November 2024 V-10 N-8 Issue No. 116

 

A

WORLDWIDE WRITERS’ WEB

PRESENTATION!

 

PUBLISHED BY

 

OPA

 

OUR

POETRY ARCHIVE

ONLINE MONTHLY POETRY JOURNAL

https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com

email us to:

ourpoetryarchive@gmail.com

**************************************

 

 

 

NIGAR ARIF In An Interview With NilavroNill

 

NILAVRONILL TALKING WITH

POET OF THE MONTH

NIGAR ARIF

NOVEMBER 2024

NILAVRONILL: Welcome to Our Poetry Archive, dear poet. And congratulations as the poet of this month. I would like to know your personal views on literature or poetry in general.

 

NIGAR ARIF: It is really great pleasure to be differed and getting such appreciation from you, thanks a bunch for your value! I consider the Poetry a magical, secret world where we find ourselves, generally where our souls have a rest, of course we could live without poetry, but there wouldn’t be a color of the blind in this case… Because poetry makes our life more colorful, interesting and hopeful…

 

NILAVRONILL: What are the factors that have influenced you immensely in the growing phase of your literary life. When, most probably you were not certain of your future as a poet or writer. Do you think society as a whole is the key factor in shaping up you as a poet, or your poetry altogether?

 

NIGAR ARIF: I opened my eyes in the family where books, music and art were significant, substantial things, as the most of our family members were teachers, my grandfather had own library, grandmother was writing poems too… Even i have seen different musical instruments and heard their sounds from them for the first time…Those things made me grow more romantically and played a huge role in the fact why i was very keen on writing and reading. In my childhood i always had such thought that everybody should aware of my thoughts, as i had a feeling they were different from others’… May be my poet side made me to became such mind, who knows… And when i started to write my poems ,i remembered my little ages when i imagined myself as a savior of the nature… Now my poems were talking about the natures of the people , and it came very well to their souls… That thing motivated me too… On the other hand, i believe in that poetry was in my blood and it would show itself one day and it showed… Becoming to your question, yes, i agree with the opinion that the society influence our life , but it is not the whole thing that makes us who we are…

 

NILAVRONILL: Is there anyone in your life, influenced you personally to develop your literary skills? Or inspire you to become a poet?

 

NIGAR ARIF: Actually, our family loved literature and my biggest fan was my Mom, i always read my poems firstly to her and got applause… Also the first poet i met during my school years inspired me a lot… He had a literary meetings and discussions with youngest poets every week and i joined there either…

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you consider your literary life as an extension of your self-existence? If so, how it is related with the time around you?

 

NIGAR ARIF: I think nobody is what they seem, everybody has a hidden side, however as the poets with our poems it arises and reveals easily that makes us may be a little different from others, memorable as well…

 

NILAVRONILL: According to you, what are the conditions to develop the creative soul of a poet in general? We would like to know from your personal experiences.

 

NIGAR ARIF: Generally, searching new things, reading lots of literary books, traveling, overcoming difficulties etc. makes you experienced, strong and improved one, also literary environment is an important factor to grow I think… Even you meet more people in a day, you should find enough time to stay with yourself, for a poet it is very necessary, because the more you think, the more you analyze the things in your brain and it effects to improve your ideas, phantasy…

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you think in this age of information and technology the dimensions of literature have been largely extended beyond our preconceived ideas about literature in general?

 

NIGAR ARIF: Because of the technology there are some changes of course, for instance before we used to write only with pen, but now we use phones and computers more to type, books are not in vogue as previous years and it is the age of artificial intelligence, so there are people who think literature loses its relevance and they don’t need literary works anymore, but at the same time people who sees spiritual development in literature are not less either … Better thing is the technology creates an opportunity to collect people who are in ones mind,  units literary people in one atmosphere that helps to exchange of ideas in this role which makes a bridge among various humans from all over the world. As we know, it was difficult in the past , but because of social media writers from different countries can get an idea about each other’s works and able to discuss necessary issues of it that causes to bring out more brilliant literary examples i think…

 

NILAVRONILL: As a poet, do socio-economy and politics in general influence your literary visions? If so how, and if not, why?

 

NIGAR ARIF: We are also a part of this society, politics and socio- economy partially influence to our life too, for example,  war is a strict topic where human loss is a painful thing… Or quarantine time was a difficult period and all the spheres were affected by it, so did the literature…

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you consider, your national identity as an important factor to influence your literary creativity? Is your national identity an incentive for you to find your own literary voice?

 

NIGAR ARIF: For my vision creativity doesn’t depend on any nationality or language, because it is like a music you can listen everywhere … For example, I am Azerbaijanian, but what if i would be from another country, it means my literary creativity would be change?  I don’t think so…

 

NILAVRONILL: In between tradition and modernism, which one influence you most and why?

 

NIGAR ARIF: As many people , i grew up with traditions, but influenced by modernity… Today modernism attracts me more, i like or may be prefer it a lot, however it doesn’t mean i am far away traditions either…)

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you think honest literary criticism has much to do with the development of a poet and the true understanding of his or her poetry?

 

NIGAR ARIF: İt is also essential, but mostly the poet should work on himself or herself, as the growth, development firstly starts with understanding ourselves, if we discover what we have inside, how we can truly produce it to outside then we find the best way… And the best way considering not only reading, researching, increasing our creativity, experience or literary taste, but also being sincere, honest, skilled are important…

 

NILAVRONILL: I would like to know, whether your contemporaries inspire your writings in any way.

 

NIGAR ARIF: Of course when the person gets positive vibes , see value and pretty good attitude about her work it is inspiring and i am glad that i can include myself to this row too…

 

NILAVRONILL: Do you believe, literature can eventually help people to uplift human conscience?

 

NIGAR ARIF: Literature contains all moral values that bringing up people and spiritually enriching them by taking to the improvement… People who read and understand the books usually have high moral qualities, so i always believe in the strengh of literature from this aspect…

 

NILAVRONILL: Humanity has suffered immensely in the past, and is still suffering around the world. We all know it well. As a poet or even as a literary person, how do you foresee the future of mankind?

 

NIGAR ARIF: As a poet, I want to hope that everything will turn out for the better, because it is a dream of every of us, if we desire this, why shouldn’t we do all our best? People are capable to overcome almost every single thing when they fight together…

 

NILAVRONILL: We are almost at the end of the interview. I remain obliged to you for your participation. Now, personally I would like to know your honest opinion about Our Poetry Archive. Since April 2015 we are publishing and archiving contemporary world poetry each and every month. Thank you for sharing your views and spending much time with us.

 

NIGAR ARIF: Thank you once more for choosing me and having such a nice talk. İt is my honour to participate here and seeing my poems among other international writers’  poems in “ Our Poetry Archive” . Highly appreciate the way that you create an opportunity to know the writers more closely, get acquaintance with their pens and wish you a lot of luck on this auspicious road…

 

 

NIGAR ARIF was born in 1993 on 20th of January in Azerbaijan. She studied at Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University in the English faculty in 2010- 2014 and graduated from “III Youth Writers’ School” in “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union” in 2016- 2017. Nigar Arif is a member of “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union”, “World Union of Young Turkish Writers”, “İnternational Writers’ Union in Kyrgyzstan”, “Writers Union of Central Asia” and the “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity” in Morocco. One of her books “The Room of Memories” was published in Iran in arabic ABC, another one “Human’s Rain” in Azerbaijani in Baku. Her poems have been partially translated into English, Turkish, Russian, Persian, Chinese, Portuguese, Montenegro, Spanish, Arabic, İndian, Urdu and have been published in different countries. She was a participant of “IV LIFT- Eurasian Literary Festival of Festivals “which was held in Baku in 2019 and “30 Festival Internacional De Poesia De Medillin” in 2020 which was held in Colombia, "Panaroma International Literary Festival 2020" in India at an online platform and “8th Layoune International Poetry Festival and cultural talk with poets from five continents “in Morocco. She participated at the” Word trip Europe” project, "100 poets around the World for love" and “Fourth Global Poet Virtual Meeting 2020” and so on...

 

NIGAR ARIF

 

 

The Wind

 

Hey wind, knocking door to door,

is that one door you're looking for,

is that enough for you?

Where are they now,

those open doors

from the hot, sunny days of summer?

Where are those that loved you,

to dine with and to rest;

who once were pleased to welcome you

and treat you as their guest?

Hey wind, knocking door to door,

where are your lovers now?

Now the weather's turned to winter,

have they turned cold as well?

Don't knock, my dear, don't knock,

no one's opening their door,

no one will look out for you, nor call on you,

no more.

Who, I ask, now the weathers changed,

would call on you at all?

Go dear, go.

Just wander round these dull grey streets

and break dry trees in anger;

just wait as winter turns to summer and your friends,

dear wind, with the sun, will grow again once more.

 

The Woman

 

Your life like an ant was away eaten,

There’s not even one day left for you.

You had the weight of the world

on your shoulders like an elephant​

But no one really ever appreciated you.

You skimmed off and cleaned up your life,

But you’d relied on hopes, woman!

You just laughed in silence at your grief,

You’d troubled about your joy, woman?!

You’re pinning your hopes on now,

Your land is at the end of its rope.

Woman, maybe we don’t just know:

the land is unwitting, the stone is dark.

The death you walk on the balls of the feet

is your eaten life that waits for you,

It just waits for you in silence as dead.

 

I Don’t Think If…

 

I'll never pass again through these places,

The memories here are suitable for depth;

They took away my hopes from my eyes

And they did eat my soul till they’re fed.

 

These roads covered already with thorny shrub,

But my passed days are barefooted.

My wishes with you are like dried leaves

My dreams with you are like a thick dust.

 

I don’t think if this place could have warmed up,

No matter covered with grass and flowers.

They could be first meeting place for some others,

But they would be just coffin of our love.

 

 

Things That I Feel A Desire To Have

 

If I can keep a thing

that I feel desire to have,

If I take its time, and

can hamper it a bit…

If I can just take a seat

today, in this street.

And can question one by one

my old and old habits…

If I make merry to my heart's content,

with the filled wine glass.

And fall into thinking,

If I have a small dog,

That barks at those

whom I put up with,

Or if a cat scratches

at whom I lost faith in…

if the old years come back

and wake up the sleepy past...

If you are mine again,

If I break the rules

of the love games again,

If we are pig-headed

If I am “as pure as the driven snow”-

as you called me like that.

If I am a little bit younger

And a bit babe in the wood…

 

Music Is Me, Word Is You

 

I have turned into sea,

Waves are line by line.

Under the waves

the fish is playing.

 

I have turned into sea,

İn the coast of my verse.

The sharp rocks got brittle,

The sun takes it by hand.

 

I have turned into sea,

It flies up to the sky.

Dreams like the ship

making sail in my soul.

 

I have turned into sea

In the apple of the eyes.

Striking against the gems

On the gentle wrists.

 

I have turned into sea,

Hairs are like water-plants.

Time is on the lips

resting long, and long.

 

I have turned into sea,

You’re just the sea itself!

Music of its song is me,

The word of its song is you....

 

NIGAR ARIF

 

NIGAR ARIF was born in 1993 on 20th of January in Azerbaijan. She studied at Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University in the English faculty in 2010- 2014 and graduated from “III Youth Writers’ School” in “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union” in 2016- 2017. Nigar Arif is a member of “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union”, “World Union of Young Turkish Writers”, “İnternational Writers’ Union in Kyrgyzstan”, “Writers Union of Central Asia” and the “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity” in Morocco. One of her books “The Room of Memories” was published in Iran in arabic ABC, another one “Human’s Rain” in Azerbaijani in Baku. Her poems have been partially translated into English, Turkish, Russian, Persian, Chinese, Portuguese, Montenegro, Spanish, Arabic, İndian, Urdu and have been published in different countries. She was a participant of “IV LIFT- Eurasian Literary Festival of Festivals“ which was held in Baku in 2019 and “30 Festival Internacional De Poesia De Medillin” in 2020 which was held in Colombia, "Panaroma International Literary Festival 2020" in India at an online platform and “ 8th Layoune International Poetry Festival and cultural talk with poets from five continents “ in Morocco. She participated at the” Word trip Europe” project, "100 poets around the World for love" and “Fourth Global Poet Virtual Meeting 2020” and so on...

 

ADNAN REKANI

 

 

She Alone Knows…

 

She alone knows..

How to wander in my world

And explore the being of my body’s stations,

Filling the bucket of passion with tenderness

To absorb the noise of melancholy from me..

So that poets flirt with my hue..!

ــــ

She alone knows..

My dreams will not fall,

After the conviction of love was revealed

Humbled by the prayer of purity..

And in its orbit the shyness of excitement persists.!

ــــ

She alone knows..

Like the tan of olives, its leaves were scattered

With longing,

A kiss flows between the fingers of hope

From which I drink the Zamzam of life..!

Before I wrote down the notebook of wishes

And invaded the cities of dreams.

ــــ

She alone knows..

The madness of her love among the atheists

The wisdom of the weak and the prophecy of the fortune tellers,

Whenever your ghost draws a poem of fire

By which the ignorance of the people and my foolishness burns

And those dreams sleeping with the passion of affection

Trouble the window of the afflicted heart..!

ــــ

She alone knows..

 

From the sea's eagerness she inherited

The world of eternity and the originality of the waves,

When I get lost in the paths of passion

And the dream of the departure of the Caesar is a legendary farce

With it we conclude the front of the disabled age..

Like the desert's belief in the sanctity of thirst..!

ــــ

She alone knows..

In the bag of time,

That I am bound by the four humors

When the witnesses fail in their conquests in my city

My chapters gasp on their pulpits

So they imitate me as a talisman for waiting..

To conclude the tables with a blind law.!

ــــ

She alone knows..

My being is enveloped by childhood visions

So crying is delayed,

Gathering up the losses of the sea's fragmentation

With the delay of the rituals of longing

And the warmth of the secret of the processions of anguish

When my grave marker signs for departure..!

ــــ

She alone knows..

My body still carries

In the pores of its pockets your scent,

So my silence shines in the furthest reaches of the forest

And gasps twice..!

The arrows of distraction almost stole your details

And I am on the balcony of oblivion.!

ــــ

She alone knows ..

The nature of the secret of the storms

Taking refuge in a weak universe,

When the wind becomes a dreamer

Hiding in the features of a dress

Drank a cup of hot illusion,

And wove from my veins

A prayer rug for seeking guidance.!!

ــــ

She alone knows..

That the birth of dusk follows my traces

And the wolves howl in the valley of discord,

She searches between the cracks of the rocks a question

For the last pleasures, for no answer is enough for her

Departure or dying..

Perhaps an embrace in the form of oblivion..!

ــــ

She alone knows..

The fall of poetry on the skin of the soul

Arranges the life of the willows by the river,

So blessed is the dew of a lost passion

On the whiteness of your breasts it twists,

Confused by the lie of directions and the strangeness of

The mirrors of clay pregnant with hope.!

 

She Said Come On..

 

We chat about the chapters of the homeland

Scattered in the hands of fate

And the groaning that we played together,

At the bottom of time.!

Come on..

We fade away like a cloud of fog

In the valley of sadness,

And its silence that assassinates my power

Wrapping me in you with a seductive spirit

When the migration of hopes slaps me

Come on..

Absence splits me in half

And each half eats its other part

Tell me when will I settle in peace in you..!!

And you are the ember in the bosom of the fires

Come on..

For my heart licks

The empty spaces between us

So will waiting kneel,

On the carpet of the wind..!!

To create a longing from my sorrows

Come ..

For I am the one born in you

And buried alive with the nectar of your love

I repeat it every morning and evening

To arrange for your eyes the most beautiful songs

Come ..

O breeze of a wasted life

And the tone of a hungry life in her waist

The sweat of her thirsty lips withered,

And in you is the argument and its refreshing drink

Come ..

We gain time without time

We shake hands with the nightingales of the soul with a kiss

It squeezed the history of the universe,

In the paradises of hope and the dwellings of heaven

 

I Love Rain..

 

I squeeze the cloud of promises to fashion the neighing of life into embers, and I don't know how to extinguish the fires of longing with your stray kiss, and the delirium of my night seeks the warmth of barren paths, I am tired and the pulse wandering on the back of anxiety, and the horses of absence race the wind, when the smoke draws me a sanctuary drowned in the darkness of groaning, I take refuge in the shadow of desperate wounds, and I challenge its rebellious storms, to cling to the sail of your velvet eyes, I pass my blind pen over your lips, and the trembling of my hands swallows the ships of the passersby, they are the letters of satire, my heart, shedding the honey of your endless love with dreams of leaves.

I am still sensing that unknown end of a suspended story, to interrogate the bubbles of speech by entering the conversation about a woman who is good at swimming in the seas of rhythm, and accompanied the tastes of magic, and I, my lady, love rain.

ـــــ

 

ADNAN REKANI

AHMED F. BAIDOON

 

A Staggering Momentum

 

Behold myself – a hermit tucked away,

In the envelope of a languishing cloud,

My bygone plethora of prospects never come what may,

Alas! my panacea is nothing but talking aloud,

Whereabouts are nothing but a doddering whim,

Syllogism, let-alone that setback,

Wandering through my daffodils over the globe rim,

Picking out those roses with elixir stack,

What a mess!

Who of us might tell me about the aromatic scent?

The fusillade of rain forays tinged with a contagious distress,

The nature burst in tears, thus no more time to repent,

And, all that trigger an alert,

What if we never tarnish the image!

What if we save our crying Earth!

What if we embark on truthful bonafide!

What if we berth an anchoring pillar of piety and austerity!

In the altar of my fantasy dynasty, I laid down my if only,

Between the celestial filaments, I instilled my pains,

Under the full moon, my untainted admonition rendered,

What if I were that phoenix with stampede roars,

Soaring with mighty wings: Ain’t I a harbinger or presage?

Those Adamites never plead guilty,

  As if made of a petrified heart of stone,

What a pity! Those humanoids have no other clone!

Thus – whispered in soliloquy to my mirroring epitome:

The stalker inevitable apparition tiptoe his trots.

Or, be it too late for the reckoning sun to shine?

 

An Impulse

 

Farewell to my chatterbox,

Farewell to my invocations,

Farewell to hoax that knocks,

Farewell to peaceful revelations,

 

Farewell to the value of time,

Farewell to the sanctity of a shrine,

Farewell to the words that never rhymed,

Farewell to those who cross the line,

 

Farewell to the solidarity and integrity,

Farewell to honesty and fraternity,

Farewell to the burden of proof of humanism equality,

Farewell to the respect of diversity,

 

All these farewells vexed my shadow,

I wondered to where gone the entire meadow,

Better, be slapped by truth than kissed with a lie,

I could no longer believe a promising oath but, Vie!

Something inside of me, harder to tell,

In case I had that ecstasy elixir, might all end well?

That drowsy core jabbered through my lips,

And, transmitted untold secrecy to my dormant strips,

My lava of volcanic pipe dreams drool,

The quake of tumbling terrestrial serenade was that tool,

For now, synapses of mental caliber weaved my hoovering saga,

Aint I lost my reason or under the spell of coma?!

 

The Shroud Of Virtue

 

Two types of men: those who pelted through egress of a pinhole;

The others sought ingress digging a cavity in a mighty stone,

Truth untold in the yore, syllogism of the entire ethics;

Some folk triggered my ire, troubled my raging superfluous seas,

Some other did inflict havoc upon remnants of history,

And, those voracious fed on tribulation and pains of innocence,

Let alone—that wrath of woe and devastation,

Let alone —that grace of vice and abomination,

Since then, humanity at a stake,

Since then, affinity and fraternity are epithet of such fake,

Since then, I never belonged to those with knavery abyss,

Henceforth, the omnipresent epoch shall nibble the eon for bliss,

Thus, did all bondmen on Earth quench that blazing vice?

Or, be that doddering wisdom prevalent, of automaton device?

Then— who shall pay the price?!

 

AHMED F. BAIDOON

 

AHMED F. BAIDOON: This is Mr. Ahmed F. Baidoon from Egypt, situated on the northern coast of the Mediterranean sea (Damietta), born in 1981, my passion for literary works started at the High School before having my degree at English Department in the university, my former writings during my study were poetic genres translated into the native mother tongue, Arabic, in addition to paraphrasing some poems for Shakespeare, William Words Worth, Yeats and Robert Frost, some highlights on the African contemporary poets and novelists, most of contemporary erudition on the Egyptian writers in literature. Still my poetic modus operandi are reflected throughout finding a manifest-clear equivalent of Arabic literary genre into English context, I am a curious enthusiastic member on the social media Facebook in the forum of Al-jiad in Jordan, Nabd Al-ebda3 Alarabi, Montada Alkalimat in Egypt, Dar Amarji paper editions in Iraq and other Arabic symposia for Poets and literators’ confederations, I won some certificates of appreciation in literary contests as excelled and topped the other colleagues in terms of short stories, micro fiction and poetic stanzas in  Arabic throughout the social media, I am smitten by the English language, rather my Arabic is the most exquisite language with transcendent figures of speech by which I can hardly find an equivalent interpretation into other languages. As for my part, literature is not all-in-all a mere piece of writing that walks and talks, rather ascribing life to non-animate objects and grant life to the surrounding natural elements to be replete with vitality and serenity for the sake of humanity. Attached hereunder some selected poetic archive targeted in March 2024, collections of 3 poems for the World Volume:

 

 

ANGELA KOSTA

 

 

Mother Earth

 

Pray to Heaven to Mother Earth

To find some sun

Have a little breathing room, so you never feel pain

And in tears he quenches his thirst

Never feel like a stranger

Where she was born and raised

The legacy of our ancestors, no wars, no fights

Like a river flows, the blood waters the earth that groans he enters her breast

And in eternity he rests.

The nightingale warbles

For Peace in complete freedom pray!

 

Prelude

 

Kneeling in the dark,

Broken under a homeless shelter,

companion of storm in the open air,

Starless, Moonless

Immersed in mud

full of thoughts.

Dreaming that one day I'd get rich

With all that existed

hands-free, old-fashioned

digging the treasure of the same misery

full of torn corpses.

Prelude

Silent Duel,

Begging for innocence

Prey to thirsty blood desires

where the whole, the nothingness

they come together forever.

And I continue to transcend into futility

Disabled, buried alive

That one day

I will become comfortable with my own peace.

 

Emotion...

 

In the pages of life I'll find you

lightly touching you

Whispering a name that won't answer me

On a canvas of a thousand colors

Eyelids hanging in the dark

Conspicuous by the same blind light...

I dust you from the silent memories

pulled out of the half-closed drawers of time.

I listen to you on a staff

Music from our favorite song.

I hear your smile in your voice

Remained the same as yesterday

Surviving any storm

A storm dragged by deep suffering

On heated days without sun

Searching for the moon hidden in the clouds.

Nevertheless...

Today I feel enriched

of so many emotions that have flourished

From a simple sigh...

I find you...

There you are!!!

 

ANGELA KOSTA

 

ANGELA KOSTA was born in Albania and has lived in Italy since 1995. She is Executive Director the magazine in print MIRIADE, translator, essayist, journalist, literary critic and promoter. She has published 15 books: novels, poems and fairy tales in Albanian, Italian an, Turkey and English. Her publications have appeared in various literary magazines and newspapers in various states. Angela Kosta translates and writes articles and interviews for the newspaper in: various states. Angela Kosta is Ambassador of Culture and Peace in various organizations no - profit in various states. Angela Kosta has been translated and published in 32 foreign languages and countries.