THE ENVOY The official newsletter of the
Canada Cuba Literary Alliance I.S.S.N. – 1911‐0693
April, 2020 Issue 097 www.CanadaCubaLiteraryAlliance.org
The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Heart of a Lamb
by Richard M. Grove
For Eva and Laurence the lion and the antelope. The lion, the antelope, the bear and the humming bird sat chatting over morning coffee under the splendid palm-thatched roof of our dining room. The lion with the heart of a lamb bleated his way to get the adoring antelope more coffee.
Five Foot Fractures
by Richard M. Grove
Some hyperbolic words for Laurence But nonetheless based on truth. Laurence is in the hospital being pampered and coddled by five pretty nurses, six doctors, two x-ray technicians and an adoring wife. The nurses were all old girlfriends of Wency or should I say “Previous” girlfriends. All very pretty and not at all old. If it were not for the persuasive powers of the Canadian CCLA president they most certainly would have amputated the fractured foot and given it to Laurence in a plastic bag with left over rice. In the end all is well. We celebrated the retention of the foot with a piña colada and a lunch paid for by Eva and Laurence the great Canadian poets, both with non-fractured souls.
The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
In My Pocket
by Richard M. Grove
For Tony and Anna I have been carrying a piece of Cuba’s brilliant blue sky in my pocket for Anna ever since Tony and she left Gibara. It has jangled with a precious Cubano peso for Tony for days singing a song of camaraderie. Dear new friends found on a beach in Cuba we will soon join you under a Canadian moon in Ontario to reminisce.
So Much More than Pudding
by Richard M. Grove
For my dear sister Adonay We ate gathered and celebrated my birthday, four months late was my excuse for pudding, with my dear CCLA family at my cherished sister’s casa, Pablo and Manuel sadly missing. Pudding for ME!!! made with love by Adonay but I shared it with everyone – I insisted. John B. and Cathy Lee were missing this year sadly announced by Adonay, echoed by everyone. We ate a wonderful dinner. Adonay did not take off her apron until everyone was served and dishes done. The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
We read poetry, hugged and thumped each other on the back as we reluctantly departed returning to the isolation of Hotel Mirador de Mayabe, flying home in the morning. How could we ask for more love and camaraderie? The CCLA has provided me with so much more than the joy of palm trees and poetry.
por Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Hubo una vez un hombre llamado Yao. Vivía en un barrio pequeño, cerca de un río, en una humilde choza hecha de paredes de madera y techo de tejas criollas. Era de mediana estatura, de rostro endurecido por los años y el trabajo, que a pesar de su tosco semblante, sus ojos irradiaban una dulce ternura. Yao vivía junto a su esposa Erundina y siempre acompañados de sus cuatro perros: Acambámbari, Candelérico, Horrián y Chiminilló. Todas las mañanas Yao ensillaba su caballo y acompañado de sus cuatro perros, se dirigía al bosque a cortar madera para hacer carbón y juntar su acostumbrado haz de leña para calentar su estufa durante las noches de frío. Una mañana, sin que se supiera la razón, salió sin la compañía de sus perros, cogió su hacha y su serrote, salió temprano como acostumbraba y al llegar al sitio, escogió un árbol y se dispuso a cortarlo. Como era muy temprano y en un lugar apartado y tupido por la maleza, entre la espesura, de repente apareció un diablillo, era grande y deformado, de color verdoso, ojos rojos y brillantes y una boca armada de puntiagudos dientes, Yao, al ver aquella descomunal bestia maligna, soltó el hacha bruscamente y sacando fuerzas de donde no tenía, se trepó hasta la copa del árbol y aunque tembloroso de miedo, recordó la melodía mágica que acostumbraba a cantarle a sus perros para llamarlos cuando estaba en apuros y que solo ellos podían escuchar; mientras el diablillo usaba el propio serrote que estaba abandonado en la hierba para cortar el árbol, Yao le cantaba a sus perros: Acambámbari, Acambámbari, Candelérico, Horrián, Horrián, Chiminilló Acambámbari, Acambámbari, Candelérico, Horrián, Horrián, Chiminilló, The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
el diablillo, con ansias de devorar a Yao y utilizando su mismo serrote tratando de cortar el árbol decía al compás de sus brazos: Allaváralacasumba allavá zunzún Allavaralacasumba allavá zunzún Cuando el árbol estuvo a punto de caer, se aparecieron los cuatro perros que habían visto en las vasijas donde calmaban su sed, el color enrojecido del agua que les advertía que su amo estaba en peligro, se abalanzaron sobre el diablillo que salió desgarrado, derrotado, todo lleno de mordidas hacia el infierno de donde había venido y del que nunca jamás se atrevió a salir. Yao, descendió del árbol, se acercó a sus fieles amigos que contentos movían alegremente sus colas , Yao los acarició, agradeciendo la lealtad. Aún se pudo comprobar una vez más que el perro es el mejor amigo del hombre.
The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Once upon a time there was a man named Yao. He lived in a small quarter, near a river, in a humble hut made of wooden walls and tile roof. He was average in height, his face hardened by years and work, which despite its roughhewn look had sweet eyes. Yao lived with his wife Erundina and four dogs: Acambámbari, Candelérico, Horrián and Chiminilló. One morning, no one knows why, he left without his dogs, grabbed his axe and saw, left early as usual and upon arriving where he was headed to, he picked a tree and started felling it. As it was so early and such a distant, dense location, out from the shrubbery came a devil. It was big and misshapen, had green skin, red, brilliant eyes and a mouth lined with sharp teeth. When Yao saw that enormous, evil thing, he hastily dropped the axe and summoning miraculous strength, climbed up the tree and even when he was shaking in fear, he remembered the magical tune he used to sing to his dogs to call them when he was in a difficult situation and that only they could hear. As the devil used the saw to cut the tree, Yao called out his dogs: Acambámbari, Acambámbari, Candelérico, Horrián, Horrián, Chiminilló Acambámbari, Acambámbari, Candelérico, Horrián, Horrián, Chiminilló, The devil, eager to devour Yao and using the saw to cut the tree, said as he moved his arms: Allaváralacasumba allavá zunzún. Allavaralacasumba allavá zunzún. When the tree was about to fall, the four dogs appeared. They had seen in their water bowls the water reddened telling them their master was in danger. They charged against the devil who ran tattered, defeated, bitten, all the way to hell from whence he had come and never dared to come out again. Yao climbed down the tree, approached his loyal friends that happily wagged their tails. Yao caressed them, thanking them for their loyalty. Once more it was proven that dogs are a man´s best friend.
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Sterling Haynes Canadian writer. His first book, Bloody Practice, published by Caitlin Press, was a bestseller in his home province of British Columbia. In 2008, he won the French Naji Naaman Literary Prize and later the Joyce Dunn Award in B.C. for creative non-fiction. In 2013, the Arts Council of the Okanagan awarded him a magnificent glass statue for excellence in the Literary Arts. His stories and poetry have appeared in Canadian anthologies and magazines.
Curetting Sterling Haynes Scraping the aborted foetus, the womb feels like over-ripe pear ‘til the bleeding stops and the piece of ‘slippery elm’ appears with the curettings in the kidney basin. Only 15, she’d do anything. “Don’t tell my folks, please Doc put me on the pill, nobody will know, the woman in the hotel room told me the slippery elm wouldn’t harm me.” When will the uterus ripen? Will it ever be succulent again, supporting life and another baby. Perhaps ask the card carrying protesters, pro-lifers outside the hospital, picketing?
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Deo Volente in Pineywood Sterling Haynes God welcomes walkers at meal times and after meals in the dining room. God welcomes the return of memories to find jumbled, parked four wheelers. God welcomes the return of gait, balance and healing. God welcomes the return of friends good times and laughter, God willing!
Enough Sterling Haynes My play has been happy, a comedy, maybe a centurion approaching a century. The last scene changes, the third act rewritten to include walkers, implants, titanium joints, stents, shuffling and wonkiness. The play grows darker, lights dim, dizziness, flashes of brilliance, slow breaths gulps, coughs, burps, flames flicker. Do led lights last forever? Will I accept the darkness, on stage? Has it been enough? Will I make 92? the last curtain call. Maybe, perhaps - I hope not. Will the lights go out on time, then I’ll be on cue. The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Ponderously Proud
by Richard M. Grove For my brother Jorge
Who is this ponderous handsome Cuban man, quickly sailing past middle age, in a long sleeve shirt, it must be cold today, looking off into the distance, contemplating what he did right, what he must have, inevitably done wrong with his life, fallible as every man is as he strives to be more, holding his fisherman’s hands, close to his belly guardedly proud that he is well fed while others are sadly lacking like his mother land, embargoed by a big stick held over his head by a mighty nation. The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
His hands broad and calloused telling the story of a younger time rowing into the black of night to earn his dinner for his beloved family, humbly dependent on him, leaning on his now tired back of endurance. Sit there dear brother of brothers, man of men and know that you have done your best and deserve to be ponderously satisfied with what hard work has brought you.
Momento Wency Rosales Los agudos aullidos de los perros vagabundos en la lejanía y el contraste del sol arañando el horizonte, augurando una luna tan vacía como el triste adiós que dejaste en la cocina. Intentar atrapar el sonido de los suspiros Y solo queda el suave aliento en las sábanas desarregladas como un vago recuerdo de un sexo huidizo que embriagó de dulzura el pecado de tu piel en el momento exacto que el Sol se despedía de la Luna en el ocaso. The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Moment Wency Rosales The keen howling of the street dogs in the distance and the contrast of the sun scraping the horizon, auguring as empty a moon as the sad farewell you left in the kitchen. Trying to catch the sound of the sighs And only remains soft breath over dishevelled sheets Like a vague memory of an elusive sex, intoxicated by the full sweetness of sinful skin in the exact moment when the twilight sun bid adieu to the moon
LAURENCE’S WORDS: Eva and I recently travelled to Cuba with Canadian poets where we met Cuban writers in Gibara and Holguin. The trip was organized by Richard M. Grove, Tai, the president of the Canada Cuba Literary Alliance. We met the Cuban writers Professor Miguel Olivé, Jorge Alberto, editor of The Envoy and poet, Wency Rosales, who made certain that our trip would be memorable. We were part of a series of readings and workshops and visited Professor Miguel Olivé’s classes and those of the Canadian Studies Department at the University of Holguin. This trip allowed us to make friendships with Cuban writers. The Canadians writers we travelled with were Kim and Richard M. Grove, Antony Di Nardo, Anna Nadin, and Donna Wooton.
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
photos taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by Amanda de la Caridad Olivé Finalés “There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.” Thornton Wilder “We need others. We need others to love and we need to be loved by them.” Leo Felice Buscaglia Everything is beautiful around me, colorful, brimming with animals and flowers… It is like a forest, a magical one. A soft melody plays somewhere, as if coming from a harp yet sweeter, and the aroma the air brings to me smells of pie fresh from the oven. This is the most wonderful place I have ever seen. Its harmony is almost perfect. I start walking. Three huge wooden doors, iron-framed, loom ahead of me. One is blue in color, the other one is red and the third one is yellow. Despite my strong attraction towards the forest, my curiosity is twice as strong: I want to know what lies behind those doors. Now, which one will I choose? I don´t like yellow so I am discarding that door. Well, I guess I´ll pick the blue one. When I am about to open it, something or someone stops me. I turn around. It is a boy, brown skin, coffee eyes. He says, “You can´t go in there!” “Why not?” I ask him, “I like blue.” “Nothing to do with that,” replies a girl coming out of the shrubbery. She seemed fairy-like, blonde, tall. “All three doors lead to the same place. The difference is there are three different paths to get there.” I stare at them, uncertain. I felt I had met them before somewhere far. Maybe in another life… They had just ruined my almost-perfect view of that paradise I was in. I don´t know why but their mere presence did not fit into my enchanted forest. “What´s the blue door´s path? Where does it lead? Why can´t I enter?” I ask them. “It doesn´t matter where it leads,” he replies almost begging. “If you enter, there´s no coming back –“ “And we need you back with us,” she adds. “Back to where? I like this place.” The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
“This is not real,” she continues. “You must come with us.” They take a step towards me. Something inside me tells me to run, and that is what I do: I run as fast and as far as I can. When I thought I had left them behind, I paused to get a second wind. I peek around me and feel the forest is endless. Dreariness overwhelms me… this is too beautiful a forest to be true… When I think about it, I realize I have been here for as long as I can remember, surrounded by sweet scents, soft melodies and an ever-lasting magical forest. There must be something else! I say to myself. I can´t believe I have lived here all my life! Then I feel steps right behind me. But I do not run away this time; I do not flee from them. I face them and ask, “This isn´t real, right?” “No,” he says. “You´ve been in a coma for a while. You have no recollection of us. We are your friends.” “You have a family; they are not perfect but nothing is,” she sighs, “and they love you. We all do.” “This place is perfect!” I retort. “My forest is perfect. It´s peaceful; it´s magical!” “But it´s not real,” says the fairy-like girl, and she begins to vanish. “We don´t have much time!” The boy reaches out to me. “Come with us, please!” I noticed the urgent plea in his eyes and I remembered. I remembered my friends, my family. That paradise was ok but I wanted to see my family again… I loved them too… I made a choice… A few months have passed. I still think I did the right thing… I woke up in the hospital. Next to me were Daniel and Lily, better known as the brown-skinned boy and the fairy-like girl. My family was there too. I hugged them long… When I asked Daniel how they had contacted me, he said, “Everything is possible with a kind of magic. We all love you, remember?” He winked at me, smiling. Love saved me. I had chosen to leave that “magical” forest for love of my family and friends – they saved me – and also because I will always choose the real over nothingness. The Envoy
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
TUS OJOS por Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Cuando sentí por vez primera el impacto de tu mirada supe lo que era el amor, Me enamoré de tus ojos, un mar de sueño encerrado en la magia de dos perlas de agua viva. Los veo titilar como luceros fulgiendo cegadores en la constelación de tus lunares. Cuando los beso, me embriago en un sabor de verde coral virgen. Los guardo en el silencio marino, donde se tornan color de fantasía. Mi amor por ellos chispea perenne en mis pupilas photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto y se cobija soñador tras tus párpados que esconden la luz que ilumina mi vida. Tu mirada es una espléndida aurora que se abre en mis noches oscuras.
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Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
YOUR EYES by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández When I felt the effect of your gaze for the first time I knew what love was. I fell in love with your eyes, a sea of dreams enclosed by the magic of two pearls of streaming water. I see them twinkle like blinding stars in the constellation of your irises. When I kiss them I am enraptured by a flavor of virgin coral greenness. I keep them in deep, serene waters as they take on the color of fantasy. My love for them is in the eternal sparks of a dreamer’s refuge nestled in your eyelids hiding the light that brightens my life. Your gaze is a splendid aurora reaching into my dark nights.
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by Miriam Estrella Vera Delgado Storks return every year to the Same nest, they are monogamous, They take care of their elderly or Sick parents. Swans are monogamous and it is Said they die of sadness when they Lose their mate… Is it so difficult not to lie? Is it so difficult not to betray? Is it so hard to be honest and Truthful? Is it so hard to believe and pray? How can a stork be faithful forever? How can a swan pledge to one love? How can a stork be more caring and Clever?
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APRIL 2020 ENVOY-097 – EDITOR- Jorge
Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias. Holguín, Cuba Light Tremors grip as I watch virus-fending masks ominously collect on every neighbor´s clothesline. I turn to pray trustful He will hear me and heal us all – His light. Home Home sweet home never before so meaningful so salvaging. Hope Cell-deep, mind-healing before body-healing, hope guards us from insanity hope in the communion of science and God.
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