Tag Archives: Inner Child Press International

Guest Post

I have met my guest of today only virtually. Tali Cohen Shabtai was one of the poetry contributors to the most recent two anthologies that have been published by Inner Child Press International, Corona . . . Social Distancing and The Heart of a Poet. She and I have corresponded with one another on more than one occasion while I was compiling all submissions to the above-mentioned anthologies. When Tali inquired from me about an English-language platform of literary focus a few days ago, I have welcomed her here with enthusiasm. Please take a moment to get to know this young accomplished poet of an intriguing public voice.

 

 

 

Tali wants this one

 


My Guest’s Biography
as Written by Tali Cohen Shabtai

 

Tali Cohen Shabtai, is a poet, she was born in Jerusalem, Israel. She began writing poetry at the age of six, she had been an excellent student of literature. She began her writings by publishing her impressions in the school’s newspaper. Frst of all she published her poetry in a prestigious literary magazine of Israel ‘Moznayim’ when she was fifteen years old.

Tali has written three poetry books: Purple Diluted in a Black’s Thick, (bilingual 2007), Protest (bilingual 2012) and Nine Years Away From You (2018).

Tali’s poems expresses spiritual and physical exile. She is studying her exile and freedom paradox, her cosmopolitan vision is very obvious in her writings. She lived some years in Oslo Norway and in the U.S.A. She is very prominent as a poet with a special lyric, “she doesn’t give herself easily, but subject to her own rules”.

Tali studied at the “David Yellin College of Education” for a bachelor’s degree. She is a member of the Hebrew Writers Association and the Israeli Writers Association in the state of Israel.

In 2014, Cohen Shabtai also participated in a Norwegian documentary about poets’ lives called “The Last Bohemian”- “Den Siste Bohemien”,and screened in the cinema in Scandinavia. By 2020, her fourth book of poetry will be published which will also be published in Norway. Her literary works have been translated into many languages as well.


A Poem by My Guest, Tali Cohen Shabtai


I am Tali \ Tali Cohen Shabtai

I read prose only in the third person,
and only translated prose,
poetry, I also read in Hebrew.

I love Wislawa Szymborska, she copies in written word
the creation
in a brilliant fashion, and was recognized during her lifetime and was not among
the female poets who danced the ‘dance of death in life’
for that I lowered her credit.

I think it’s impossible to tag in one breath! A contemporary poetess with
characters that preserved the myth of the ‘cursed poetesses’. For they are
found only in the underground or tomb
There is no negotiation with this judgement

Mainstreamism repels me.
Bestsellers I do not touch.
I love nonfiction books.
Newspapers do not count at all as the writing and reading genre.

And my therapist I address in the second person singular
while omitting the third degree: “doctor”, it’s ok, it’s acceptable –
many poetesses have sat in my chair in front of him
Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath,
and those who ended up as their own hangman.

I often write in the first person singular and also to talk
It is
my way to circumvent
myself from afar.

And do not ask what I often write about! I do not like rhetorical questions that belittle
my intellect.
Tali Cohen Shabtai.

 

Tali Cohen Shabtai’s Links:

Blog
Lexicon of New Hebrew Literature

 

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A Prose-Poem on Audio and as Text

I Do!

Do you ever reminisce about our sensation? I do! I had lain on the emerald ground, unwrapping myself in the softness of your scent . . . alongside the compassionate creek of our first encounter . . . cradled by the rays of the afternoon sun.

Do you ever look back on the tiny ripples anew? I do! They had slowed down to honor our euphoric reunion. Witnessing our fiery souls flow into one another, learning and approving.

The wind envied our harmonious spread, and assembled its brutal forces. Thus came the abrupt end. Like a lightning. Fiercely brash.

I had kept my delicate “i” at bay, hoping for you not to float on. I have since pampered, re-dressed and preserved the ‘what ifs’ of our oft-resounding dread. They insist on haunting me yet. My old self thus is entangled in a merciless no-exit-thread.

Would you have possibly favored me instead, had I opted to defy the boulder at the barricade?

~ ~ ~
From my latest book, Letter-Poems from a Beloved (prose poetry), available at Inner Child Press International and at Amazon.com

 

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“Human Bridges”

While in prison for 27 years,
Nelson Mandela has recited famously
one poem repeatedly:
“Invictus”, as versed by William Ernest Henley

Henley remained on Earth
between 1849 and 1903.
15 years following his death,
our globe was honored by Mandela’s birth.

One day, countless people woke up
to Mandela’s supposedly silenced voice
and learned about the restrictions and violence
he faced throughout his unjust imprisonment.

The now world-renowned Henley-poem
brought to clear view for humanity
self-empowerment’s vitality:
Mandela was anything but a broken man!

An enemy of war just like Aristide Briand,
Carlos Saavedra-Lamas also made history.
Latin America’s first Nobel Peace Prize
belongs to him. The year was 1936.

Born 19 years later,
I, like the poets in this collection,
did always and continue to heed poetry’s call
with an “unconquerable soul”.

I, like the poets in this collection,
arrived here with determination
to pen poems in deep thought and reflection,
showing our respect for him with dedication.

“Invictus” is being re-visited here.
(Minus any time in jail. Thankfully.)
For, through our poetry of and on peace,
we become “the master of [our] fate”.

Not unlike Mandela,
not unlike Saavedra-Lamas,
“I am the captain of my soul.”
You are it, too. Do you not yet know?

 

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 15, 2020

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Human Bridges” appeared in the April 2020 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book published by Inner Child Press International.

Related Readings:

Nelson Mandela
“Invictus”
William Ernest Henley
Carlos Saavedra Lamas
Aristide Briand

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“Internationalism”

Internationalism

What a concept for our times!

After all, not perilous are all -isms.

Internationalism . . .
a passionate dedication to world peace . . .
hence, the key to the betterment of humanity.

I dream of the day
when, across the board,
our curricula dons finally
a sweeping devotion to humanism,
an unconditional inclusion-ism.

A dream, not impossible to make true . . .

If only
each of us
were to aspire
to inhale and exhale
as the likes of Henry La Fontaine!

© hülya n. yılmaz, 2.10.2020

*One of my three poems that appeared in the February 2020 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly international anthology, published by Inner Child Press International.

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An Enemy of War

I Too Am an Enemy of War

Love left another note on my nightstand.
This time, dance steps donned the paper.

The god of war had met the end of its life.
“Suicide” was the cause of his much-awaited demise.

The autopsy report did not mince words.
Laughter and joy set the tables at the wake.

© hülya n. yılmaz, February 10, 2020

*One of my three poems that appeared in the March 2020 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly international anthology, published by Inner Child Press International.

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“A Duet with Xue Tao”

A Duet with Xue Tao

Xue Tao:

My soul, conforming to this crescent,
dwindles
and flying, now chases a gathering of skies.
Its fine light form, against the darkness, fills
again
and, from all this world of men, its circle can
be seen.

[Xue Tao, “Moon” in The Brocade River Collection]

hülya n. yılmaz:

a gentle wind
lowers itself onto the arid leaf
thirsty for the attar of a new breath
awaiting in patience the first drop
underneath layers of the frozen white

it whispers promises anew
unlocks the box after Pandora leaves

she has been tricked . . .

no ill seeps through this time
the bolt’s ice will not be melting yet
in joyous dance unite hope and smiles
dreams and love recover again

Goethe calls out as if for me:

“Muses, help me with art,
To suffer joy’s pain!”

Ludwig Uhland’s painless joy
cuddles me with a kissing breeze:

“Oh fresh scent, oh new sound!
Now, poor heart, fear not!
Now everything, everything must change.”

[hülya n. yılmaz, “a gentle wind” in Aflame, Memoirs in Verse]

 

(c) hülya n. yılmaz (October 19, 2019)

This post displays one of my three poems that have been included in the November 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet, published by Inner Child Press International.

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“A Duet with Zhuo Wenjun”

A Duet with Zhuo Wenjun

Zhuo Wenjun:

Love should be pure, as white as snow on the mountain,
And as bright as the moon amid the clouds.
I heard of your duplicitous intentions,
So I came to break off our relationship.
Today we drink a cup of wine and bid farewell,
Tomorrow we part ways at the moat.
I walk alone above the imperial moat,
And watch the water flowing eastward.
Cold and sorrowful,
A bride at her wedding should not weep.
I want a man who loves me with single-hearted devotion,
And we will stay together as our hair turns white.
A loving couple should be like the shimmering fish
Wriggling at the end of a bamboo rod.
A man who values loyalty
Is worth more than money can buy.

[Zhuo Wenjun, “Song of White Hair”]

hülya n. yılmaz:

once the aged soul
has undressed to the core
layers of her body-fabric become vain
waiting for an annihilating frost to set in,
the inconsolable void might attain its resolve
fanaticizing that the fangs of lost love
have begun at last to will to eat away
the one punica granatum in decay

one red droplet at a time . . .

[hülya n. yılmaz, “a crying Pomegranate” in Aflame, Memoirs in Verse]

~ ~ ~
This poem is one of my three that have been included in the November 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet, published by Inner Child Press International.

 

 

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“The Igbu Landing

The Igbu Landing

Denial came as it still tends to do.
“It’s only a legend”, shouted the well-to-do.
In his time or now, he was no legend however,
Roswell King, the white overseer.
His ink had mastered a horrifying account;
Not far away, but from a plantation nearby.
Pierce Butler was the name of the God-forsaken place
Where the white overseer once again put history to shame.
Those died in mass suicide were given not one single name.

© hülya n. yılmaz, March 15, 2019

This poem has been published by Inner Child Press International in the April 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI.

* An excerpt from the source, Igbo Landing Mass Suicide: “While many historians for centuries have cast doubt on the Igbo Landing mass suicide, suggesting that the entire incident was more legend than fact, the accounts Roswell King and others provided at the time were verified by post-1980 research which used modern scientific techniques to reconstruct the episode and confirm the factual basis of the longstanding oral accounts.

In September 2002, the St. Simons African American community organized a two-day commemoration with events related to Igbo history and a procession to the site of the mass suicide. Seventy-five attendees came from different states across the United States, as well Nigeria, Brazil, and Haiti. The attendees designated the site as a holy ground and called for the souls to be permanently at rest. The Igbo Landing is now part of the curriculum for coastal Georgia schools.”

 

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“my ABCs”

my ABCs

one morning, as i found out
i had learned my ABCs
from A to V, that is
Venezuela
Argentina
Colombia
Suriname
Paraguay
Uruguay
Ecuador
Guyana
Bolivia
Brazil
Chile
Peru

yes, oh yes!
i now know my ABCs
but only in South America . . .

Asia? Europe? Africa?
Australia? Antarctica? North America?

not as of yet . . .

© hülya n. yılmaz, December 31, 2018

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This poem is one of the three I have submitted for the February 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI, published by Inner Child Press International.

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“indigenous”

indigenous

are we not all?
indigenous, that is?

at some point or another
our host country has feasted itself
with our native tongue, customs
traditions – our native everything
but then, our origins’ uniqueness began to melt
into our new home’s sphere
we were in no despair
we were devoted
and quested
to make it
here

our religion began to change
as did our original language
our ways of life altered themselves
we also had much baggage
from our long-gone past
we needed to adapt fast

did i say “indigenous”?
are we not all?

© hülya n. yılmaz, December 31, 2018

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This poem will be published by Inner Child Press International in the February 2019 issue of The Year of the Poet VI.

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