The Linking Words

The Linking Words !

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The works published in this volume were written for an international literary project inspired by the motto of Museo de la Palabra: ”The word is the link between people, and the language is the structure that unites us and singles us out as human beings”, and also by the mail art project entitled We Share the Ancient Skies.

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In grammar, linking words are used to combine and connect ideas. The prose and poems written within this project are linking words in the sense of connecting people living under the same ancient skies.

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Magdalena Brzezinska Ambassador of Words for Museo de la Palabra

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Knara Agasaryan; Paul Brannan; Magdalena Brzezinska; Habiba Chouchen; María Eugenia Duque; Patricia Emilien; Carla Grzywacz; Lidia Lemke; Fatima Medina; Ola Porebska; Mineko Tsukamasa Cover Art and Illustrations: Magdalena Brzezinska

Bielsko-Biala, Poland

12. 04. 2015

! ! „Beauty is in nature, beautiful is in your eyes" Patricia Emilien (New Caledonia) 

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Haiku !

A pair of swallows Hurtling up and down Arrival of spring

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Mineko Tsukamasa (Japan) !

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We Share the Ancient Skies

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Cosmos Y They dreamt as they looked way up high At the beauty that is our sky Then wondered how they could fly?

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Then thunk their thoughts with might To solve the conundrum of flight And so they who, invented the kite,

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Designed, inspired by insect and bird Further they went I have heard As vision for them was ne'er blurred

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Alas the kite is held by string, The cleverest men from Peking Wondered how to be the cosmic king

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And so they wandered in in the bazaar To find something that could gaze afar Thus bringing closer that distant star

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Now many have looked from east and west Answering questions that have been addressed Kindly giving their knowledge on request

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To share the wisdom of mankind Carving knowledge of stars, aligned Always sharing everything they find

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So this I think is why we ask the question, why?

Because we dream the dream of how to fly When we look into the beautiful night sky

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Paul Brannan (Great Britain/ Poland) ! ! !

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The word is a link between people

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PALABRAS SIN FRONTERAS

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Texto escrito para disipar fronteras, palabras que se pronuncian en mil colores, para ser pintadas en un lienzo en blanco, virgen como una playa de arena suave.

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Vengo de tierras de nopales y lagos, de sierpes deboradas y colibríes encantados.

Soy “la flor y el canto” de Nezahualcóyotl, la diosa del Omeyocan, la piedra Coyolxahuqui.

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Desde este pueblo sangrante y doliente desdibujo las líneas de mi texto, para que en ese espacio hoy vacío escribas tu palabra de consuelo.

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Quiero escuchar tu voz quedo en mi oído, sentir tu aliento lejano, acercándose; tocar a tu lado una sinfonía inconclusa, sonando timbres nuevos cada día.

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Palabras sin rumbo, buscando un refugio, uniendo tus fonemas a los míos, conjugando verbos, fundiéndose en tus líneas para juntos ser un texto, palabras sin fronteras.

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María Eugenia Duque León, Guanajuato, México.

Marzo 28 del 2015.

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Он шел ей навстречу. Посмотрел, промолчал, прошел. Был поздний вечер, он бесцельно куда-то брел.

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Она его взгляд поймала, удержала в себе, промолчала. В этот вечер, она по незнакомому городу гуляла.

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Каждый продолжил свой путь, молча храня взгляд другого. Он куда-то в итоге пришел, она уехала в родной город.

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Она быстро забыла взгляд незнакомца, он быстро забыл ее. Каждый продолжил жить как и раньше, она без него, он без нее.

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Он шел ей навстречу. Посмотрел, улыбнулся, и тихо сказал: «Привет» Она посмотрела на незнакомца, и улыбнулась в ответ.

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Он предложил прогулку по городу, проболтали они весь вечер. Они назначили новую встречу, в другом городе, в другой вечер.

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Жизнь продолжилась своим чередом, но с небольшим отклонением. Он помнил ее, он думал о ней. Она ждала его с нетерпением.

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Knara Agasaryan (Uzbekistan) ! !

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Little Story

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We had a little story you and I a story of love a story of cry

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but if I could I would do it all over again to give you my hope to give you my time

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though it all went too fast I would not change a thing like the songs you sang to me like the smile you would bring

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I´ll remember you in the vast in the sun, the moon, the stars I´ll tell stories about you stories that only you and I knew

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We had a little story you and I a story of love a story of cry

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Lidia Lemke (Mexico/ Germany) ! !

I Wish to Speak in Silence

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I wish to speak in silence.

Still speak, but in language beholding the sun, in his rise and fall the tide, in her ebb and flow the wind, as it beats against all which stands, and all which has bowed to Time, as it races through every breath of life and every kiss of demise.

(No thing can outrun it, after all, but watching is welcome.)

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And with no words, watch And while watching, latch on change, that cannot be changed on sameness, that shall not stay the same on the bodies I wish to hold, warm or cold And while latching, want to speak what cannot be spoken in hope that, for a moment, with kisses, defy death with breath, create life (That is here to stay.)

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I wish to speak in silence.

Still speak, but in language impregnating the gaps in utterance the lapses in judgment the tension in relation giving birth to meaning, to its absence, to a purpose for sentience in hope that I will not long as much for the company I cannot keep for the words I cannot say if I should long at all.

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Fatima Medina (Philippines) !

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My earliest memory? Sitting on a potty in the middle of the night, my dad’s big hands supporting me mid-sleep. He insisted I pee, unaware that I also had undies on. So we argued a little until he believed me.

I loved falling asleep holding his hand to my cheek. I felt so safe and loved.

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He reads a lot, always had. It’s like a compulsion; he cannot resist a written word. Mum was telling me about his futile attempt at painting a room. When she requested he protects the floor with old newspapers, he had to read each of them. Otherwise, the knowledge would be lost. He collects books. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be amongst thousands of beloved books, being able to read only one at a time.

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My dad was my greatest love. He could do no wrong. He was handsome, wise and omnipotent. Also rather absent, which made him all the more wanted. The betrayal came with him taking up a post abroad. I was five. He was coming home every two – three months for a few days. These were very special times. I remember waking up and discovering a changed kitchen landscape that signaled his return. All the benches were covered with the items he brought from Belarus, strange looking and foreign smelling. I was lavished with toys and unusually tasting treats. An avid reader from age four, I was equally obsessed with deciphering the unfamiliar alphabet on the intriguing objects spread in the kitchen.

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Oh, how I resented the toys. Their presence constantly reminded me of his absence and my abandoned soul.

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Then there were his letters. Reaching out to me, belying the abandonment. Full of love and longing, gut-wrenchingly sad. A blackand-white baby hedgehog photograph, a pencil scribbling on the reverse that he came across it in the forest; that he so wishes I was at his side to see it with him.

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”Why did he have to go?” I asked Rita, the pouty doll he brought for me. She did not say anything, just looked from under her half-closed plastic eyelids, stiffly reclining. Maybe my words could not cross the barriers between us. Firstly, her not quite being human, but her somewhat floppy neck connection did not bode well for our chances to find the linking words.

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(Ola Porebska, Poland/ Australia) !

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HER

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Those dark blue eyes looking down on me, with HER thin cracked lips she controls every being in me, under HER glare I do but quiver, shake, look down, quick yes it`s the trigger,

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A quick slap HER hand lovingly delivers, my red check gives a sharp reminder of my position, HER anger I can hear, teething, screaming, bells now ringing in my ear,

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Don`t leave HER room I hear, don`t leave HER side HER mouth seers, HER house HER shadow, I`m under HER skies it`s all I`m permitted, it`s everything I despise,

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HER guardian I`ve become, HER mum, now I have none, and with a Salome face I blurt out loud where`s my life, my emotions, my voice or my guide,

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No it`s no longer possible, I shake my head, no point in believing I feel just dead,

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But wait there`s no grace, no release from HER sky space, from under my lashes I see HER monstrous face, there must be some sweet release, another sky, another space,

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Don`t go there I`m told, don`t speak to him it`s not proposed, come back to your place, in my shadow, my sky space, once again yet I fear, it`s all I know, it`s everything I hear,

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There`s that dangerous thought creeping in once again, I usually push it away, but I`ve let it stay, stay it does, let it grow, let me grow, let me see a new way, a new road, a new play?

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There`s that crack in HER sky I can`t ignore or disguise, I should creep through and try, get away from HER clutches, something must give and so I strive,

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Don`t go HER mouth screams, leave me and I will crush all your dreams, don`t disobey HER voice says, she wants to put me down yet again,

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But now look am I free?

I have my own sky space, my own love, my family, just these shackles I must release, to achieve my true freedom, to be with others who are free,

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So I push them off, I feel so free no longer will HER face be able to control me

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HER dark blue eyes which no longer dare, HER thin cracked lips can no more flare,

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HER spit, HER hands, HER screams for which I no longer care, I`m finding my own sky space, within this universe,

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Amongst you all, I no longer fear, I have my own place, I have my own idea!

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Carla Grzywacz (Great Britain/ Poland) ! !

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Queen of my heart

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Mother, mother My heart is always calling you My life would be nothing without you You know I faced hard moments It's true But in the darkness your love was the light to guide me through

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Mama, mama You're the queen of my heart Your love is the beginning and the start Your love is the beauty, is an art

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Oh Lord!

I am thankful for each day Her love was by my side, and I pray To see my children growing with her and say Mama, grandma You're the Queen Come what may‌

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Habiba Chouchen (Tunisia) !

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For countless years in a crowd I strolled around a vast and sunny plain.

The place was safe and warm and whole, so perfect I felt it was feigned.

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The people looked a lot like me. ’t was hard to tell us all apart, but when I tried to talk to them, alas, they spoke a different tongue.

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Then came the day when I was sure I had to go or I would fade, and though I chose a weedy path, I felt there’s something at its end.

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It did get lonely when I walked, and sure I had so many doubts, but the serene and ancient skies were always there when I Iooked up.

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Then one day footprints could be seen and next some other footsteps joined.

I knew that finally we will meet, and thus I felt alone no more.

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Each day the prints more obvious grew, and when I finally reached the end, I saw two persons by a gate: one’s skin was black, one wore a veil.

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And strangely, as we three sat down to wait until the gate’s unlocked, we tried to talk, and it turned out we shared the language that we spoke.

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Magdalena Brzezinska (Poland) !

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