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	<title>Stella Pierides &#187; Poetry</title>
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	<description>Literature, Art, Culture, Society</description>
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		<title>They send light to Earth</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/they-send-light-to-earth</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/they-send-light-to-earth#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 29 Aug 2010 19:43:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
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		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[featured]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Murnau Moor]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poem]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=1013</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I am delighted and  honored! My micro-poem They send light to Earth was chosen to be the first piece to be published by new e-zine @textofiction. Brand new, “Textofiction is an online literary publication dedicated to bringing the best writing in under 140 characters.&#8221; Read my micro-poem and think, it packs a lot in. Better [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div id="attachment_1014" class="wp-caption alignleft" style="width: 310px"><a href="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/theysendlight.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-1014 " title="theysendlight" src="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/theysendlight-300x224.jpg" alt="Murnau Moor" width="300" height="224" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Murnau Moor</p></div>
<p>I am delighted and  honored! My micro-poem <em>They send light to Earth </em>was chosen to be the first piece to be published by new e-zine <a href="http://textofiction.wordpress.com/"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">@textofiction</span></strong></a>.</p>
<p>Brand new, “Textofiction is an online literary publication dedicated to bringing the best writing in under 140 characters.&#8221;</p>
<p>Read my micro-poem and think, it packs a lot in. Better still, let me know your thoughts about it! Read it <a href="http://textofiction.wordpress.com/2010/08/29/1/"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">here</span></strong></a></p>
<p>Date of publication: 29 August 2010</p>
<h1></h1>
<p><strong><br />
</strong><strong><strong></strong></strong></p>
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		<title>Frisian Lands</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/frisian-lands</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/frisian-lands#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 19 Aug 2010 06:43:11 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[News]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[highlight]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frisia]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poem]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=977</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I brought back from my holiday this picture of the Frisian landscape  ( I&#8217;ve never seen so much sky! ) and a freshly-penned poem. Read it in escarp, &#8220;a text-message-based review of super-brief literature.&#8221; number of view: 45]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div id="attachment_978" class="wp-caption alignleft" style="width: 150px"><a href="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/frisianlands.jpg"><img class="size-thumbnail wp-image-978    " style="margin: 5px; border: 0pt none;" title="frisianlands" src="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/frisianlands-150x150.jpg" alt="Frisia" width="140" height="150" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">Frisian Lands</p></div>
<p>I brought back from my holiday this picture of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frisia"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">Frisian</span></strong></a> landscape  ( I&#8217;ve never seen so much sky! ) and a freshly-penned poem. Read it in <a href="http://www.escarp.org/posts/21516938793.php"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">escarp</span></strong></a>, &#8220;a text-message-based review of super-brief literature.&#8221;</p>
number of view: 45]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>One Sound, One World</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/one-sound-one-world</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/one-sound-one-world#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 17 Aug 2010 12:06:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poem]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=958</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[One Sound, One World Photo credit: Jessica Hilltout I wrote this poem during the 2010 World Cup, when everyone was talking about vuvuzelas. It appeared in escarp: &#8221; a text-message-based review of super-brief literature,&#8221; 17 June 2010. xxxxx One Sound, One World Big, tough fella loud, racy lass timid Cinderella prodigy, alas blow your vuvuzela [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div id="content">
<div>
<div><a href="http://www.escarp.org/posts/16419341542.php"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">One Sound, One World</span></strong></a></div>
<div><a href="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/zu2k62731.jpg"><img class="size-thumbnail wp-image-901 alignright" style="margin: 5px; border: 5px solid black;" title="zu2k6273" src="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/zu2k62731-150x150.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="150" /></a><a href="../wp-content/uploads/ZU2K8358.jpg"><img class="aligncenter" style="border: 5px solid black; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px;" title="ZU2K8358" src="../wp-content/uploads/ZU2K8358-150x150.jpg" alt="Handmade Football 1" width="150" height="150" /></a></p>
<p>Photo credit: <a href="http://www.jessicahilltout.com/collections/amen.html"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;"><strong>Jessica Hilltout</strong></span></strong></a></p>
</div>
<div>I wrote this poem during the 2010 World Cup, when everyone was talking about vuvuzelas. It appeared in <a href="http://www.escarp.org/index.php"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">escarp</span></strong></a>: &#8221; a text-message-based review of super-brief literature,&#8221; 17 June 2010.</div>
<div><span style="color: #c0c0c0;">xxxxx</span></div>
<div><span style="color: #c0c0c0;"><br />
</span></div>
<div><a href="http://www.escarp.org/posts/16419341542.php"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">One Sound, One World</span></strong></a></div>
<div>
<p>Big, tough fella</p>
<p>loud, racy lass</p>
<p>timid Cinderella</p>
<p>prodigy, alas</p>
<p>blow your vuvuzela</p>
<p>if you must.</p>
<p>See also my post:<span style="color: #ff0000;"> <a href="http://stellapierides.com/blog/whatever-you-think-about-football"><strong>Whatever you think about football</strong></a></span></p>
</div>
<div><a href="http://twitter.com/escarp/statuses/16419341542">Thursday, June 17th, 2010</a></div>
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number of view: 48]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>The Garden of Eden</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/the-garden-of-eden-2</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/the-garden-of-eden-2#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 11 Jul 2010 08:31:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=860</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Does the Garden of Eden look like this? A steady flowing river, whispering reeds and listening fish;  a flowering meadow,  a gentle mountain breeze, green to delight the eye, colorful mosaic of insects. It certainly felt like the Garden of Eden. If not, what does the Garden of Eden look like? Perhaps my twitter poem [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><a href="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/Garden-of-Eden3.jpg"><img class="alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-861" title="Garden of Eden" src="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/Garden-of-Eden3-150x150.jpg" alt="Garden of Eden" width="150" height="150" /></a>Does the Garden of Eden look like this?</p>
<p>A steady flowing river, whispering reeds and listening fish;  a  flowering meadow,  a gentle mountain breeze, green to delight the eye,  colorful mosaic of insects. It certainly felt like the Garden of Eden.</p>
<p>If not, what does the Garden of Eden look like?</p>
<p>Perhaps my twitter poem earlier in the Spring caught something of  this quality, though the Cornmill Meadows are in the outskirts of London  while the landscape in this picture is in the valley of the river Ammer  near Ettal and Oberammergau.</p>
<p>At the Cornmill Meadows</p>
<p>dragonflies rest on nettles</p>
<p>comfrey,  buttercups</p>
<p>and the smooth stones</p>
<p>of the shallow stream.</p>
<p>(Published in <strong><a href="http://www.escarp.org/posts/14381715386.php">Escarp</a></strong>,  a &#8220;review of super-brief literature&#8221;)</p>
<p>Photo Credit: Attentive Eye</p>
number of view: 136]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>Dragonflies</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/dragonflies</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/dragonflies#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 22 May 2010 08:29:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[News]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=636</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I went for a walk to the Dragonfly Sanctuary in the Lee Valley Park,  near Waltham Abbey, in the outskirts of London. Peaceful and dreamy, idyllic&#8230; though a different note entered my mind when I read the information provided about dragonflies: the lower lip technique of the dragonfly nymphs catching their prey, the cannibalism as [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I went for a walk to the <a href="http://bit.ly/9rWX1g"><span style="color: #ff0000;">Dragonfly Sanctuary</span></a> in the Lee Valley Park,  near Waltham Abbey, in the outskirts of London. Peaceful and dreamy, idyllic&#8230; though a different note entered my mind when I read the information provided about dragonflies: the lower lip technique of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonfly">dragonfly nymphs</a> catching their prey, the cannibalism as a way of regulating population&#8230;<br />
Reflecting on my experience, I wrote this <strong><a href="http://bit.ly/a2Q2OQ">poem</a></strong> which can be read both as a perfect idyll, with the dragonflies resting within a sssssh soundscape of silence; and as the calm before the next rush of the dragonfly for its prey.</p>
<p>The poem was published in escarp,  a text-message-based review of super-brief literature (<a href="http://www.escarp.org">www.escarp.org</a>).</p>
number of view: 75]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>Comment on &#8220;Suicide Note&#8221;</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/blog/comment-on-suicide-note</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/blog/comment-on-suicide-note#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 18 May 2010 16:17:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Blog items Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reading Room Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poem]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=625</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Anuradha Vijayakrishnan’s poem &#8220;Suicide Note&#8221; was published in Cha: An Asian Literary Journal This poem is a suicide note addressed to a number of unusual addressees, leaving the content of the note to the reader’s imagination. It puzzled and haunted me for the last few weeks: its exquisite, lyrical tone, its mysteries and the ways [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h2>Anuradha Vijayakrishnan’s poem &#8220;<a href="http://www.asiancha.com/index.php?option=com_content&amp;task=view&amp;id=562&amp;Itemid=230">Suicide Note</a>&#8221; was published in Cha: An Asian Literary Journal</h2>
<p>This poem is a suicide note addressed to a number of unusual addressees, leaving the content of the note to the reader’s imagination. It puzzled and haunted me for the last few weeks: its exquisite, lyrical tone, its mysteries and the ways it brings nature alive through its lines.</p>
<p>A Critical analysis by <span style="color: #ff0000;"><strong>Tammy Ho Laiming</strong></span> and <strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">Jarno Jakonen</span></strong> appeared recently in<a href="http://finecha.wordpress.com/2010/05/02/a-cup-of-fine-tea-anuradha-vijayakrishnan/"><strong> A Cup of Fine Cha</strong>.</a> I thoroughly enjoyed reading both, poem and analysis, and kept them with me for weeks, chewing on words, mulling over the subtle allusions.</p>
<p>Tammy Ho Laiming and Jarno Jakonen&#8217;s analysis of the poem, as well as the comments, provide a beautiful and multi-faceted context to the poem. There is whole list of addressees in this “Suicide Note”: “frog, cicadas, rain clouds, gardens, worms, grass, deer, curtains, noise, lights, glass trails, heart, hands, ink, bruises, rivers, summers, monsoons and thunderbolts,” which the analysis and the comments fully and thoroughly explore.</p>
<p>I have nothing to add, except one question: <strong>Where are the people</strong>? Where are the relationships with people? The nature described in the poem is giving, generous – though providing what is usually offered by humans: warmth is offered by glow worms, for instance. And as if to emphasize the point, neighbours and strangers appear only impersonally as in “the shining lights of the neighbours and their last ashen cigarettes.”</p>
<p>So, for me, there is so much loneliness and sadness in the persona pouring out every time nature stands in for the human touch: friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues, or even kind strangers. What could be more indicative of sadness, and indeed despair, than the need to use “broken glass trails that will show the way to strangers”?</p>
<p>From this perspective, what if, in a well-encrypted way, we are led to ask: does the poem take the line of praising nature instead of criticizing<strong> fatal failings</strong> of the human heart?</p>
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		<title>On “Where were you last night?”</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/blog/on-%e2%80%9cwhere-were-you-last-night%e2%80%9d</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/blog/on-%e2%80%9cwhere-were-you-last-night%e2%80%9d#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 26 Apr 2010 06:41:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Blog items Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reading Room Blog]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=610</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[In this beautiful and haunting poem, Tammy Ho offers interesting answers to this question. The poem is part of a project in which she writes poems on demand. She asks that those interested email her something about themselves – an incident, a piece of information, a photograph – and she will then write a poem [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>In this beautiful and haunting poem, <strong><span style="color: #ff0000;"><a href="http://tammyholaiming.com/2010/04/21/where-were-you-last-night/">Tammy Ho</a></span></strong> offers interesting answers to this question. The poem is part of a project in which she writes <a href="http://tammyholaiming.com/2010/04/05/for-you/">poems on demand</a>. She asks that those interested email her something about themselves – an incident, a piece of information, a photograph – and she will then write a poem dedicated to them, inspired by the material they sent.</p>
<p>The poem “<span style="color: #ff0000;">Where were you last night</span>?” was written for a photographer friend; his photograph of a pair of bedroom slippers with the words “Her bedroom sippers,” used for inspiration.</p>
<p>The poet rose to the occasion, a difficult one, since it does not simply involve writing in response to a photograph, but a picture by a photographer and friend. How close is the friendship, one wants to ask, how much information is one not privy to, why bedroom slippers, what is the artist’s intention? And yet, on reading the poem, these questions lose their urgency, as we enter, or rather are led into, a world we feel we know, which however appears magical at the same time. From a book launch, to fairy tales, to Moscow, to Chelsea, to hotels and linguistic stops, we are taken round the world and back into the poet’s arms.</p>
<p>There are so many things I like about this poem that to single out one thing would do injustice to the rest. Nevertheless, I will pick out a theme which resonates particularly strongly with me.</p>
<p>The first stanza gives a clue that serves as an entry point. The narrator might be asking herself the question “<a href="http://tammyholaiming.com/2010/04/21/where-were-you-last-night/">Where were you …?</a>” The book launch she attended was a boring event, too many writers’ egos, neat piles of books and lots of wine on an empty stomach! But we know you can’t judge a book by its cover. This leads the narrator to crack open the book pile, and the stories, fairy tales, metaphors, characters come tumbling out in the subsequent stanzas. The writer is never bored, or alone… and the reader is certainly entertained and amused, but also puzzled.</p>
<p>At the same time, a sense of longing and loneliness comes across in the poem. “<a href="http://tammyholaiming.com/2010/04/21/where-were-you-last-night/"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">Where were you last night?</span></strong></a>” might also be a question asked of the “you” in the poem – as if the narrator wished the “you” had been with her. The repeated question suggests feeling excluded, or left; and all that within the context of closer intimacy claimed by the words in the photograph “Her bedroom slippers.” In asking the “where were you” question, the narrator implies “you” could have been with her, “at home,” in her own arms, with her wearing “her bedroom slippers.” Perhaps, the fact that “you” were not is just as well, as one might imagine that, had that “you” been at home with her, the poem might not have been written!</p>
<p>In this sense, for me, this poem also explores the source(s) of <strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">creativity</span></strong>: is the feeling of a lack, of longing and of loss an essential ingredient of creative work? What other ingredients are there? And why is inspiration and creative effort so often experienced as capricious, and fragile, needing to be nursed and safeguarded? There is a powerful hint in the poem at our anxieties about the fragility of the creative process: one snowflake and we can be blinded for ever… There is a display of poetic force in this poem which transcends and transforms the longing into a poetic journey well worth embarking on.</p>
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		<title>Eleanor Ross Taylor</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/other-writers/eleanor-ross-taylor</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/other-writers/eleanor-ross-taylor#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Apr 2010 08:51:47 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Blog items Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Other Writers]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=603</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Disappearing Act, Eleanor Ross Taylor&#8217;s poem can be read in The Guardian by clicking http://bit.ly/c98Rhi It is a brilliant self-reflective poem, based on experiencing the human body as a thinking as well as a feeling person. Winner of the 2010 Poetry Foundation&#8217;s Ruth Lilly award, she made the news at a time when she was [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Disappearing Act, Eleanor Ross Taylor&#8217;s poem can be read in <em><a href="http://bit.ly/c98Rhi"><strong><span style="color: #ff0000;">The Guardian</span></strong></a></em> by clicking <a href="http://bit.ly/c98Rhi"><strong>http://bit.ly/c98Rhi</strong></a></p>
<p>It is a brilliant self-reflective poem, based on experiencing the human body as a thinking as well as a feeling person.</p>
<p>Winner of the 2010 Poetry Foundation&#8217;s Ruth Lilly award, she made the news at a time when she was almost forgotten.  Poetry magazine editor Christian Wiman, commented on her &#8220;sober and clear-eyed serenity,&#8221;  and her strong  reserve. &#8220;We live in a time when poetic styles seem to  become more antic and frantic by the day, and Taylor&#8217;s voice has been  muted from the start,&#8221; <strong><span style="color: #ff0000;"><em>The Guardian</em> </span></strong>reported.  Others, commenting on her award, made strong references to her age.</p>
<p>Her poetry, though, speaks for her talent and originality; her making us see the world anew &#8211; in this case, our own body.</p>
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		<title>Sketch</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/sketch</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/sketch#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Apr 2010 07:10:43 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[News]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=594</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[My Twitter-sized poem Sketch published in Escarp, sketches an idyllic picture of an old city. It also hints at  links between old cities, cobbled streets and Silence: http://www.escarp.org/ number of view: 138]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>My Twitter-sized poem <span style="color: #ff0000;">Sketch</span> published in<a href="http://www.escarp.org/12177797583.php"> <strong>Escarp</strong></a><a href="http://www.escarp.org/">,</a> sketches an idyllic picture of an old city. It also hints at  links between old cities, cobbled streets and Silence:<a href="http://www.escarp.org/12177797583.php"> </a><strong><a href="http://www.escarp.org/12177797583.php">http://www.escarp.org/</a><br />
</strong></p>
number of view: 138]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>Domesday Tweet</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/domesday-tweet</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/domesday-tweet#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 27 Mar 2010 06:58:52 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[News]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Climate]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Eden]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Environment]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Twitter]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=527</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I wrote this Twitter-sized poem on environmental awareness, the mania of cataloging, and our need, as well as the  impossibility, to recreate and return to Eden. Have a look: click here number of view: 109]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I wrote this Twitter-sized poem on environmental awareness, the mania of cataloging, and our need, as well as the  impossibility, to recreate and return to Eden. Have a look: <a href="http://www.escarp.org/11101623785.php"><strong>click here</strong></a> </p>
number of view: 109]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>Szirtes defends Poetry</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/blog/szirtes-defends-poetry</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/blog/szirtes-defends-poetry#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 10 Mar 2010 11:07:17 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Blog items Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reading Room Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=512</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[George Szirtes defends poetry: Poetry conjures the presence of things, their physicality&#8230; it is experienced through the body as much as the mind. &#8220;&#8230;but the chief use of poetry to sense the presence of the toad in language, without which sense nothing happens, without which the language enterprise is all imaginary gardens in which only ghosts [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>George Szirtes defends poetry: Poetry conjures the presence of things, their physicality&#8230; it is experienced through the body as much as the mind. &#8220;&#8230;but the chief use of poetry to sense the presence of the toad in language, without which sense nothing happens, without which the language enterprise is all imaginary gardens in which only ghosts can live.&#8221; Read it by clicking here: <a href="http://georgeszirtes.blogspot.com/">George Szirtes blog</a> Then, go find that toad, say, by reading one of his poems: &#8220;<a href="http://qarrtsiluni.com/2007/10/30/say/">Say</a>&#8220;</p>
number of view: 225]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>Song of the Aegean</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/song-of-the-aegean</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/song-of-the-aegean#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 28 Feb 2010 16:37:23 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Aegean]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Odysey]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/?p=488</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I wrote this poem thinking of the Aegean, the stories attached to it, from the Trojan war, to Odysseus’ crisscrossing the sea to return to Ithaca, to the sponge divers risking their lives to earn a living… - This poem appeared in Poetry Monthly, issue 150, October 2008. (This was the last edition of the [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I wrote this poem thinking of the Aegean, the stories attached to it, from the Trojan war, to Odysseus’ crisscrossing the sea to return to Ithaca, to the sponge divers risking their lives to earn a living…</p>
<p>-<br />
This poem appeared in Poetry Monthly, issue 150, October 2008. (This was the last edition of the magazine; afterwards, it came back as the online journal Poetry Monthly International)</p>
<p><span style="color: #0000ff;"><strong>Song of the Aegean</strong></span></p>
<p>Sea, azure, shoal, white sails,<br />
Pines, sponges, diving tales</p>
<p>Winds, caique, bitter waves,<br />
Oars, wreckage, soulful prayer</p>
<p>Odyssey, memory, dolphin leaps,<br />
Marble, Kalymnos, Ariadne sings.</p>
number of view: 97]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>Girl</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/girl</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/girl#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 11 Dec 2009 14:16:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Girl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[National Gallery]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Painting]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poem]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Robert Campin]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Woman]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/wp/?p=165</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Girl I wrote this poem in response to the painting titled Woman by Robert Campin. The painting can be found in the National Gallery, London. Here is the link: http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/robert-campin-a-woman My poem, Girl, can be found in the print Journal Off the Coast, International/Translation Issue, Spring 2009. Girl after ‘Woman’ by Robert Campin, 1378-1444, National [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<h3>Girl</h3>
<p>I wrote this poem in response to the painting titled <em>Woman</em> by Robert Campin. The painting can be found in the National Gallery, London. Here is the link: <a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/robert-campin-a-woman">http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/robert-campin-a-woman</a></p>
<p>My poem,<strong> Girl,</strong> can be found in the print Journal <em><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Off the Coast</span></em>, International/Translation Issue, Spring 2009.</p>
<p><span style="color: #0000ff"><strong>Girl</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="color: #000000">after ‘Woman’ by Robert Campin, 1378-1444, National Gallery</span></p>
<p><span style="color: #000000"><span style="color: #ffffff;"> </span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: #000000"> </span></p>
<p><em>She rarely smiles. A thick, white veil<br />
frames her face, stops her innocence<br />
from straying too far;<br />
remembering the world outside.</em></p>
<p><em>Here she lives, here she is<br />
and here she stays: four walls,<br />
bench, Bible, rosary, Cross,<br />
pair of clogs, glass, pebble,<br />
compass, chair, table.</em></p>
<p><em>She would be lost, but<br />
for her little pleasure:<br />
a bowl of coconut ice<br />
refectory Sister leaves<br />
on her windowsill.</em></p>
<p><em><img class="alignnone" title="'Girl,' in Off the Coast" src="http://stellapierides.com/wp-content/uploads/h-232x300.jpg" alt="'Girl,' in Off the Coast" /></em></p>
number of view: 189]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>History is on His Side</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/history-is-on-his-side</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/history-is-on-his-side#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 27 May 2007 16:32:23 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[History]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/wp/?p=22</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This poem was written for the tenth anniversary of Ken Saro-Wiwa's death. It is included in the anthology Dance the Guns to Silence, edited by nii ayikwei Parkes and Kadija Sesay, London: Flipped Eye Publishing, 2005.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>This poem was written on the tenth anniversary of Ken Saro-Wiwa&#8217;s death. It  is included in the anthology <em>Dance the Guns to Silence</em>, edited by nii ayikwei Parkes and Kadija Sesay, London: Flipped Eye Publishing, 2005.</p>
<p><span style="color: #0000ff;"><strong>History is on His Side</strong></span></p>
<p>‘No,’ he said, No to oppression, No to injustice,<br />
No to violence. Even as he stood before the guards.<br />
The sun was rising proper in the East, blushing the soil scarlet.</p>
<p>Sozaboy was with soldiers, arguing with the heart<br />
of darkness. We all stand before history, he thought, and<br />
‘No,’ he murmured through cracked lips. ‘No.’</p>
<p>He could not wipe his sweat mimicking sorrow’s tears.<br />
His tied hands tried. His crowded heart pounding with the fear<br />
of the unknowable. He mouthed ‘No,’ just before<br />
their fifth attempt to hang him. Who will claim<br />
the corpse of free speech, but those with a pen<br />
to their name? History is on his side. And ours. Yes.</p>
number of view: 118]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>If Trees, Then Olive Trees</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/if-trees-then-olive-trees</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/if-trees-then-olive-trees#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 24 May 2007 16:30:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Odysseus]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Olive Trees]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[War]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/wp/?p=18</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This poem was published in the Big Pond Rumours ezine, summer 2006. It won second Prize in the Big Pond Rumours Poetry Competition. I wrote it for Tania and Jaque&#8217;s  house-warming party and it is dedicated to them. If Trees, Then Olive Trees You ploughed the seas. You crossed the skies. Saw the shipwrecks. Gathered your [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>This poem was published in the<em> Big Pond Rumours</em> ezine, summer 2006. It won second Prize in the<em> Big Pond Rumours</em> Poetry Competition.</p>
<p>I wrote it for Tania and Jaque&#8217;s  house-warming party and it is dedicated to them.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #0000ff;">If Trees, Then Olive Trees</span></strong></p>
<p>You ploughed the seas. You crossed the skies. Saw the shipwrecks. Gathered<br />
your wealth in words. Then, like Odysseus seeing the smoke rising, you decided<br />
to become trees. To grow roots, you wrote. To grow. And while the bulldozers</p>
<p>work round you, while the Fates, the Wars, the Envious, the Arrogant,<br />
lay siege to you, as they always do and always will, remember to stand your ground<br />
like thousand year-old olives, twisting golden brown trunks and holding hands. Expand,<br />
burrow deeper and fashion a silky smooth quilt, a glowing oil lamp, a warming hearth,<br />
a spacious kitchen, a deep well and a cool, vine-clad terrace.</p>
<p>Odyssey is a memory. A treasure and a well-kept secret. Your home always yearned<br />
for you. Your olive-tree bed rooted to the ground. Penelope with outstretched<br />
arms will hug you. The lyre and the xylophone. The drum and the flute will lead you.<br />
And you will dance, and dance and sing the life she could only dream of.</p>
<p>And if, like the man of old, you find your journey not yet over,<br />
embark on each new voyage with zest. Plan each trip in language,<br />
build your boats with words. Thread your sails with rays from your joyous souls.<br />
And for fuel, for fuel employ the subtle beating of your hearts.</p>
number of view: 111]]></content:encoded>
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		<title>On Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections</title>
		<link>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/the-corrections</link>
		<comments>http://stellapierides.com/poetry/the-corrections#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 26 Apr 2005 16:33:53 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>stella</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://stellapierides.com/wp/?p=24</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The emptiness of it. The emptiness of Albert Lambert´s mind. The slow, and fast, draining, slackening, loosening of connections, of language, of life. Parkinsons, he says; Dementia. Depression. There is no healing possible. No repair. No reparation. Page after page, as I read the book. Page after page, as it discharges its meaning; Jonathan Franzen´s [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>The emptiness of it. The emptiness of Albert Lambert´s mind. The slow, and fast, draining, slackening, loosening of connections, of language, of life. Parkinsons, he says; Dementia. Depression. There is no healing possible. No repair. No reparation.<span id="more-24"></span></p>
<p>Page after page, as I read the book. Page after page, as it discharges its meaning; Jonathan Franzen´s meaning, I fall. My heart shrinks, my thoughts slow, my hope fades. I read on. I laugh. I go and eat. I squirm. I weep.</p>
<p>“Why have you left me?” I say out loud to the empty side of my bed, to the wall next to it – I weep more. Albert lost his world and all that’s in it. I lost you. My world and all that’s in it. Now, the last page turned, the last thought in place, loss aiming at me between the eyes, I gasp.</p>
<p>Again, my emptiness. I pick up the book lying next to me. I put it down again. I blow my nose and wipe my tears. “Why did you leave me?” I ask, my voice hoarse. A black ink circle appears on the duvet cover, crowning the tip of my pen. In a trance, I lift the pen and place it between the pages of my empty notebook.</p>
<p>I rise to make myself a cup of fennel tea. As I cross my bedroom door, Albert is more real to me than you. He stands next to me, his head tilted, smiling the inscrutable smile of the terminally embarrassed. I smile back.  And reach out.</p>
<p><em>This prose poem appears in Aesthetica: A Review of Contemporary Artists, issue 9, 2005. It is available from </em><a href="http://www.aestheticamagazine.com/"><em>www.aestheticamagazine.com</em></a><em> and various outlets listed on their website</em></p>
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