the tides of time
And bury me under the horizons of eternity
But I’ll defeat you with love’s clarion call
And life’s cold eye on death.

© 2016, Mike Stone  (Uncollected Works)


waltzing on

spiral galaxy in Constellation, Coma Berenices, 60 million light years from Earth

waltzing on the melodious
music, feather like, rising
gliding,  embraced by light-
the Earth is All Bed
Sky all dome, a roof
shining in the day
glittering at night-
to show us the way

Boundless infinity oceanic
no end in sight,timeless,
and we mortals in oblivion
think about being en-gloved,
encircled we dance immersed
in  perpetual  meditation

we shall, in cool shadows be
with obedience and charity
for good we did, in year past
what good we do now, to last,
our hearts, swirling constellation
a nucleus smooth, unfurled silk

in time dissolved, myriads to
dust, rising spiraling merging
with countless orchestras in
harmonic symphonies of the
milky way, unknown infinity
like the never ending sea in oceans

cycling fresh blessings in motion
warming steam to vapors, floating
to infinity in dancing drops in
rotation, creating revolution
from sky to sand, and we say
rain falling, cooling drowning

IMG_20180117_135517_311

and I say Blessed, drenched in
peace like the circling dervish
one with nature,in stillness bent
‘in my beginning is my end’
Light makes me light,boundless
flight, I say I am embraced…
Embraced in Eternal Heavenly Light

© 2018, Anjum Wasim Dar  (EternalLights, Life Style and Strange Stories and Poetic Oceans)