PREAMBLE
Hello and welcome to the opening match of the The Missing Slate‘s Poetry World Cup. Glad you could make it! We’re kicking off with a meeting (not a clash—we’re aiming for something more harmonious) of cultures between South Asia and South America.
Mir Mahfuz Ali, representing Bangladesh, was born in Dhaka, but left his home country after being shot in the throat by a policeman ‘trying to silence the singing of anthems during a public anti-war demonstration.’ Now based in London, Mir Mahfuz Ali brings ‘the sensuousness of a Bengali tradition to the English language’, and he is a consummate performer of his own work, ‘renowned for his extraordinary voice.’
Our Venezuelan representative is Rafael Ayala Páez, a young poet whose work is already beginning to be noticed around the world. His poems have been translated from Spanish into English, French, German and Hebrew, and we’re presenting his work in Roger Hickin’s English translation. Rafael Ayala Páez draws on a number of traditions, and a ‘spiritual connection to the culture of India’ lies behind poems such as ‘Vaisvanara/Agni’.
           
I will visit you I will walk the sunset ~ Mir Mahfuz Ali Impressions Memory is in the fingertips ~ Rafael Ayala Páez, trans. Roger Hickin Read the full poem (in Spanish and English) RESULT: Venezuela won by 10 votes READ MORE… The Missing Slate’s ‘Ekushey February’ feature on writing from Bangladesh, including two poems by Mir Mahfuz Ali. Mir Mahfuz Ali interviewed by SJ Fowler for Poetry Parnassus 2012. Mir Mahfuz Ali’s page at Poetry International Web. Mir Mahfuz Ali reading ‘My Salma’ for the Southbank Centre. A blog post by Pascale Petit, Mir Mahfuz Ali’s mentor for the ‘Ten’ anthology. Agave Magazine‘s interview with Rafael Ayala Páez. An English translation of Rafael Ayala Páez’s ‘This is the house’, in Ink Sweat and Tears. Gregory Zambrano’s review of Rafael Ayala Páez’s work (Spanish). An interview with Rafael Ayala Páez (Spanish). Words Without Borders‘ March 2014 issue on contemporary Venezuelan writing.
when my country floats
in a water-hyacinth,
and ponder how much
I know of your flavour
by catching boaal
and chital fish together.
that loses itself
in your plum-black water…
Colors are in the eyes
Infancy is contained in the backbone
Worlds are born in broken shells
There will always be a sign in every object
made vague in the horizon
An infinite omen in the night
A sparkle suspended on the forehead
An old smell beneath the pebbles
A red sun behind the hills
Sunrises on the eyelids
Balloons floating in the sky…
