The Envoy #100

THE ENVOY The official newsletter of the

Canada Cuba Literary Alliance I.S.S.N. – 1911‐0693

July, 2020 Issue 100 www.CanadaCubaLiteraryAlliance.org

Concerning The Envoy´s

100

th

Issue Celebrations

by MSc Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias Associate Professor. Holguín University, Cuba CCLA Cuban President The Envoy Assistant Editor The Ambassador Editor-in-chief In 2004 Cuba-loving Richard Marvin Grove, known to many as Tai, founded the Canada Cuba Literary Alliance (CCLA) in a moment of “premeditated” inspiration. He invited a group of Canadian and Cuban friends and intellectuals to join him. The CCLA, a cultural bridge between Canada and Cuba, developed and was destined to promote art, photography, prose and poetry and above all to promote a humanistic project of friendship and artistic-literary cooperation between the two nations. The CCLA was born out of Tai´s unwavering will to show his love for a Cuba he treasured in his heart and had “discovered” some ten years before when he came for the first time with Kim, his sweet, Cuba-fan wife.

I personally met Tai in January 2017 though we had exchanged quite a few emails prior to our meeting in Gibara, Holguín. His name was already familiar to me anyway because he and his CCLA group had visited my university on two occasions to read poetry invited by Professor Manuel Velázquez, at that time, CCLA VP and Editor, and accompanied by alumni Wency Rosales, CCLA Ambassador in Holguín, and Jorge Pérez, CCLA Ambassador in Gibara and currently The Envoy Editor-in-chief.

Richard Marvin Grove is in my view (I am not officially invested as a title-giver) an apostle of culture. The title I “bestow” on him is intentional in many ways, one of them being his true belief in God, another being that apostle also means “one who advances an important cause or idea.” Isn´t this the CCLA´s ultimate aim conceived and championed by Tai, its founding President?

The Envoy 100

Page 1

I commented in a previous issue of The Envoy that the pillars of a revolution are linked to both ideas and culture. Our CCLA is a cross-cultural revolution that we must support: it is the ideas and culture norms of two peoples that keeps this project alive; there is beauty, truth, joy and by far a just, worthy cause in what the CCLA promotes and defends.

I wrote Tai a poem of gratitude and recognition for all his work and passion and love for Cuba and Cubans. Published in The Envoy 095, its Editor-in-chief thought it was ok to re-publish it here as a tribute to Tai: BRIDGING

by Miguel Angel Olivé Iglesias To Pilot Tai from Wingman Miguel you dig up time from your “gotta run” tight no-time-window time swamped in heaps of books, layouts, designs, projects, Cuban friends who have dreams… hidden brook press sandcrab books call reveille, your weary eyes blinking in so many 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 As part of the jubilee for The Envoy´s 100th issue, I thought it pertinent to e-interview Tai and publish his answers here so readers can have bits of reminiscence and history, tons of love and purpose outlined by the individual who has led, and kept alive, the CCLA all these years.

Questions: 1.-You told me once that poetry and you found each other. Would you care to elaborate a little on this?

I did not start out wanting to be a poet or a writer of any kind. I was a painter. I was going through a very difficult period in my life when I was not painting. Nothing was happening visually. It was suggested that I carry a notebook and start writing down some ideas that might stimulate my mind as a painter. I wrote down a few words and a few more and more. I ended up incorporating those words into a series of paintings. The paintings were so success The Envoy 100

Page 2

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

ful that I ended up with a solo show of about thirty paintings. The words were very much buried below paint but they could be seen and read. Someone said to me, “I didn’t know that you were a poet.” Much later after that exhibition I took those words and turned them into poems – they were the poems that became my first book of poetry entitled – Beyond Fear and Anger.

2.-In what ways have the worlds of poetry, art, photography helped you through life, made you a better human being, given you raison d´etre, confidence?

I will take the risk by saying that I finally found something that I was good at. Well maybe not so good but worthy of my expressing myself. I had no idea that I had something to say or that was worth saying or that anyone would want to look at or read or feel what I had to say. It took over half of my life to find, not just the tools, but find the something to say. Whether it is about the love or the angst of life, whether it is simply about putting a kayak paddle in the still lake or talking about a Black man that was murdered by a White cop, it seems there is always something that needs to be said. Today I was telling fellow poet, John B. Lee, about falling four feet off a roof, bum first into a thorny bush. As I was telling John about the experience he said now you have your next poem. An hour later it arrived on the page.

Levitation For John B. Lee and the definition pricks, thorns and barbs Four feet is a long way to fall landing bum first into a thorny bush.

The pricks or thorns or barbs, whatever you might call them, cat-clawed me, trapped me, so that I could not move. To rescue myself by simply stand up, meant a million daggers, clawing, scratching, gouging at my back, my neck, my legs.

The back of my hands and arms were already bleeding. Even relaxing while I contemplated my exit strategy was painful while droplets of my life dripped to the garden below staining the alabaster lilies that reached up to touch my thorn stung self.

Levitation with the help of five co-workers was my God-sent salvation.

Standing shirtless they pulled the devil claws from my back, from my shredded buttocks.

Still able to laugh we all returned to finishing the roofing job we had started.

painting by Maria Angel and edited by Jorge

The Envoy 100

Page 3

3.-Do you remember your first attempt/s at creative writing and photography? Walk us through some of them.

Aside from the normal childhood doodling and drawing pictures, my first true expressions of creativity, of making art, unfolded when I was about fourteen or fifteen. On my meager allowance for cutting grass and raking leaves I managed to save enough money to buy six sheets of glass about two feet by two feet and a can of black spray paint. In my secluded basement bedroom I laid the glass, one sheet at a time, on sheets of paper and dropped head size boulders to shatter the glass. Removing the boulders I then spray painted over top of the broken glass.

When I removed the glass I was left with the shattered image of passion. Six paintings hung on my bedroom walls for weeks. The funny thing is that I never shared those images with anyone.

At first I was angry at the red drips of blood that stained my paintings from carelessly picking up the shards of glass. Soon after living with those random splotches I splashed more red – this time paint – and then eventually more colours. The process of pushing the experiment further and further with more and more splashed colour and then brush strokes eventually pushed them over the edge into a muddy mess but the creative process never left me. It was at that age, through that experience that I became an artist.

4.-James Deahl wrote “I decided that I needed poetry in my life… If I could find a way to speak to people…” What were your needs and urges? When did you say “This is my thing”?

I think that I evolved slowly into being a poet. I don’t remember any specific time when I wanted to be a writer or that I thought that I was a writer. It just became that I wrote so there for I was a writer. It is like the poem “Levitation” that I just wrote. It just spilled out of me. I didn’t desire to write it. John and I have joked about the idea that there is a poem in everything that we do. It is true. It is true for everyone. As a writer we just stop for that moment and put it on paper. That poem took just about as long to write as it took to type. It unfolded as I typed. It is true that I stop and edit after a poem is on paper or more often on the computer screen but the most important thing is first realizing that this or that topic is actually worthy of writing a poem about. John said to me “There is your next poem” and sure enough there it was but only because I first saw the poem and I took the time to write it down.

5.-What essential motives led you to founding a CCLA? How did The Envoy come to life and to what ends? Whose idea was it to call it that way? Why? One of my positive attributes is that I am a people person. For some reason I am able to draw people into what I am excited about. I was already a writer when I went to Cuba the first time.

I met fellow writers. I offered that I would conduct a poetry workshop, the workshop turned into a book, the book turned into a book launch in Cuba, the book launch turned into my spontaneous announcement that I was going to go home and start the CCLA. My translator and new friend Wency turned to me in surprise when I made the announcement. I figured every organization needs a newsletter so I published issue 001 in June 2006. You see even the number 001 implied that I was totally expecting to have over 100 issues. The same thing happened with the inception of The Ambassador. Every literary organization needs a good literary flag ship magazine so what is the trouble – just start one. My dear brother Manuel was rooked in The Envoy 100

Page 4

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

by me to be the Editor-in-chief. The Ambassador magazine was born. Everything that I do seems to create momentum that is hard to stop.

6.-What three pieces of advice would you give to rookies in the lit and art world?

That is simple. Just do it. Just write; just make art. Do, do, do. Never stop doing. When I cut the grass I can’t stop myself from cutting in a non-box way. When I planted some pussy willow trees I planted them close together and wove the branches together year after year. Never stop creating. When I send my 93 year old mother a letter or card I draw the word “!!MOTHER!!” on the envelope with hearts and smiley faces with loads of colours. Create create create and never stop.

7.-How do you envision the CCLA´s, The Envoy´s and The Ambassador´s future?

I hope that the CCLA will continue forever. The key to longevity with an organization is creating a team that is younger than you that is interested in continuing. I hope I have done that.

Originally it was me and Manuel as Prez and VP. Then I realized I needed to create a larger team so I created the position of Cuban Prez and Cuban VP and appointed you, Miguel, as Cuban Prez with Manuel as VP – at the time Manuel was not able to commit to Prez. Then eventually his dear wife Adonay, my sweet sister, (I call her Dr. Adonay) became the Cuban VP, with Lisa as Canadian VP. When it was time to have a new editor for The Envoy I nudged, and cajoled my brother Jorge into taking on that job. Now he is the best Envoy Editor that the CCLA has ever had. His team of Lisa, Adonay, Miriam and Miguel do a great job. I am so proud of him and the Envoy team. Once I find a perfect fit I rope the person in all the way. This leaves me with the idea that I roped you, Miguel, into being the Editor-in-chief of The Ambassador.

You are so worthy as the CCLA Cuban President and the Editor-in-chief of The Ambassador I call you my wingman. Without you I think I would have quit running the CCLA years ago – in fact as you know I have threatened to do just that a couple of times. It is the dedication of Miguel that has kept the CCLA going. As I often say to him – you da man.

Putt Putt Putt

by Richard M. Grove

boat skimming blue nodding at horizon hand dipped in silver zing of cool

Fashionable Red Polo Shirt Dear Brother Jorge: Very funny pic of the old Cuban guy, that you emailed me, in the fashionable red polo shirt,

The Envoy 100

Page 5

worn and dirty, disheveled as his unshaven face, blue-sea ball cap with spinning dolphins, cool image, dolphin chasing dolphin in the circle of life, but damaged like a captive dolphin, hat cocked to the side with a nonchalant attitude of casual disregard to match his whiskered amiable smile of bristly discontent.

I said old guy but he is maybe not so old or maybe not much older than this old guy looking at the picture but he has lived a time-trodden life of hardship and joy and still smiling.

He is as weather beaten as the old wind-stripped boards that he stands in front of, decades of mother nature pecking at their newness one molecule at a time until they disappear into an altered form.

A Long Awaited Peace Arrived

by Richard M. Grove

Today is the calmest of calm sunny Monday mornings, with a sliver of tranquil breeze, a Caribbean Salsa song pulses, not too loud, across the still pool, two Canadian women, horizontal, languor in the shade chatting, two Cuban cabana boys laugh, quietly scrubbing the weekend sun tan lotion from the blue lounge chairs, a post loud-crowded-weekend ritual infrequently performed, a friendly skinny palomino dog, showing signs of the mange, a bit flea bitten though content, not begging is permitted to bask coiled in the sun at my feet.

This is the all-is-well long-awaited moment I have been waiting for

photo taken and edited by Richard M. Grove

The Envoy 100

Page 6

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

So Much More than Pudding

by Richard M. Grove

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.

We read poetry, hugged and thumped each other on the back as we reluctantly departed back to the isolation of Hotel Mirador de Mayabe, flying 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.

The Divinity of Orange and Blue

by Richard M. Grove

I don’t know how to describe this experience other than to call it a metaphysical or spiritual experience of some sort.

I was on my last day of a three week tropical holiday with my wife when I was struck by a severe case of what one might call Montezuma's revenge. Others in our group including my wife had been struggling with the same condition for days – some were bed ridden. The severity of my situation did not hit until I was packing to leave on our last morning. I was slowly struggling, walking, dragging my suitcase along an inclined sidewalk, canopied by vines and trees.

I was heading to the lobby where we four were going to meet our pre-arranged taxi to the airport. As I was slowly walking, praying that my harmony, my joy, could not be interrupted I looked up and saw a large stunningly beautiful orange flower in a tree over my head surrounded by an equally, stunningly-beautiful, blue sky. I staggered and stopped to take in the brilliance of the orange, the divinity of the blue. Their simmering juxtaposition was so spectacular that for that moment and a short time after I had forgotten about my plight. I parked

The Envoy 100

Page 7

my two suitcases beside the cab and went joyfully off to our friends’ room to help with their bags.

On the return flight the symptoms slowly returned and got considerably worse. As I continued to pray that my harmony, my joy is God given and cannot be interrupted I kept flashing back to the joyous orange and blue experience. Each time that I was able to see, feel, experience, that vision the systems abated.

Finally we were on the ground being picked up by the generosity of dear family members, a God provided gesture. Sitting in the car being driven home the symptoms slowly diminished.

The next day I was out running errands having a coffee and muffin with my wife.

Appointment of First Poet Laureate of Brighton The banquet of poetry I talk about in my poem, to which Tai has devoted most of his adult life, has recently been acknowledged by his community in Brighton, Ontario. The art he has built has granted him recognition in and outside his beloved Canada and his literary career finds deserved appreciation and honour in Brighton where he has been appointed its first Poet Laureate, a title to add to our modest contribution of “Apostle of Culture.”

Richard Marvin Grove has unstintingly nurtured culture, literature and art. He has led a life of enlightment and human growth always bent on influencing and summoning people and friends around him into a world he loves and has made wings grow from his strong yet gentle heart. Congratulations, Tai! words by Miguel Angel Olivé Iglesias

Richard Marvin Grove - Poet Laureate of Brighton The eight “P’s” have now turned into nine as Tai has been appointed as Poet Laureate of Brighton. In addition to publisher, photographer, painter, poet, prose writer, etc. we can now add “Poet Laureate”, well deserving in his reach and inspiration to others to imagine, express, release inner and outer forces in various forms. With fourteen titles to his name and his images in books or on covers of almost seventy-five, he is more than deserving of this position. He also has had over a hundred poems and essays printed in periodicals around the world and has been published in over thirty anthologies. Editor-in-chief of Devour:Art and Lit Canada and President of the Canada Cuba Literary Alliance, Tai’s designation of Poet Laureate acknowledges the daring and inspiration he evinces in encouraging the further exploration of Canadian and Cuban literary depths and the inter-connectedness of all.

Congratulations, Tai! words by Lisa Makarchuk

The Envoy 100

Page 8

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

Words by the CCLA Cuban President and The Envoy Assistant Editor, Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias, on

The Envoy´s 100th Issue Celebration One-hundred The Envoys ago I was not a Canada Cuba Literary Alliance (CCLA) member.

Founded in 2004 by its President, Cubaholic Richard Grove (Tai), to bridge Canadian and Cuban cultures in an embrace of art and literature, the budding CCLA needed systematic publication formats to promote and announce the work done by its writers and artists across both frontiers. The Envoy met that need, becoming the official, regular – approximately bimonthly – e-newsletter, side by side with The Ambassador, the CCLA flagship magazine in charge of featuring authors and creators from both nations on an about once-a-year basis.

During eighty-five issues and almost fifteen years, Danielle Dinally and other prestigious editors devoted time and intellect to preparing and presenting The Envoy. In April 2019, a Cuban editor came in, Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández, who stamped his heartfelt seal on the newsletter from issue 086 through this one we are making public today.

Jorge has been able to harmonize image and word in a creative, sometimes-stormy, nonstop learning and exacting process, aided by a team of contributing editors like expert Lisa Makarchuk (CCLA Canadian VP), Miriam Vera and me, and also hand-guided by our razor-sharp Tai. The result has been a fine string of fifteen The Envoys edited by Jorge in over a year “in office.”

A round number like this we are reaching calls for a bit of reflection – and lots of celebration.

If I were to refer to challenges and fruit altogether, I would talk about Jorge´s passionate hours of sleeplessness way past midnight trying to please The Envoy readers and critical eyes – and lips, his unwavering desire to summon poets and artists, to make us all feel at home inside its pages, his unique, sweat-breaking attitude to learn more and more and pour his knowledge onto the newsletter´s blank spaces, so lovingly, at times so naively, filled after countless nights and days for a very busy man around the house, a myriad of duties and an enormous handful of mental and physical sacrifices and strains few are fully aware of.

Add to this the fact that Jorge, in our particular setting, embarked on to-and-fro cycles of texting with home and abroad co-editors clocking in hard-currency, own-pocket-fracturing budget to keep the work flowing. For Cubans, cell services mean a drain in our personal economy yet Jorge never minded that, nor was it a deterrent for him to put his best into a task he undertook with so much commitment.

Here we are, one-hundred The Envoys after, with Jorge as a proud and humble helmsman, still willing to cooperate despite times and tides of difficulties and lead the ship to safe ports almost every month. Let´s praise his work, let´s wow his efforts, let´s pray The Envoy continues to honor the CCLA high purposes safely steered by Jorge. Thank you, Jorge. Thank you, The Envoy readers.

The Envoy 100

Page 9

About the Editor…

E-mails: joyph@nauta.cu joyphccla@gmail.com jorgealbertoph@infomed.sld.cu

CANADA CUBA LITERARY ALLIANCE FROM THE EDITOR: IN OUR UPCOMING ISSUES, WE WOULDLIKE SUBMISSIONS FROM EVERY CCLA MEMBER SO WE ARENURTURED BY YOU! IF YOU HAVE BOOKS COMING OUT, A POETRY EVENT, JUST LET US KNOW !!!!!

Biografía

Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández, nació en el año 1961 en Santiago de Cuba pero su niñez y adolescencia se desarrollaron en Bayamo, un pueblo en la zona oriental de Cuba, al norte de Santiago. Sus primeros estudios transcurrieron en las escuelas primarias de su localidad. Desde pequeño le gustaba mucho leer libros de cuentos, la pintura, la pesca y el teatro, participaba en concursos literarios infantiles obteniendo siempre menciones y reconocimientos. Durante la etapa estudiantil tuvo la posibilidad de continuar estudios en una escuela donde se vinculaba el con el trabajo: ESBEC. Se destacaba en las asignaturas de Inglés, Español y Educación Laboral, en las cuales obtenía notas satisfactorias. Continuó desarrollando su talento artístico a través del arte destacándose en la escritura. Su interés por las letras lo llevó a estudiar la carrera de Lengua Inglesa. Comenzó sus estudios en el Instituto de Perfeccionamiento Educacional IPE y obtuvo su primer título de Profesor de Inglés de Enseñanza Media. Sus resultados le permitieron continuar estudios universitarios y se graduó con Título de Oro en la especialidad: Licenciado en Educación, Lengua Extranjera Inglés, en 2007, de la Universidad de Ciencias Pedagógicas de Holguín. Coincidentemente, el asesor científico de su Tesis fue Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias, el actual Presidente cubano de la ALCC y uno de los editores asistentes de The Envoy.

Comenzó a trabajar como profesor de inglés en el curso escolar 1977- 1978. Trabajó en diferentes niveles educacionales, Secundaria Básica, Pre-Universitario, Escuela de Economía, Poli técnicos y Escuela de Idioma. En varias escuelas ocupó la jefatura de cátedra. Trabajó en la Isla de la Juventud con estudiantes extranjeros y recibió diploma de mejor técnico docente, trabajó en el Instituto Nacional de Turismo INTUR en la provincia Granma como coordinador de idiomas en el Hotel “Sierra Maestra” de Bayamo, dirigía metodológicamente a profesores de las instalaciones Villa Bayamo, Mirador de Bartolomé Masó y Hotel Guacanayabo de Manzanillo, participaba como coordinador de idioma en los talleres LINGUATUR que se impartían durante los veranos en Varadero por profesores especialistas canadienses sobre competencia

The Envoy 100

Page 10

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

comunicativa del idioma para estudiantes del turismo. Fue miembro de la brigada de protocolos para la atención del turismo internacional y en diferentes ocasiones reportando ingreso de moneda libremente convertible. Durante el plan de desarrollo recibió certificaciones de salón-cantina, cocina y panadería-dulcería.

Participó en el “Primer Taller Científico sobre Calidad en el Turismo”, presentando el trabajo titulado “Papel del idioma para el desarrollo de una cultura turística”. Trabajó en el Coro Profesional de Bayamo como cantante, y enseñaba a los miembros de los diferentes registros vocales a la correcta pronunciación de las obras en inglés que presentaban en los diferentes conciertos.

Ahora reside en Gibara. Trabajó como Especialista de Información Científico Pedagógica que luego obtuvo el nombre de CDIP Centro de Documentación e Información Pedagógica. Aquí recibió un reconocimiento por su destacada participación en el Taller Municipal de los Programas de la Revolución, con la presentación de un trabajo investigativo. Fue metodólogo inspector de Bibliotecas Escolares, trabajó en la Sede Universitaria, participó en el taller de Enseñanza Aprendizaje de Lenguas Extranjeras ENALEX, donde recibió diploma, también en trabajos de investigación, eventos nacionales e internacionales relacionados con su profesión, se trasladó para la Universidad de Ciencias Médicas (Filial de Gibara) impartiendo Inglés a estudiantes universitarios de las diferentes carreras dentro de la salud. Obtuvo la medalla “José Tey” otorgada por el Consejo de Estado de la República de Cuba.

Durante los años de su vida en Gibara se dedicó a la pesca que ha sido su mayor anhelo. Fue elegido como Vice-Presidente de la Base de Pesca de Gibara “Pepín Infante” durante algunos años. Su embarcación llamada “Isabel María” fue su inseparable compañera durante 21 años.

Se ha desarrollado dentro del mundo de la poesía, pertenece a la “Peña Cultural de los Creadores Gibareños”, de la Casa de Cultura de Gibara “Raúl Gómez García”, obtuvo premio en el género de poesía en el marco de la Semana de la Cultura, ha promovido y apoyado la cultura de su localidad con exposiciones, lanzamientos de libros, lecturas de poesías, y donaciones de ejemplares a diferentes instituciones. Ha publicado en diferentes libros en inglés y español, entre ellos su primer libro de poemas y cuentos titulado: “Jorge y el Mar”. Conjuntamente con algunos miembros de la Peña de los Creadores Gibareños, se publicó el libro “Marea de Sueños”, una selección de poesías. En diciembre del año 2012 se publicó el libro “La Mar de Todos” con diez de los integrantes de creadores gibareños y holguineros, y se nombró el primer Taller Literario “Marea de Sueños” con la ayuda de la Alianza Literaria Canadá Cuba (ALCC), donde Jorge ayuda en la traducción de poemas y prosa. También colaboró con la publicación del libro “Mis Versos son para ti Gibara”, una compilación de poesías de 200 poemas en honor a la ciudad que cumplió 200 años. Ha publicado en la “Serie Puentes” en el libro titulado “Donde late el Corazón” (2018) y en el libro titulado “El Sueño, La Gloria y la Lucha” (2018) de la ALCC, ha publicado en la Revista Electrónica “El Enviado” de la cual es ahora Jefe editor para seguir promoviendo la cultura, el arte, la fotografía y la poesía cubanas y canadienses.

Biography Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández was born in Santiago de Cuba in 1961, but he spent his childhood and teen age years in Bayamo, a town on the eastern part of Cuba, north of Santiago. He attended local schools during that time. He liked reading story books, painting, fishing and the theater, and took part in children’s lit contests where he was awarded citations and mentions.

The Envoy 100

Page 11

As a student he was given the opportunity to attend a school where studies and work were combined: ESBEC (Junior High School in the Countryside). He excelled in English, Spanish and Industrial Arts. He continued developing his artistic talents at writing. His interest in the arts led him to enroll a Teacher Education College, majoring in English. His freshman years began at IPE (Institute of Professional Upgrading), where he completed the academic courses and received his first degree as a Junior High School Teacher of English. His merits allowed him to pursue university studies and he graduated summa cum laude as a Bachelor in Education, English Major, in 2007, from the Holguín University of Pedagogical Sciences. Coincidentally, the scientific advisor for his thesis was Professor Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias, current CCLA Cuban President and one of the Envoy´s Assistant Editors.

He started working as an English teacher in the years 1977-1978. He moved along all the teaching levels: Junior and Senior High, School of Economy, Poly-technical Schools and Lan guage Schools. He was appointed Head Professor in many of these schools. He also worked with foreign students in the Isle of Youth, and was awarded as Best Teacher Assistant; he also worked at INTUR (National Tourism Institute) in Granma province as a language coordinator at the Sierra Maestra Hotel in Bayamo, Bartolomé Masó Lookout and Guacanayabo Hotel in Manzanillo, and participated as a language coordinator in the LINGUATUR workshops taught during the summer by Canadian professors in Varadero, Cuba, about communication competence for tourism students. He was a member of the Protocol Group for International Tourism, contributing on many occasions to hard currency revenues for the country. During his upgrading projects he completed courses in the restaurant-bar, kitchen and bakeryconfectionery services.

He participated in the “First Scientific Workshop on Quality Tourism Services with a paper titled “Role of Language in the Development of Touristic Culture.” He was also a singer in the Bayamo Professional Choir and taught English pronunciation to concert singers with different tessitura.

He now lives in Gibara, Holguín. He has worked as a specialist in Scientific and Pedagogical Information, later known as CDIP (Documentary and Informational Center). He was rewarded for his outstanding participation in the Municipal workshop “Revolution’s Programs” with a research paper. He was a Supervisor of School Libraries, worked at the University Branch in Gibara, took part in ENALEX (Foreign Language Teaching Workshop), varied research works, and national and international events related to his profession; then he was transferred to the Gibara Branch of the Holguín Medical School where he taught English in the different subject majors. He was awarded the José Tey Medal presented by the State Council of the Republic of Cuba.

In Gibara, he has devoted his life to fishing, which has been his greatest aspiration. He was chosen VP of the Pepín Infante Gibara Fishing Center and stayed in that position for some time. His boat, that he named Isabel María, was his inseparable partner for twenty-one years.

He has been in the poetry world. He belongs to the Peña Cultural de los Creadores Gibareños (Gibara Poets Cultural Group), to the Raúl Gómez García House of Culture in Gibara, won first prize in poetry during Culture Week, has been a promoter and supporter of culture in his town with expos, book launches, poetry readings and book donations to numerous institutions. He has published in English and Spanish issues, among them his first poetry and short story book entitled “Jorge and the Sea”. Together with members of the Gibara Poets Cultural Group, he published “Marea de Sueños” (Tide of Dreams), a compilation of poetry.

In December 2012, the book “The Sea of All” with poems by ten Gibara and Holguín authors

The Envoy 100

Page 12

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

was printed and he created the first Literature Workshop “Mare de Sueños” with the support of the Canada Cuba Literary Alliance (CCLA), where Jorge assists in the translation of poetry and prose. He also collaborated in the publication of “Mis versos son para ti Gibara”(My Verses Are For You, Gibara”, a compilation of two hundred poems by two hundred poets honoring the two hundred year old city. He has published in the Bridges Series Books of the CCLA, “Where the Heart Lies” (2018) and in the Canadian anthology “The Dream The Glory and The Strife” (2018) edited by Raymond Fenech. Jorge has also been published in the CCLA newsletter, The Envoy, where he works now as Editor-in-chief to promote Cuban and Canadian culture, art and photography.

A WORD ABOUT …

CCLA Poet Laureate John B. Lee

MSc Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias Associate Professor, Holguín University, Cuba CCLA Cuban President The Ambassador Editor-in-chief The Envoy Assistant Editor The Envoy 99 introduced us to one of the CCLA Poets Laureate, Cuban Miriam Vera. This Special issue of The Envoy 100 features the Canadian CCLA Poet Laureate, John B. Lee. I admit that when I read John´s poetry for the first time I did not quite grasp its significance and power. Richard Grove (Tai), CCLA President, always smiled and insisted I ought to go over it again and again, and I did. That is how little by little John´s poems opened a world I have been fortunate to discover, rediscover and talk about in previous The Envoy comments, in my review book “In a Fragile Moment: A Landscape of Canadian Poetry” (Hidden Brook Press, 2020) and in a second volume I am currently working on, “A Shower of Warm Light Upon this Land and Us”.

I think I was able to define John when I said in one of my essays that “His brilliance lies in his original, indelible, sweeping signature, his “architectural” approach to language and reali

The Envoy 100

Page 13

ty…” There is no better insight into Lee’s poetry than my closing quotation: “… a true idiosyncrasy of style is the result of an author´s success in compelling language to conform to his… experience.” Lee´s style has notably achieved that. It is “monumental architecture.”

As I moved on decoding and admiring his poetry, I came across Bernice Lever´s opinion. She stated Lee is a “master craftsman… (his) … lines flow smoothly from one fresh new metaphor to the next.” Surely his lines do just that! I was also impressed by George Whipple´s view that Lee is “The greatest living poet in English.” He adds that Lee “… sows everyday experiences with a timeless gravity and awe.” What can I add to these conclusions?

The poems we present today give us a giant Lee – the monumental poet Clarke has told us Lee is – exploring the past, love, the very act of poetic creation, the expressions of nature connected to writing, a life unfolded unto him in imagery and depths that only the chosen ones can fathom. John holds in his hand what he sees-feels and pours it onto word forms and meanings that were uniquely transcendental long before a humble, lucky me entered his poetry domain and decoded it.

Take, for example, his elucidations in “When This Old Poet Shambles Past”: “But they were all nameless, these nights / worn out with beauty / the ornaments of lived times / hung like gar lic cloves and labellum / in a pantry rich with spice / before they fell asleep in books…,” a biblical halo shyly fluttering about. Or his tenderly sensual flirt with sex in “I Wake to Breathe Your Beauty In”: “your shape procures / a note so faintly played / upon the felts / it leaves no mark … / and I with sad melodies unsung / with wordless names and voiceless calling / dream the mild narcotic / of your gently moving breast” brought to the next level in “Lovely Woman in the Lake, My Wife, My Love”: “and for me, a kind of liquid everywhereness / fluxed within contours / inner motions and the softened fulcrums of your sex / all flag and wind / is man / caught up, his architecture / aping strength / until the instant of forgetting / (a blood pulse in the drumming dark)…”

John B. Lee will walk you across “the fearing of the known / and unknown ecstasies of life / as at the end of every /measuring / the stilling pulse / will seek and find and soothe so lovingly / the long lacunae of an afterness” in his “An Afterness.” He will take your breath away (but you will be grateful) with “and this …”: “remove the leaf my love / where knowledge makes you shy / and I will be the shade beneath / the restless shadow…” and make you recall Purdy´s and Atwood´s elegies to earth in his “Where Silence is the Light”: “I owe the earth such gratitude / for this briefly borrowed dust / from ancient wonder breathing / to each new delight / the fragrant lingering / aromas of an eternal sea…” because John´s poetry is eternal too and “silence is the light / the poem shadows from.”

Lee once told me ,“I am grateful to have had the opportunity to write the poems that visit my desk and flow through my pen. I am simply a vessel, and I am thankful when the muses visit.”

Let´s all celebrate his poems and pray the muses continue to kiss his gifted hand. My best homage to Lee is my humble poetry that follows and which I hope he likes…

The Envoy 100

Page 14

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

Realm

by Miguel Angel Olivé Iglesias To my friend John B. Lee: for your stunning poetry (forgive mine!) the light the poem shadows from. John B. Lee unknown ecstasies of life. John B. Lee reside within the incredible dominion of your flesh. John B. Lee

To ponder where a poem´s waterfall is born, a gentle stream gliding along the steepest slope a torrent spurting down its voice to bathe life´s rapids, limn the visible or by grace of wizardry behold the indiscernible, bear witness to earthly beauty become a poet´s heavenly motif: nude woman´s skin ablaze, goose bumps mapping frontiers accessed, captured, left behind aiming for terra incognita ecstasy one further thrust away to reach the altar of nirvana that awaits after the loss of breath after the blinding light of culmination, interlocked gasps rewarded with entry to the realm of being.

(All poems were taken with author´s and publisher´s permission from “This is How We See the World”, Hidden Brook Press, 2017, except “and this…” taken from “Darling, may I touch your pinkletink?”, Hidden Brook Press, 2020)

When This Old Poet Shambles Past

by John B. Lee

When this old poet shambles past speaking his verse like the fatherly drone of a stormless sea remember that once long before he sorrowed the bloodless news of death

The Envoy 100

Page 15

he lived by the pleasant melody of each rubbed nerve when the flesh slummed like a buzzed cello string in the hot moments that muddled the head.

But they were all nameless, these nights worn out with beauty the ornaments of lived times hung like garlic cloves and labellum in a pantry rich with spice before they fell asleep in books grown stale with closet air and lack of mind.

I Wake to Breathe Your Beauty In

by John B. Lee

I wake to breathe your beauty in your soft pink sex mummed like a secret-keeper’s mouth the stone imprisoned by its fall could no more hang upon the wind that I hold back this love your shape procures a note so faintly played upon the felts it leaves no mark like a dustless butler’s glove and I with sad melodies unsung with wordless names and voiceless calling dream the mild narcotic of your gently moving breast.

The Envoy 100

Page 16

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

pic taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

Lovely Woman in the Lake, My Wife, My Love

by John B. Lee

Where you move water is desire – desire water and for me, a kind of liquid everywhereness fluxed within contours inner motions and the softened fulcrums of your sex all flag and wind is man caught up, his architecture aping strength until the instant of forgetting (a blood pulse in the drumming dark) he would live for your body like a soul possessed reside within the incredible dominion of your flesh thinking about being alive and nothing else.

The Envoy 100

Page 17

One Leaf in the Breath of the World

by John B. Lee

Woman, in a dream of desire I have come to your shy mouth left it wordlessly shining like a silver scar found the silence of sighing that suffers the moon I have seen how the bud in the natural pear goes grey as an ash in the blossom’s result how the heart might quicken like apples in August through autumn and also, the stillness of sorrow and also, the trembling soul one leaf in the breath of the world

The Place Where Poets Pause

by John B. Lee

This is the place where poets pause to catch their wind lean on their walking sticks to consider the world in the green meadow among the moraines and eskers beside the roaring river beside the windy lake after climbing the slip of scree between snow-topped horns breathing fast and hard in the crack of glaciers in the roar of waters in the whispering of the world above the Weasel.

This is the place

The Envoy 100

Page 18

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

midst the dumb tongues of ice where poets lie back on the lichen while singing springs carry their sputtering octaves pool to pool where buntings wing and nest their naked squab in down and the fox-tracked sand slides below a lemming stitch and poets push their breath to see the tiny gnarled willow old red-fingered fellow clinging to his rock to see the battle of blossoms like wrestling daughters careless of their party dresses.

An Afterness

by John B. Lee

I hear an almost silent drumming of this human heart and know it is my own.

And then between the quickening and the slowing of sleep between the rising and lulling of that excited inner touch with all the thump and thrum of something captured in the dark I’m lost between the fearing of the known and unknown ecstasies of life as at the end of every measuring

The Envoy 100

Page 19

the stilling pulse will seek and find and soothe so lovingly the long lacunae of an afterness.

and this ‌ remove the leaf my love where knowledge makes you shy and I will be the shade beneath the restless shadow of a walking eye to call it sin improves on darkness darker still within the moon-fold of a silent kiss the hurry-hearted sigh one silver tear to cry

and this ‌

Where Silence is The Light

by John B. Lee

I owe the earth such gratitude for this briefly borrowed dust from ancient wonder breathing to each new delight the fragrant lingering aromas of an eternal sea have thimble wells in us half-lit pink light for the thumbnails of the salty heart those blood moons to draw three waters of my inner life.

The Envoy 100

Page 20

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

I skate upon that one desire that thrills me solid as a self-born child meanwhile dog-joy tumbles through the thin design and leaps out wet and lapping snow toward the cheer-chilled house and I am river’s heaven then upon that frozen floor steel-thirsty flashing lines and hollow cut-sounds of a season’s underflow.

And I am also fog-fond as a valley horse half-sculpted on a hill

that whetstone God lifts and turns to the withers fathom of what’s beyond the looking light those ghost legs sunk into a formless plinth that holds the standing girth like breathing barrels trussed for carrying the beast occurring only as a portion of itself.

My soul thirst ancient and my true thirst new I’m at the last mirage

arriving everywhere at once I drink illusionary permanence and smile to sift away into the saying dark where silence is the light the poem shadows from.

The Envoy 100

Page 21

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

Don’t You Think?

by Marion Mutala

I think if you stand in front of a church with a Bible held high in your hand you should open it.

I think if you stand in front of a church with a Bible held high in your hand you should open it and read it.

I think if you stand in front a church with a Bible held high in your hand you should open it and read it and turn to 1 Corinthians 13:4-8.

I think if you stand in front of church with a Bible held high in your hand you should open it and read it and turn to 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 and see what it says.

I think if you stand in front of church with a Bible held high in your hand you should open it and read it and turn to 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 and see what it says and share it with the world.

I think if you stand in front of a church with a Bible held high in your hand you should open it and read it and turn to 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 and see what it says and share it with the world and use those words in your life.

I think if you stand in front of church with a Bible held high in your hand you should open it and read it and turn to 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 and see what it says and share it with the world and use those words in your life daily.

Don’t You Think?

The Envoy 100

Page 22

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

While I Water my Flowers

by Alina González Serrano

(translated by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias)

I hear my husband type poems while I water my flowers so in love with them so in love with nature: I was born in the countryside plants and animals all around me, my mother tended a small garden girding our humble home and I would follow her and help her with the shears and the watering can…

I live in the city now, fifth-floor, no pets; but a few flower pots do sit on my porch and wait for me every morning as much as they wait for sun or rain.

I hear my husband type poems while I water my flowers so in love with them – so in love with him.

Here for You

by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias To my daughter Amanda There is no here without you. Paul Carr

My watch has stopped on your time-string. It means it is here, now my longest pause to live for you.

Here, where my heart beats now, when it beats only for you.

The Envoy 100

Page 23

A Poem of Advice

by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias To my stepdaughter, Alianna Soon it will be 23 fully-fledged years bursting out of you.

I’ve been witness to your transit from child to woman I’ve been with you for 13 years I’ve watched over you and lost sleep beside your mother in your dark hours, rejoiced as well in your happy times.

Watch your step, baby, the world is not easy to conquer life is not all rose-colored: when your mother and I are no longer here what will become of you? what observant eyes will follow you to protect you? what hands will hold your hands? whose tears will fall? whose words will bring you consolation? whose smiles will cheer you up?

Watch your step, baby, take a step at a time, watch your step – and our granddaughter´s now – dear baby-woman of ours.

The Envoy 100

Page 24

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

´ photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

Magnificence

by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias

Life is best enjoyed from my vantage point: blue sky like a tablecloth ready to be set upon the hilltops green mat extending far beyond my eyescope cosmopolitan trees basking in the sunny canvas where the vista of the city bows before nature´s magnificence.

The Envoy 100

Page 25

The Hinge of Now

by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias On Al Purdy’s poem “Where the Moment is”

Spin the now. Grease it or let it creak, both options are pleasant.

Spin the now. Control its hinge.

Seize its momentum.

Define it, as it defines you in the infinite multiplicity of events that sparkle in the universe of a now.

Where to?

Where from?

Take the reins or cut them loose.

What really transcends is now.

Spin it, spin along.

Tongues of the Ocean

by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias

… and the gathered waters he called “seas.” Genesis 1:10 … to an unknown ocean. John B. Lee The cool, green ocean. Richard Grove What is it about the ocean? Kim Grove

Here I stand upon an inconstant, undulating line drawn by the bold tongues of the ocean soft-lapping the sand, age-old event-remodeler of earth, lung-like marine renewal exchanging blueness/greenness over fine-grained rock. Sensations of gratitude visit as sinuous as the hieroglyphs carved unyielding warm wetness massaging my bare feet a mind-healing The Envoy 100

Page 26

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

airborne primeval version of algae, corals salting my nostrils. Liquid silence prompting me to envision the enigmatic abyss beyond – below. Ocean mumbles wave-symbols, speaks in rippled idioms skipping from surf-crest-to-surf-crest.

Low tide bids farewell; high tide surges in imposing its voice of water on lovers´ only recently written, short-lived words rinsed away by replicating tongues never ceasing to roll in upon the seashore, never relinquishing their regal station, their licking-sweeping their sculpting role beneath a contemplative sky.

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

Undergrowth

by Laurence Hutchman after Van Gogh The light streams, the wind moves in circles, dips and waves, flickering the leaves.

The whole forest is alive.

The Envoy 100

Page 27

Maleza por Laurence Hutchman Translated by Rosabella Prieto Góngora Las suaves corrientes, el viento se mueve en círculos, ondulaciones y oleadas, hacen parpadear las hojas.

Todo el bosque está vivo.

Silent

by Marion Mutala I was silent…silent, about so many things…silent…I just let it happen, watching, waiting, listening…I was silent…silent about so many things…I never spoke up, voiced my opinion, and expressed my concern. I was silent…silent about so many things. I was afraid, lacked courage, at a loss for words…I was silent …silent about so many things for fear of criticism, the inability to articulate my visions, my ideas. I was silent …silent about so many things. It was difficult to find the vocabulary; words escaped me, my mind overwhelmed with thoughts never uttered from my lips. I was silent…silent about so many things in my life. I could not find my voice, the right side of the brain that deals with speech blocked, my words befuddled, the messages scrambled. I was silent…silent about so many things, my power taken away, my voice evaporated, gone …completely silent…a mute. I was silent …silent… about… so …many …things ….until… now……I am not silent anymore…

SING!

by Miriam Estrella Vera Delgado

To Herbert…

You say you have nobody to sing to, you ask to whom or what you can sing…

If I could sing and play... I would sing to the world and rejoice: Sing to the flakes of snow, and they will melt in happiness Sing to the moon, and it will be full all year round Sing to the stars, and they will be brighter Sing to flowers in Spring, and they will bloom sooner Sing to the birds, and they will answer back to you in gratefulness Sing to sad people, and you will turn their grief into joy Sing to the butterflies, and they will dress in more colours The Envoy 100

Page 28

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

Sing to the world, and there will be less sorrow and people will be happier Sing to God... HE gave you the gift!

You can try... and maybe…

A wish will come true... or a miracle will happen!

MY FANTASY WORLD

by Miriam Estrella Vera Delgado

In my Fantasy World I feel cozy and warm...

There I take refuge When the harshness of life I can’t stand.

In this place... I feel calmness And joy invades me...

Everywhere I look It’s wonderful what I see.

In my Fantasy World

HAIKU por Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández El sol se ha rajado cae un chorro de oro en mi corazón.

HAIKU por Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández En mis versos camino sobre el mar camino sobre las olas sin dolor.

HAIKU

by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández The sun has cracked open Spilling a spray of gold into my heart.

The Envoy 100

Page 29

HAIKU

by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández In my poems I wander over seas I walk over waves with no pain.

Tú y yo

por Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández

Yo veo un monte con pájaros dorados Tú ves una selva con incontables nidos Yo veo abundantes peces en el océano Tú ves barcas con gigantescas redes Yo veo el sol que sale y me lleva mi calor Tú ves que la luna fría abraza tu corazón Yo veo que la noche llega más pronto Tú ves que el día se alarga luminoso Yo veo un cielo vasto que añora amor y ternura Tú ves perderse un paisaje en un gris infinito Tú tienes una pesadilla que entristece los sueños Yo tengo, esta noche, que apagar mi tenue lámpara.

You and I

by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández

I see a forest with gilded birds you see a jungle with countless nests I see an abundance of fish in the ocean you see a trawler with huge fishing nets I see the sun rise and brings me my warmth you see a cool moon embracing your heart I see that night arrives sooner you see the day lengthening brighter I see a vast sky longing for love and tenderness you see yourself lost in landscape of infinite grey you have a nightmare darkening your dreams tonight I have to blacken my faint flare.

The Envoy 100

Page 30

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

La mariposa

de Ernesto Galbán Peramo

Frágil, fina, nerviosa, virginal raja el aire veloz, el ala tienta a seguirla con la mirada atenta se traslada sutil y pasional.

Este pecho en latir tan continuado se enamora tal vez cuando parece esperarme, pero desaparece con orgullo y ni un beso le he dado.

Es mejor ver así su timidez, no la quiero con garbo ni altivez y al sentirme celoso de la rosa —que la puede abrazar como si nada— sabio yo que esquivando la mirada dejo al fin sin tocar la mariposa.

Butterfly

by Ernesto Galbán Peramo

Fragile, delicate, lively, virginal thrashing swiftly windward, the wing entices to follow her with attentive gaze she moves subtly and passionately.

This bosom so steady in its beating maybe falls in love when it seems she waits for me, but disappears imperiously and not even a kiss from me to her.

It’s better thus to see her shyness, I want her neither jaunty nor haughty and I feel jealous of the rose

The Envoy 100

Page 31

— I may embrace her, oh, so simply— But wise am I to shun the vision finally leaving the butterfly untouched.

Sobre un tema muy antiguo

de Ernesto Galbán Peramo

¿Qué es amor?-te pregunto- quedas muda, de repente me invento una sonrisa, es un susto, lo sé, también ceniza pues con un breve soplo se desnuda Es esencia que anida la confianza, o la súplica al centro de uno mismo, tiene un raro color, pradera, abismo, arrebato otoñal, vida, esperanza.

Puede ser que se torne indiferente, vivo está cuando crece suavemente, siempre va confundido con el verso, con la ausencia los astros o la nube que tranquila aparece y luego sube transformándose en cielo, en universo.

About an Ancient Theme

by Ernesto Galbán Peramo

What is love? —I ask you— and mute you remain, suddenly I invent myself a smile, there is fear, I know, ashes also because with a whiff it unmasks itself It’s an essence that inspires trust, or a supplication to one’s centre, it has unusual color, expansiveness, abyss, autumnal rapture, life, hope.

Maybe it turns indifferent, alive it is when it softly grows, The Envoy 100

Page 32

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

always confounded with verse,

with the absence of stars or clouds it quietly appears and then rises becoming sky, universe

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

Mar

de Ernesto Galbán Peramo

Suave manto, regazo de las naves furibunda pasión que ves perdida a lo lejos la rama adormecida que salió de las breñas con las aves.

Son tus puertos vetustos al oleaje como besos perennes, como estrellas redimiendo al dolor y así destellas a los hombres la luz de un largo viaje.

En tu azul duermen ondas infinitas The Envoy 100

Page 33

y a los peces despiertas cuando invitas a encontrar un tesoro en que se encierra, el pasado de un tiempo ya vivido solo guardas tu magia y tu sonido mas no dejas de abrazarte a la tierra.

Sea

by Ernesto Galbán Peramo

Smooth mantle, ships nestled furious passion that you see lost afar the lethargic branch that came out of the scrub with the birds.

Your ancient harbors are to the surge like perennial kisses, like stars redeeming pain and thus you flash to men the light of a long voyage.

In your blueness sleep unending waves and fish wake as you invite them to find a treasure within your confines, the past of a time already lived simply keeping your magic and your sound but never ceasing to embrace the land.

La luz de Ernesto Galbán Peramo La luz se me acomoda en estos grises, difusa permanece ante la nube el recuerdo me viene lento y sube con semillas, con soles, con matices.

La luz sale a pasear y tú preguntas ¿qué vientos mueven aguas tan veloces, qué lagos, qué tormentas y qué voces presienten existencias todas juntas?

The Envoy 100

Page 34

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

La luz, cristal mojado sobre el nido fractura al arco iris. Su sonido es muda palidez, remanso, orilla, es ubicua presencia y oportuna se acomoda en la yerba como una mujer, que enamorada, abraza y brilla.

Light

by Ernesto Galbán Peramo

Light accommodates me to these greys, diffusing it remains before the cloud remembrance comes slowly and rises with seeds, with suns, with shades.

Light promenades and you ask which winds move waters so speedily, which lakes, which storms and what voices predict the wholeness of existences?

Light, wet crystal over the nest a fracture of the rainbow. Its sound is of mute paleness, backwater, sands, its ubiquitous and timely presence it reclines on the grass like a woman who, in love, embraces and shimmers.

A WORD ABOUT

by MSc Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias

CCLA Cuban President and The Envoy Assistant Editor

Kimberley Grove When Tai, our CCLA founding Prez, came up with the idea of a CCLA, a gentle, sweet flower was next to him, his wife Kimberley. It is more than fair that we include four of her poems in this special Envoy issue. They show Kim´s wide register which soars from a strikingly philo The Envoy 100

Page 35

sophical meditation before the overwhelming sea or about art´s ultimate end, through metaphorical explorations of love and definitely committed, critical renderings like “September 11th.” In all cases we have an acute watcher, an eye that can see past the surface and fathom depths molding them into words. When I met Kim in 2016 I had read some of her poems and named her “The Lady of the Video-Words.” In my review book “In a Fragile Moment: A Landscape of Canadian Poetry”, Hidden Brook Press, 2020 (titled after one of her poems), I said: “Kim… gives us a handful of images in motion.” Read her and you will feel the motion that unfurls across the brain´s recesses out to the contemplation of life and its manifold manifestations; hence, the power of her voice makes for worthy poetry.

Infinity

by Kimberly Grove

What is it about the ocean That draws me to its shore?

Is it the lullying of the waves swaying the shifting sand?

Or the dramatic slapping, clapping sound of water making war?

No, I think it is the Openness of the ocean’s wide embrace That draws me to stand on the cliff’s shoulders To see Infinity’s face.

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

The Envoy 100

Page 36

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

Falling in Love

by Kimberly Grove

Sitting on a big, slippery red balloon I have no control over its direction.

Higher and higher I go.

As I look down my world gets smaller I should have got off a long time ago The drop is getting worse and worse Either I’m going to slip off this thing Or I’ll end up in the branch of a tree Which undoubtedly will burst the whole thing What I fear most is that I’ll keep on going up and up Until I can’t see anyone any more And have to live on a far-off planet alone.

Endless Reflections

by Kimberly Grove

Does art reflect life or life reflect art?

In the sky’s blackness are tiny shimmering candles.

Inside the cabin stars are burning in small glasses.

Inside me I’m glowing with warmth.

Outside I’m grateful to be surrounded by friends.

Does life reflect art?

Or does art reflect life?

September 11, 2001 News that won’t fade Her words linger in thought “Thank goodness, the towers came to their knees crumbling within themselves.

Imagine if, falling like trees the 1300 foot tall giants had fallen into all of Manhattan.”

Perhaps it soothes the suffering.

The Envoy 100

Page 37

Manuel de Jesús Velázquez León

Cuban intellectuals and friends accompanied Tai in the hour of foundation. Manuel Velázquez was one of them. A professor – and poet at heart – Manuel has silently, humbly knitted his poetry under the light of his profound construal of life and love. As selfless as the poem I pre sent here, he seeks no acknowledgement or promotion of his virtues; rather, he turns the spotlight onto others. “Not Only” impresses for its simplicity and meaningfulness, its unequivocal message of utter surrendering that is only attained in true loving and the realization of such mutually redemptive feeling. Wow!

Not Only It’s not only your beauty, your greatness; it is, besides, the beauty and the greatness of what you feel for me.

Adonay Pérez Luengo

Another witness to the foundation of the CCLA and key player in CCLA publishing and editing has always been Adonay Pérez (Manuel´s muse in his “Not Only”). Adonay´s voice is sweet and waxes even sweeter in this heartfelt poem. Somehow Martí´s Ismaelillo comes to me, and the Apostle´s words to his son: “Shocked by everything I seek shelter in you…” That is what Adonay does echoing Martí: salvation from what is corrupted comes in the form of a child in a transformational instant in which, superbly, the poet reverses the act of lulling! Enjoy!

The Envoy 100

Page 38

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

Shelter

Adonay Pérez Luengo

(To Pablo Manuel, my little baby)

When this world of subordination and dependence is debased more than it usually is, you appear like the elf in one of your fairy-tales: now it is you, lulling me in your arms.

Wency Rosales One name cannot go unmentioned in this moment of remembrances. Wency, my former student who won his first prize years ago in a poetry contest in my class; the friend, the translator next to Tai that day. His poetry is oftentimes nostalgic and appealing to the heart. My choice today reflects both aspects plus a squeeze of fine irony he also displays in many of his poems. Enjoy his “coffee poem,” which opens a window to between-the-lines readings, wonderful allegorical touches and interwoven sensuality, all of them equally satisfying.

When the coffee was spilled

by Wency Rosales

Just a bit of sugar, you said. And Unintentionally coffee was spilled While the sun was scratching the slippery shades on the horizon Your breath being appropriated by the coffee aroma, Calmly, drawing a trace, dressing up with your skin Listening to a song by Silvio Rodriguez, And a weird pause as rare as his "Unicorn".

The intention was to share the solitude, Join my trousers with the riveting of your skirt, But you were annoyed because coffee was spilled, And you just left, No waiting the breath of my skin over your breasts, No fitting your skirt, no taking your coat, Then came the waiter, with one more coffee, No sugar please, I said. It might be better.

The Envoy 100

Page 39

Antony Di Nardo Dinardo was not a CCLA founder. Actually, he is one of our latest “acquisitions.” Meeting him is an act of pleasure and learning, a lesson of life. He has the ability – blessing – to intoxicate you with his high spirits, his cultivation, his word and winning style in reading poetry for a public, his friendliness and kindness, his joviality and deportment. He was a professor too, and this surfaces when he stands up, holds a poem in his hand – his or someone else´s – and rather than just read it he acts it out. Words sound magically different in his readings. Today we bring one of his poems, an elegantly yet sharply contrasted scrutiny of realities the poet displays with mastery of word and message.

The Last Time It Rained

by Antony Di Nardo

The Danish mother feeds her newborn infant on a stark-white breast that she’s exposed to the sky as she trolls the shade of the coconut palms on the sunny coast of Goa while the Indian ladies, brown to the very naked tips of their toes, carry baskets of waste to the rocks by the sea.

The crows are happy all afternoon, not so by the end of the day when the food has run out, table scraps in their diet gone missing.

The Danish mother and her fair-skinned baby will have iron-rich protein for dinner while the brown Indian women will eat their portion of white rice flavoured with the sweet milk of coconuts that fell from the sky the last time it rained.

Wordless With Roses

Katherine L. Gordon

There is a rose in many a poem though no words can capture the startlement of such a beauty lavished on some olden wall as though fairy-chosen to hold all who can see to a ransom of dreams. We cannot say how the heart stops, tears appear, passions pulse, but for a moment all meaning is possible.

True love, true harmony, true surrender, all wordless.

The Envoy 100

Page 40

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

Fall Forsythia Norma West Linder She’s frankly middle-aged but her face glows the alchemy of love has filled her hazel eyes with specks of gold a mellow fall brings new awakening new life and the forsythia is blooming for the second time On an Ordinary Day Sharing a common bed these fifty years he rests his hand in hers lightly, she leans her head against his sharp-boned shoulder

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

In another hour as birds begin to sing they will arise and shower and their routine will seem as usual Before the sun goes down one of them will cry out the other’s name and nothing will ever be the same

The Envoy 100

Page 41

Silence In The Fields Of Autumn

by James Deahl

So everything is grief until the green leaves come.

— Yoshida Kenko

The harp of rain falls quiet.

Drifted maple leaves form a city of light spread within the shadows of a copper beech.

Last summer’s insects, like all true nomads, have gone; only silence remains.

I enter the city of light where grass leans into winter.

When I look at my hand I see fields that go on forever, a distant sea too far away to know.

If I stand here all afternoon dusk will enter my body, mix with my blood to awaken the heart’s sorrow.

By then no one will be able to resist the flute coming down from the mountains.

It is an old friend I had almost forgotten returning after many years in this season of need.

Old Crow At Sunset

by James Deahl

for Norma

Seasons arrive and pass; old friends drift away, leave no forwarding addresses.

Valerie and Gwen die, Chris and Dieter go mad, bewildered by a world they no longer understand.

My wife is long dead, our daughters fully grown.

An autumn crow at sunset, without knowing how or when, I’ve become fat and old The Envoy 100

Page 42

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

with a white beard that once flowed red. How is it then you enter my bed at this late hour all firm breasts, supple skin, and welcoming thighs?

How can spring rain cast her veil over a barren November where no leaf clings except on a few gnarled oaks?

I ask, expecting no answer, but merely to express wonder at this inexplicable life.

Brian T Way

by James Deahl descent of species

over an afternoon session of beer the biologist explains his theory that one-celled life amoebae and other protozoa are really the highest beings on the evolutionary scale never suffering from the weaknesses of head and heart up to 3 o´clock i vehemently disagree at 4 i offer a mild protest but by 5:30 i am telling his theory back to him and suddenly he is the one plagued with doubt

En otro jardín de Marianela Rabell López Otra vez hemos querido penetrar en el “jardín de los delfines”.

Todo intento ha sido en vano, sólo conseguimos empañar el agua con la sangre de nuestras heridas.

Mientras… entre salmódicos cantos de sirenas y un amasijo de algas indiferentes:

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

The Envoy 100

Page 43

Mi cuerpo con sabor a salitre Tu sudor Lo salvaje y fiero de mi amor Tus tiernas caricias Y un deseo infinito de amarnos desenfrenadamente.

In other garden

by Marianela Rabell López Another time we have wanted to enter the garden of dolphins.

Every attempt has been in vain, we could only mist up the water with the blood of our wounds.

While…… among psalmodic singings of sirens and a kneading of indifferent algae: My body with its saltine taste Your sweat The savage and fierceness of my love Your tender caresses And an infinite desire To make love with wild abandon.

Tarde de jueves por Marianela Rabell López Manos, piernas, lluvia, tu cuerpo roto, el libro de Van Gogh entre mis piernas desnudas.

Todo cabe dentro de este amor tan grande como el riesgo.

The Envoy 100

Page 44

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

Thursday Afternoon

by Marianela Rabell López Hands, legs, rain, your broken body, Van Gogh’s book nestled over my naked lap Everything fits within this love as great as is its risk.

SOMETHING MORE

by Blas Arsenio Valdés Bruceta

The world is something more than a slogan a proposal or a simple and unique idea My world and my universe are reduced to the minimal space of an island I would like my world and my universe, to be more than a paper skiff, a castaway in a pond of tranquil waters.

ALGO MÁS

por Blas Arsenio Valdés Bruceta

El mundo es algo más que una consigna un propósito o una simple y única idea.

Mi mundo y mi universo The Envoy 100

Page 45

están reducidos al mínimo espacio de una isla.

Quisiera que mi mundo y mi universo fueran algo más que un barquito de papel naufragando en las tranquilas aguas de una charca.

PREFERIRÉ

por Eugenio Ernesto González Aguilera

Escojo lo impreciso… el golpe de la suerte inusitada, los perros callejeros y las flores silvestres.

Prefiero los pájaros sin jaulas y los peces sin diques.

Camino con mi propia cruz a cuestas, procurando seguir los pasos de Jesús sin detenerme en medio del camino para mirar atrás o hacia delante.

Jamás escogeré el infierno del orden ni el milagro del caos, preferiré el latido de la piel que anuncia la vida sorprendente como el astro que riela o titila desafiando el destino

PREFERENCES

by Eugenio Ernesto González Aguilera

I choose the imprecise… the strike of unusual luck, mongrel dogs and wild flowers, I prefer birds without cages and fishes without dikes, I walk with my own cross to bear, attempting to follow Jesus´ footsteps without stopping in the middle of the road to look back or to the fore.

I will never choose the agony of order, nor the miracle of chaos, I will prefer the throb of intense effort that announces the surprising life like the star that shimmers or titillates challenging destiny

The Envoy 100

Page 46

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

SIN TI

por José Rafael Escalona Aguilera A mi regresa, por favor, Debes saber, Que te quiero con pasión.

Dolor, Yo siento al pensar, Que te he perdido.

Todo ha cambiado, Sin ti, Mi vida no es feliz.

Espero por el momento, De que vuelvas a mí, Porque te tengo, Porque te siento, Porque te necesito, Para mi total claridad.

WITHOUT YOU

by José Rafael Escalona Aguilera

Come back to me, please, You must know, That I love you passionately.

Pain, I feel when I think, That I have lost you.

Everything has changed, Without you, My life is not happy.

I wait for the moment When you will return to me, Because I have you, Because I feel you, Because I need you, For my illumination.

The Envoy 100

Page 47

THE THREE LUCIAS, JAN. 28, 2014 (Haikus) Mariscos y vino a cada mesa un extranjero

by/por John Hamley

Sea food and wine at each table a foreigner Señora Matamosca juega al ajedrez Lady Flykiller plays chess Todos los ángeles alertas el año nuevo a las puertas del cielo de los cerdos All angels alert new year at the gates of hog heaven La familia del cirujano come bien The surgeon’s family eats well

The Envoy 100

Page 48

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

YOU AND I PRETTY AS THE MORNING

by K.V. Skene

Once again the air is hot and heavy down seven o’clock streets, with the taste and smell of Tuesday Market: fish, sausage, aubergine, tomatoes, oranges, sweet buns with black coffee in thick white cups and the whine of morning traffic, a wasp buzzing long-winged, impatient for nightfall, for the same old moon, its soft light becoming you.

The Envoy 100

Page 49

A FRUITY DAY

by Yanet Alejo Milian

Yellow peaches at my left apples, watermelons Oh, what a fruity day People walking ethnic features down the street surprised fingers unexpected touch An old cover a forgotten book almost invisible black ink in my hand loud noises behind Umbrellas and dim lights

rainy day unknown figures sweet and rotten smells Old brown eyes tired, showing their misery punished angel hidden pain in her body deprived thoughts Small universe hurried shadows a painting of daily life new flavours to taste

The Envoy 100

Page 50

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

SHORT RAP, FOR A LONG TIME

by Katherine Beeman

Lookin’ everywhere down on my knees under the bed cobwebs in my hair behind the shed in paper bags plastic sacks among the file piles can’t have got more than a mile boomeranging back maybe in the flowers maybe in the shower down the crack under the sink ay, my knees creak lookin’ for lookin’ for lookin’ for slinky as a cat fluttery like a bat ah – I have her under my hat my old friend nowhere friend spent friend time.

THE REAL STUFF

by Patrick Connors

No happy endings No altruisms No pain I don’t want to feel By myself Late-night tip-tapping On my type-writer Old-school notions Change your mind By my words The nights get later The Envoy 100

Page 51

The words don’t get deeper I need more time To get ready So I say…

By day I bring cough drops of peace And comfort, for the man, Who said to the Cinderella Man, “You can break his ribs, you can do it!”

The world comes Anon to get certified Allowed to have A similar conversation In fifteen other languages Glad that I, with all my experience, Don’t have to compete For hours…

I’m waiting for the basis, Of what I am to start, To make my life begin Or, at least, to be in the flow; Which defines me as a poet

WORDS

by K.V. Skene

for a wise woman to pin on a phone line, (Just a fax ma'am.) hang, letter by letter, out a dry dialogue day. Words for a writing woman, after dropping an end line, (A slip of syntax ma'am?) fit syllable to syllable by rote on a hard-to-say day. Words for a workaday woman, before righting a wrong line, (Much too abstract ma'am.) send mind over metaphor,

The Envoy 100

Page 52

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

write through a hard-labour day. Words for a woman's woman cross-cutting a heart-line.

(Matter of fact ma'am!) Snip, measure by measure, out a spellbound-to-tell day.

Siem Reap Night

by Keith Inman

The black back of the river shimmers now in coloured scales of light as the Night Market awakens. This is no longer the flat, brown canal we saw today slithering through sleeping trees under a tempering sun.

Bobbled Tuk-tuks line warrened tunnels to vendors yelling from their glittered assembly, nests of hydro wires tethering florescent stalls filled with foreigners where boys flaunt floppy hats, and neon helicopters whirl down on the crowd.

To Heather Heyer

By Ama Luna Without knowing who you are I admire you I thank you And weep for you Without having any idea what was your favorite colour had you yet seen the aurora borealis or are you a day person or a night owl i admire your courage The Envoy 100

Page 53

without knowing much about you there's no need to know more because your blood you shed has already written what was important there'll be others who'll change their TV channel in search of the bachelor, of football or of some other garbage program of the week Heather Heyer, your courage and sacrifice have already been written into history Important datum Woman, daughter, sister you gave your life for your beliefs in the power of love for justice Woman, for you, a blossom, for you, my heartbreak!

The Envoy 100

Page 54

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

The Journey of the Green Goblin

by Adislenis Castro Ruis

The green goblin opened his eyes and viewed the sea.

The white foam splashed his feet barefoot and rough from so much walking, but so much blue to gaze at was a delight.

Never before had he been so near to the ocean, he only remembered the flowing river close to home and the perfume of red roses he loved so much.

Now, he was here, fearful, not knowing what to do, hoping that in some place a door will open that will transport him back to his fantasy world.

Suddenly he heard a sound the gathering clouds hid the sun and a light shower began to fall.

A strong wind wafted over the sea forming an enormous wash of waves that floated a small boat to him.

With a single leap, he was already inside.

The sea stilled; the sun began to shine and in the sky a rainbow arched its colours to join the magical journey of the green goblin.

The Envoy 100

Page 55

El Viaje del Duende Verde

por Adislenis Castro Ruis

El duende verde abrió los ojos y miró el mar.

La espuma blanca salpicaba sus pies descalzos y ásperos de tanto andar, pero contemplar tanto azul lo deleitaba.

Nunca antes había estado tan cerca del océano, solo recordaba el río que corría cerca de su hogar y el perfume de las rosas rojas que tanto amaba.

Ahora estaba ahí, asustado, sin saber qué hacer, esperando que en algún lugar se abriera una puerta que lo regresara a su mundo de fantasías.

De pronto escuchó un sonido, las nubes alodas ocultaron el sol y comenzó a caer una débil lluvia.

Un fuerte viento sopló sobre la mar formando un enorme tren de olas que transportó hasta él un pequeño bote.

De un salto, ya estaba en su interior.

El mar se calmó, el sol comenzó a brillar y en el cielo se formó un arco iris que acompañó con sus colores el mágico viaje del duende verde.

El encuentro

Geydi Daniela León Sánchez

Andando de romería un lugar me impresionó y un cocuyo me alumbró para ver lo que allí había.

Era especie de un vocablo nomenclatura o caudal no me voy a equivocar encontré el nombre, Juan Pablo. photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

The Envoy 100

Page 56

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

The meeting

by Geydi Daniela León Sánchez While taking a small pilgrimage a place impressed me a firefly lit my path to see what was there.

There was a type of literary code word list or wealth I am not going to be mistaken I found the name, Juan Pablo.

Two Balconies

by Lisa Makarchuk

industrial noise incessant air conditioning hum ferry boats blaring deafening rattle of medevac choppers ripping through the fabric of night jungles of glass and steel towers scraping skies which bleed in unforgiving thunderous rain shrieks from ambulance and firetrucks’ sirens meld with crescendos of traffic roar GONE and REPLACED with soft silences of lustrous dawns Black River lapping lazily undisturbed and continuously the whoops of elegant arcs of swoops of fish-diving Caspian terns mergansers, sinuous swans and teal bobbing and wing-beaten from territorial duels Canada geese occupy the grass irritatingly honking at us

The Envoy 100

Page 57

for trespassing on their domain incandescent reds reflect off blackbirds’ wings cardinals darting like sweeping streaks of crimson on green twilights’ dragonflies flit in multi-winged hues of silver and blues seeking their feeding amid cattails and reeds night times illuminated by frenetic flashes of fireflies chasing the dark and we view it all and cocoon in our self-isolation

Racism

by Lisa Makarchuk

why must Black people bear the anti-racism burden alone? we’re in this together a challenge we share racism, unfelt or ignored spreads its immoral perversion rotting our values to their core Indigenous and Black people have paid a grievous price so instead of voicing sympathy or watching silently we can help right those wrongs silence provokes violence inaction, trivial gestures allow racism to prolong its cruelty and ferocity history’s garbage heap is where it belongs the weapon of racism is used The Envoy 100

Page 58

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

to exploit and oppress in order to produce a better bottom line change must induce an attack on philosophies of white supremacy wherever they may be until this system of misery evaporates into past history

Langston Hughes, your bitter river of historical shame will only be dammed when every child, woman and man can expect to be treated the same.

photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto

The Envoy 100

Page 59

THE SNEEZE

by Paul Corman

Guy Thompson feels his heart pounding in his weary chest as he grips the railing on the seat in front. He struggles to find the right prayer. His thoughts alone keep the old orange school bus from careening across the road into the path of some oncoming propane truck. He closes his eyes and sees the fireball that will level half of Toronto and be seen as far away as Rochester, on the other side of Lake Ontario.

Lithium Lilly sits near the back of the bus praying for help in a time of personal confusion. Passengers press their faces to open windows, looking for relief from the August heat. Others hunch sullenly in their seats muttering to unseen companions. Lilly asks for guidance from the supreme creator of all the sticky stuff that holds The Universe together.

Suddenly Lithium Lilly leaps to her feet, marches down the aisle and plops into the seat beside Guy Thompson. Someone has to act she thinks.

"This bus is a piece of shit!" she says to Guy. "If the drugs they pump us full don't kill us, the bus ride will."

Guy studies his white knuckles wrapped tightly around the metal railing.

The bus turns off Parliament St onto Wellesley St, and Lithium Lilly slides across the hot vinyl seat, jamming Guy against the window with her bony hips.

"What they get you for?" she asks Guy. "I'm a space alien come to earth to save humanity."

"No kidding. That's got to be tough work. See that guy over there with the sheet over his head. That's Jesus Christ Almighty. You and he have lots in common."

Guy Thompson pushes his glasses back up his long thin nose and scratches his thick gray beard. He hopes he doesn't have lice again. There is nothing he hates more than lice.

Lithium Lilly brushes limp hair away from her face and scratches her chin, unable to control her impulse to mimic others.

"Hold on a second, Space Guy," Lithium Lilly says. She pulls up her sleeve and looks at a large sports watch on a cheap plastic strap. She takes a neatly folded red handkerchief from her pocket and sneezes into it. Someone at the back of the bus mutters, "Bless you."

The driver parks the school bus on Rawlings Ave, in front of a row of neat little red-brick Victorian houses. Three bored orderlies watch as everyone files out of the bus. Lilly follows Guy Thompson across the grass. "Don't think I ever met a space guy before," she says, running to keep up with him. "Makes me kind of The Envoy 100

Page 60

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

jealous. All I got is this neurotic compulsion to sneeze every ten minutes. It’s nowhere near as glamorous as being God or saving the planet. I wish all I had was being a space guy. This sneezing is driving me nuts."

The effusive greeting from the ducks and goats at the petting zoo turns to indifference when they discover that their new visitors have not brought treats. They go back to scratching in the dirt or sniffing each other's private parts.

A tiny little woman, with a tattoo of Buddha smoking a joint, on her muscular bicep, falls on the grass. She writes about with eyes rolled back into her head.

The orderlies run to help.

Guy and Lilly wander around the side of the barn and down into Riverdale Park and into the Don Valley. They skirt the City Necropolis where a knot of mourners shuffle about trying to stay upwind of the acrid smell of their loved one, billowing from the building's smokestack. The wind changes direction and the mourners rush for their cars.

Guy and Lilly climb the wrought iron fence at the back of St James Cemetery and walk through rows of ancient, weathered headstones, trying to catch their breath. Guy puts his mouth under a watering tap and soaks his head in the cool water.

They lay in the soft grass under an ancient chestnut tree and Lilly offers Guy half a crushed jam and peanut butter sandwich. They eat watching the clouds roll by, naming them after famous saints. A cool breeze blows across the valley and stirs the leaves. The buzz from rush hour traffic, down in the Don Valley Expressway, drifts in the background. They lay in the long cool grass and doze. Later they wake to the sound of a car engine and watch a police car slowly drive down the gravel road. The cops are smoking cigarettes and laughing.

Lilly realizes that she hasn't sneezed in two hours. Guy smiles for the first time in a year.

They sleep in the cemetery that night, spooning to keep warm. Rambunctious birds wake them at daybreak and they walk down to the soup kitchen at All Saint's Church for breakfast, where they discover they have many mutual friends.

Guy and Lilly spend the rest of the summer living together under an on-ramp to the Gardner Expressway, with a family of Swedish tourists who lost all their money when their rental car was stolen by a disgruntled circus clown. Lilly is a natural with languages and learns Swedish in exchange for teaching the children how to panhandle. That fall, she is hired by a publishing house to translate all of Leonard Cohen's poems into Swedish.

Guy resents her success and growing bourgeois lifestyle. He feels his position as the man in the relationship is in jeopardy. To regain his sagging pride he shaves The Envoy 100

Page 61

his beard and goes back to practicing corporate law. They marry, buy a condo with a spectacular view of the lake, and by the next summer are sleeping in separate bedrooms and talking divorce.

Two years later Guy is reading the Wall Street Journal, on the southbound Yonge subway. An intoxicated construction worker snores loudly in the seat across the aisle. Someone at the front of the subway car sneezes and without looking up from his paper Guy mutters, "Bless you!"

HAIKU

de José Rafael Escalona Aguilera

Me encanta el olor a oportunidad que trae cada mañana.

HAIKU

de José Rafael Escalona Aguilera

Has aprendido a delinear las grietas de mi corazón para que parezcan sonrisas.

SIN DOLOR de José Rafael Escalona Aguilera Debo entender que soy tu lamento más hermoso Debes saber que tú eres la única pesadilla de mis sueños Tienes que creer que eres demasiado arte para mi sensibilidad, a pesar de todo, esta vida me duele menos contigo.

HAIKU

by José Rafael Escalona Aguilera

I am enchanted with opportunity´s aroma that each morning brings.

The Envoy 100

Page 62

JULY 2020 THE ENVOY-100 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com

HAIKU

by José Rafael Escalona Aguilera You have learned to outline the cracks in my heart to simulate smiles.

NO PAIN

by José Rafael Escalona Aguilera I must understand that I am your most wonderful lament you must know you are the only nightmare of my dreams you must believe that you are too much art for my sensibility, despite all, this life wounds me less while at your side. photo taken and edited by Montero J.R.

The Envoy 100

Page 63