Leialoha Apo Perkins
1998. Hawai'i Award for Literature. (Hawai'i State Foundation for Culture and the Arts and the Hawai'i Literary Arts Council) . more »
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Leialoha Apo Perkins Poems
When Akhmatova Met Mikhail Bulgakov, und...
He knew. A summons glues all. The air sucks itself dry, then dies. There’s little time to write a note: “To the country for the day -Don’t wait.'
The Saga of Nazedha, Akhmatova, Tsvetaev...
Who knows what insects Mandelstam kissed, blessing, before eating them? (What he drank to down it all?) What he ate: Ants with their delicate air, sleek black body parts, snipped waist, massive heads eyeing who, what, there?
Akhmatova At The News of Vladimir Mayako...
Shot! Shot yourself! Body punctured! Lumped! Limp! Gone! Snapped! Life derring diddle doo! What could a bullet, cosmos
Akhmatova Hears of Osip Mandelstam's Dea...
The kitchen sink cracked The air stalked out His voice hung Dead centre of her heart
There, Akhmatova Stood: Of Young Lev, im...
Grief has no face, no feet. Its hands, bound, tongue paralyzed - if withered is the heart. Eating is from inside small paned windows looking out and seeing snow descend, bend trees to sag. Snow: glass.
One by one – husband, lovers, friends Wrote, slicing truths wafer thin From turds of brute lies – courage Incised by knives. Every turn
Akkmatova Visits Alexander Blok, The Gre...
So you sat in his living room, the Poet’s, and noticed his gaze consumed you and you dared not look back? You averted looking back, held yourself
Trembling, furious, quaking Fundaments - silently screaming eagles was Akhmatova. “This man is a Firebrand! A Torch! Poet! He loves peacocks, even song, old maps!
In Akhmatova's House One Evening
How many times must the NKVD knock on the door? Snap to attention, boot heels clicking, the brass knuckles of their belts glint on the polished oak floor? The china quivers,
Comments about Leialoha Apo Perkins
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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When Akhmatova Met Mikhail Bulgakov, under condemnation
He knew. A summons glues all. The air sucks itself dry,
then dies. There’s little time to write a note:
“To the country for the day -Don’t wait.'
A summon unsticks too. Relatives, friends, foes stand back.
He said “Let’s walk.” To the river. His wife’s hair
burnished iodine gold in the sun that morning.
His infant son kicked the irreverent air.
It was cold, cold out.
A summons arches like a scimitar.
He said nothing about the Commissar’s note.
Everyone knew. The Bureau smells – that old, familiar fear.
An odor permeates – the newspaper, the ...