THE ENVOY The official newsletter of the
Canada Cuba Literary Alliance I.S.S.N. – 1911‐0693
February, 2020
Special Issue 095
www.CanadaCubaLiteraryAlliance.org
THE CCLA GIBARA & HOLGUÍN TRIP WAS FABULOUS
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
Hello, dear The Envoy readers! The Envoy team send you their warmest hug in 2020 and wishes of health and prosperity. The CCLA has many promising projects for this new year. Two of them are books that will tell us about the Jan-Feb 2020 CCLA visit to Cuba. It was a memorable one! Richard and Kim Grove, Antony and Ann Nadin Di Nardo, Eva Kolacz, Laurence Hutchman and Donna Wootton spent two wonderful weeks in Gibara and Holguín. They shared with us, had a tour of both Gibara and Holguín City, had poetry readings in both places and at Katharine Beeman´s home (Kat is our ―Cubanian‖ CCLA Contributing Editor), visited the Holguín University, read poetry and exchanged with faculty and students from the Teacher Education English Major and left with only one goal in mind: a 2021 comeback with further cooperation to give lectures and participate in future WEFLA-SECAN events sponsored by the Holguín University´s Department of Canadian Studies and by many Canadian universities. Page 1
SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com While we ready up upcoming The Envoy newsletters to promote the work of the High Park Poets, a welcome project led by our CCLA VP Lisa Makarchuk, and in the wake of such wonderful moments between Jan 27th and Feb 10th, we wanted to publish this special issue with some of the poetry mostly written during workshops held at Jorge´s (our CCLA Ambassador and Prez in Gibara) and pictures taken by our Canadian friends. May this 2020 CCLA tour become a reason for more collaboration and poet friends coming down to enjoy Holguín´s natural and cultural gifts and above all to share with Cubans. Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias The Envoy Assistant Editor CCLA Cuban Prez The four photos taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
From right to left pic number 3: CCLA Founding President, Richard Grove; English Language Department´s Chair, Julio Rodríguez; CCLA Cuban President, Miguel Olivé
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
PELICAN by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández It flutters its huge wings Flies towards clouds and winds Over the torrent´s foam Its colorful feathers, wet and curly, Rider of the void It perches on the riverbank Upon a silent boulder In the thick of the mangrove. Weary wings from so much flying Now in the gloomy vastness Knit with salty branches In its pedestal of rock and mud. It sits there in the shade Behind the deep mist It waits For the rays of the sun page 3
SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
DESTINY by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
You hear the sounds of birds Flying great distances Over the ocean, Their sweet singing Carries jasper and gold hues, Many of them die on their way, It’s a flight of courage and fortune, They fly blindly in the dark night The strongest reach the distant shores Each one takes its own path To watch their offspring grow.
EVER TOGETHER Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
Don´t love me slow like cyder does, exciting little by little, you disguise like a child to dodge my kisses, you don´t let my wishes beat in your heart. If our love dies, there won´t be another like it… if it dies, you will only see tears in my pupils… Your pupils have hues… I know I still live in your feelings… Keep away from grey people who can steal your colors, my spirit is imprisoned in a cage of bones, I need to set it free to be with you until we die together, leave with me a part of you if I die first so I can carry into eternity this waning love. this waning love….
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
AROMA Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias To my father From time to time from my mother´s rocking chair or my father´s writing desk, I´d spy on Dad watch him smoke his long cigars, inhale in sheer pleasure and expertise, their aroma spreading in the room as he fumed out from his nostrils… I would cough then and he would discover me crush the cigar, draw me near sit me on his lap and smile his perfect white smile in a warm hug, mild tobacco scent lingering in the room – and still in my mind some forty-five years later.
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
BRIDGING by Miguel Angel Olivé Iglesias To Pilot Tai from Wingman Miguel you dig up time from your tight no-time-window time gotta run swamped in heaps of books, layouts designs, projects Cuban friends who have dreams… hidden brook press sandcrab books call reveille, your weary eyes swimming nights in nights out sun is sleepy, it dozes off on your shoulders moon feels left out of the banquet of poetry emits a silver growl, nips your busy hand wingman not around to help you with the mountains of duty but patience and pleasure prop you up in bridging valuable friendship across the ocean in building art out of tender generosity
GIBARA Ann Nadin Di Nardo the sea on one side mountains on the other and a checkerboard in between EARTHQUAKE soft, ever so soft a ripple in the mattress like the flutter of butterfly wings announces a sudden crack in the earth a million miles away
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
PENELOPE by Miriam Estrella Vera Delgado Penelope has to choose a Suitor Which one will be right for her? She will look into their eyes And try to read their souls Then she will listen To what they have to say: This one seems tender and loving His blue eyes talk of poems and praise They offer tranquil love And happiness A quiet life full of protectiveness. The other one Has black eyes like charcoal There’s a light of fire Burning inside them. They talk of passion And laughter They tell of temptation and games. Another looks at her With his green eyes They invite her To pleasure and love He seems to mean An uncertain future Like the tide in his eyes Comes and goes. The fourth one has big hazel eyes They talk of love And tenderness He seems to be honest and Truthful His look is a silent caress. How can Penelope find Out Which represents Happiness? photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Paradoxically Antony Di Nardo Gerry (that’s not his real name) is my landlord and this morning like every morning he raised a stick above his head and stirred the air. Pigeons came raining down from the heavens encompassing the pirouettes of spins and technical loops contradicting the wind. I was lost for a while in these aerial manoeuvres but it wasn’t long before I understood the reach of his stick, the arc of his swing, his purpose in caging birds meant to be free. Like Odysseus who bathed with the sirens, Gerry plunged into the air and one by one took the pigeons into his hands, gently folded their wings and released them from the vast, empty sky.
Playa Pesquero Antony Di Nardo
Sun, sand, blue sky (you get the picture) and a distant clarinet hums to itself. The mellow reed settles the crowd into corners of unnatural silence. Sun-screened bodies flat on their backs, glistening in an airborne succession of notes and beams of light, agree that the beach belongs to the sea and the sea belongs to the waves rolling in, rolling in with a clarinet no one ignores.
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
haiku John Hamley Leafless trees fat moon rising from the ground haiku The truth is piranhas eat fish not children
haiku Hundred years after smallpox totems guard the shore haiku Waiting for the tide wishing that gulls were ducks
Family Stories by Alina González Serrano My brother, a military man was a farmer first since he was born, he has a hawk´s temper and an animal-loving heart. My farmer brother always wanted to be in the Army: rigor, fortitude, discipline. My brother, a military man was a farmer first since he was born, he has a hawk´s temper and an animal-loving heart. He was a great military leader now he is a hard-working farmer.
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Paul Corman-Biography Someone once asked Paul why he writes. He replied, ―To make sense of life. And to use my inner voice to give myself the great pleasure of letting a story tell its self through me. And of course, to occasionally see something I've written published. That's always a big rush. It's madness, of course, all those thoughts and ideas tramping through my head. I guess that writing stuff down is essentially my therapy sessions with my muse.‖ Paul describes himself as a restless soul. Driven to see the world. Driven to see what other people are up to. How they talk and smile and how they raise the fruit of their love making into their world. Paul has been a newspaper columnist photographer, magazine writer, with two books, travel stories, short fiction, blogging and millions of words in his private journals. These days he's writing short 200 word fiction 'spitballs'. Pithy stuff with a surprise ending, or a curveball victory, or unexpected defeat. Or maybe just a prose poem about watching the birds at the bird feeder while he starts his day with tea and homemade bread on the back deck.
GUILT by Paul Corman Calling me an alcoholic was ironic. At least I only got seriously loaded on the weekends. After her car accident, she lost her driver's license, started going to AA, and went back to school. I heard she has a kid on the way and married some guy who takes pictures of people with their pets. I'm clean nine months now, living with a good woman, and for the most part I'm pretty happy. I know I should feel more guilt for all the thoughtless grief I've caused those who loved me. And when I look at the things others have done to hurt me, over the years, I can see why my enemies did the things they did. Some nights I lie awake churning through a past that becomes more and more black and white over the years, and I wonder how I could take all the world's pain and guilt and drop it off a bridge into a river's deep rushing water.
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Haiku Kimberly Grove Some men sleep with women, My husband sleeps with earplugs.
Cuba Kimberly Grove Is it the picturesque beauty of the country? Or Nature's fireworks, the spider-top palms exploding among hills? Or the sharp pungent coffee smell that gently stirs me? Or maybe it is knowing that the sun is still alive? Or the rugged faces turning to sweet smiles? It is the kindness of the Cubans who invite me to return. That is Cuba to me.
Painting by Hector Victor Pérez Rodríguez in 1963(Jorge´s father) Edited now by Jorge Alberto
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
THE CCLA CUBAN FOOD “A Gibara dish”
pic taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
Ingredients: 1. 18 blue crabs 2. salt at will 3. 95 gm. of vegetable oil 4. 35 gm. of green and red pepper 5. 35 gm. of garlic and onion 6. 2 gm. of achiote 7. ground white pepper at will 8. spiced sauce at will 9. 4 slices of lemon pic taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
Directions: Rinse the blue crab Put a pot with water in the fire Upon boiling, pour the blue crab Boil for 5 minutes Serve and let it cool Remove the meat from pincers and breast Clean green and red pepper and garlic Slice up and stew Add oil, white pepper and salt After boiling the blue crab, pick the shells Dry clean, rinse and sun-dry
Elaboration: Put a skillet with oil in the fire, add the achiote stir to bring up color, strain Add green and red pepper, garlic and onion, sauté, add the blue crab meat, sauté for 2 minutes, dust white pepper, sprinkle salt, dress with lemon, cover and let it cool. Spiced sauce is added by the customer at will As part of the original tradition, a layer of ground cracker and egg was added to the blue crab meat and baked Presentation: Stuff the shells with the meat. It amounts to 18 servings
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Walking Among the Birds
Eva Kolacz
Walking Among the Birds As each thing says its secret name it makes a wilderness a mind. Don McKay The air drums a discordant sound boom boom the night fades away boom boom boom as we flow into the immortal song of the lake. We used to sing in the early daylight if you could only see me walking the pathway among the birds in the exuberance of fields now this pathway grows at my feet as a road to nowhere like a whisper for the soul the dreams still carry us lost travellers over the crossing from night to day. Hear the rocks chant, they walk slowly across the land wrapped in green their mirrored images rise in water to mingle with the lake all elements of nature for a moment equal.
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Milkweed Laurence Hutchman
A thirteen-year old boy in the ravine lifts the milkweed pod through mauve sky upward, releases seeds to the moon. The weed, not flower, not jack-in-the-pulpit, but rough skin, nodules, bumps, hard metacarpal, faded puce, mole fur, velvet-ridged, a broken boat. once in public school we drew the pod until it became a thousand things: a clown striped banana, a green beaked parrot perched in the wind or a mouth opening revealing soft down skin with tiny seeds that resembled delicate Japanese prints. The pod breaks open, launches its seeds, humming-bird’s tail, comet-blue light . . . like decorations of an Irish Christmas tree. When blowing in the wind they dance, circles rise, spin and drop jazzy rhythms words . . . rising . . . rushing . . . domestic sputniks, playful gyroscopes drifting stars. At thirteen, I flip open its coarse green-tufted skin among tall frosted grass they flat up a ladder of lace, space pods spiralling through the mist toward the moon — their own milky way.
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SPECIAL ISSUE 095 FEBRUARY, 2020 –EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Oh Gibara! Wency Rosales Oh Gibara! Dreaming of its passing by lovers, walking along the sea shore or strolling down the malecon, Gibara with its particular lovely smell, smell of fresh sea waters, smell of the feeble seaweeds, stopped in time with your colonial style homes, the homes of the sweating fishermen and the beautiful housewives, the lonely streets waiting for another festival, the surrounding woods sheltering the migrant birds and the empty cold caves letting the sunrays into the solitude of time, Oh Gibara! the fly of the albatross catching its prey in the clear surface of the sea and still the lovers wetting their feet under the chilly rocks of the afternoon Up above the reddish sky the flocks of pigeons mixed with the kites’ dance in the rhythm of the northern cold breeze. The darkness of the night lifts its soft veil and the lovers leave their traces in the dark sand not to return with the passing of the time. Oh Gibara! be my lover so I can always come back to your arms.
E-mails: joyph@nauta.cu joyphccla@gmail.com jorgealbertoph@infomed.sld.cu
CANADA CUBA LITERARY ALLIANCE FROM THE EDITOR: IN OUR UPCOMING ISSUES, WE WOULD LIKE SUBMISSIONS FROM EVERY CCLA MEMBER SO WE ARE NURTURED BY YOU! IF YOU HAVE BOOKS COMING OUT, A POETRY EVENT, JUST LET US KNOW !!!!!!!!
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