 Arlington Literary Journal an ejournal also known as ArLiJo, is located in Arlington, Virginia and is sponsored by Gival Press. The intent of ArLiJo is to feature a variety of authors/poets/artists from around the globe whose work provokes readers to contemplate issues, etc. The work chosen promotes understanding and sensitivity across borders, even if initially the work may cause one to take a double-take. Staff Editor-in-Chief, Robert L. Giron Special Women in Translation Month Editor, Katherine E. Young Intern/Assistant Reviewer, Elena Botts The Reading Period for ArLiJo will open from January 15 to April 15, 2019. Please note that publication in ArLiJo will be by invitation only, starting August 1, 2019. Any work published shall remain the property of the author/poet/artist and for any previously published work to appear the author/poet/artist must still retain the copyright of the work. Please note that ArLiJo is an ejournal. Payment for publication is a book from a selection of books listed below which have been published by Gival Press. Books Available to ArLiJo Contributors NONFICTION: Sexy Liberal! Of Me I Sing by Stephanie Miller FICTION: Dream of Another America by Tyler McMahon Ghost Horse by Thomas H. McNeely Mayhem: Three Lives of a Woman by Elizabeth Harris Show Up, Look Good by Mark Wisniewski That Demon Life by Lowell Mick White Twelve Rivers of the Body by Elizabeth Oness The Cannibal of Guadalajara by David Winner The Best of Gival Press Short Stories ed. by Robert L. Giron The Second Act by Tim Brown Barrow’s Point by Robert Schirmer POETRY: Poetic Voices Without Borders ed by Robert L. Giron On the Altar of Greece by Donna J. Gelagotis Lee Poetic Voices Without Borders 2 ed by Robert L. Giron Songs for the Spirit by Robert L. Giron On the Tongue by Jeff Mann Bones Washed With Wine by Jeff Mann The Great Canopy by Paula Goldman Sweet to Burn by Beverly Burch Protection by Gregg Shapiro Honey by Richard Carr 12 Sonnets for the Zodiac by John Gosslee Adamah: Poème by Celine Zins |
Carolyn Kari Bell Featured in ArLiJo Issue No. 107.  Heart Strings (6x9 oil and cold wax) Copyright © 2017 by Carolyn Kari Bell.  August (18x22 oil and cold wax) Copyright © 2016 by Carolyn Kari Bell.  "Lough Lame (24x30 oil and cold wax) Copyright © 2018 by Carolyn Kari Bell. About the Artist Carolyn Kari Bell works primarily in oil and cold wax and is influenced by everything, from the mundane to the complex. Color, texture and light inform her work along with a no fears approach. Breaking and bending the rules gives rise to creativity. Kari thrives in Colorado. www.karibellart.com María Teresa Ogliastri Featured in ArLiJo Issue No. 107. Otro lirio El anciano abre el cofre y acaricia dos palomas dormidas lo impulsa el deseo unos pies tan pequeños en el suelo las chinelas con peonías muestran un ave que abanica su cola y marca el territorio del cortejo a lo lejos un reclamo un grito timbrado el flujo y el reflujo las olas la niña de vuelta al harén con las mujeres solas otra escoba de palacio otra anciana que conspira otro lirio Otro lirio Copyright © 2013 by María Teresa Ogliastri. Another Lily The old man opens the chest and strokes two sleeping doves he is driven by desire such a dainty pair of feet on the floor her slippers with peonies show a bird that fans its tail and marks the courtship territory a trill from afar a melodious call the ebb and flow of waves the girl back to the harem with the unmarried women another palace broom another conspiring old lady another lily Another Lily Copyright © 2013 by María Teresa Ogliastri (co-translated by Yvette Neisser with Patricia Bejarano Fisher). Brotes de alfalfa Mi madre era de bambú cuando la brisa movía su falda veía las marcas en sus piernas delgadas mi padre tomaba la cintura de sauce y la zarandeaba como una marioneta sin hilos la última concubina haría todo el trabajo de la casa si no tenía un hijo varón los pies de mi madre eran una carreta andaban andaban andaban sin cansarse la recuerdo tumbada en la hierba cerca de la pequeña alberca donde nadaban los patos con una jarrita de porcelana recogía agua y me acercaba hasta donde ella estaba para regar cada dedo cada brote de alfalfa fue la única vez que la vi sonreír ese es el recuerdo más antiguo que tengo del amor Brotes de alfalfa by María Teresa Ogliastri (co-translated by Yvette Neisser with Patricia Bejarano Fisher). Previously published in Blue Lyra Review 2.1 (Spring 2013). Alfalfa Sprouts My mother was made of bamboo whenever the breeze moved her skirt I saw the marks on her thin legs my father would grab her willowy waist and shake her like a stringless marionette the last concubine would do all the housework if she didn’t have a son my mother’s feet were a wheelbarrow going going going never tiring I remember her sprawled on the grass by the small pond where the ducks always swam with a porcelain jug I’d draw water then go over to where she lay and sprinkle every toe every alfalfa sprout that was the only time I saw her smile it is my oldest memory of love Alfalfa Sprouts by María Teresa Ogliastri (co-translated by Yvette Neisser with Patricia Bejarano Fisher). Previously published in Blue Lyra Review 2.1 (Spring 2013). Para ser emperatriz Para ser emperatriz no bastaba el sello de jade ni entrelazar las escamas en el lecho imperial necesitaba una armadura de piedra un corazón de lagarto y engullir entero pero cuanto más alto es el árbol más larga es su sombra cuando se vive tan cerca del peligro debemos arreglar la tumba con pieles de osos soldados de terracota y amuletos de jade cuando se vive tan cerca del peligro debemos conocer el camino a la Vía de los Espíritus y esperar la bondad de los dioses cuando se vive tan cerca del peligro la sombra del árbol no debe arroparnos Para ser emperatriz by María Teresa Ogliastri (co-translated by Yvette Neisser with Patricia Bejarano Fisher). Previously published in Blue Lyra Review 2.1 (Spring 2013). To Be Empress To be empress it wasn’t enough to have a jade seal or to ravel our scales on the imperial bed I needed an armor of rock the heart of a lizard and to swallow things whole but the taller the tree the longer its shadow when you live so close to danger you must prepare your grave with skins of bears soldiers of clay amulets of jade when you live so close to danger you must learn the way to the Spirit Path and hope for mercy from the gods when you live so close to danger you must not take shelter in the shadow of the tree To Be Empress by María Teresa Ogliastri (co-translated by Yvette Neisser with Patricia Bejarano Fisher). Previously published in Blue Lyra Review 2.1 (Spring 2013). About the Authors Maria Teresa Ogliastri lives in Caracas, Venezuela. She is the author of five collections of poems: Del diario de la señora Mao (From the Diary of Madame Mao, 2011), Polo Sur (2008), Brotes de Alfalfa (Alfalfa Sprouts, 2007), Nosotros los inmortales (We, the Immortals, 1997) and Cola de Plata (Silver Tail, 1994). Her poems have appeared in several anthologies of contemporary Venezuelan poetry. Yvette Neisser is the author of Grip, winner of the 2011 Gival Press Poetry Award. Her translations from Spanish include South Pole/Polo Sur by María Teresa Ogliastri and Difficult Beauty: Selected Poems by Luis Alberto Ambroggio. Her poems, translations, essays, and reviews have appeared in such publications as Foreign Policy in Focus, Virginia Quarterly Review, and the Bloomsbury Anthology of Contemporary Jewish American Poetry. She is a founding Board Member of the DC-Area Literary Translators Network (DC-ALT) and has taught writing at George Washington University and The Writer’s Center. Patricia Bejarano Fisher is an experienced translator now focusing exclusively on poetry. Her work includes a co-translation of Venezuelan poet MT Ogliastri’s South Pole/Polo Sur (Settlement House, 2012) and From the Diary of Madame Mao. Her translations have appeared in literary journals, as well as in Laura Shovan’s The Last Fifth Grade of Emerson Elementary (2016), and in Danuta E. Kosk-Kosicka (Ed.) Szklana góra/Glass Mountain (2017), among others. Simon Read Featured in ArLiJo Issue No. 107. The Way We Move The pub was empty. All the lights were on and some of the bar stools had been knocked over. Like everyone had left in a hurry. Evidently some kind of ’happening’ had just happened. I walked to the bar and looked behind it - the barman was sitting on the floor holding a gun to his head. “OK if I fix myself a beer?“ I asked. “Sure thing buddy,“ he replied, “help yourself. I’m just about to blow my brains out. Any time now.“ “What shape are those things in your head?“ I enquired. I poured out a beer and watched him. He put the gun down. “Close your eyes and take a look. And notice the colours too“. A money spider was descending in slow motion from the ceiling. A clock was ticking somewhere. “Tell me,“ I said. “Orange,“ he answered, “no, wait. No, red, bright red. They’re all red. And tubey. Red and tubey.“ He opened his eyes and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Scarlet tubulars,“ I explained. “That’s not good, my friend.“ “What do they mean?“ “They mean you’re fucked and nobody gives a rat’s ass. They mean you’re a dead man“. The lights flickered off and the gun fired. I felt the urge to leave. The streets were out there. Concrete jungle calling. I needed to roam. Somebody somewhere once said something about man being the wildest beast of all. I left the pub singing softly what was in my head. “I like the way that crows move. I like the way that squirrels move too. I like the way that you move baby. I think we gonna boogaloo.“ Copyright © 2018 by Simon Read. About the Author Simon Read lives in the UK. His work includes short fiction, poetry, lyrics, songs, and word-based artworks. Simon’s work has been published, or is forthcoming, in a variety of magazines including Mystic Blue Review, Riggwelter, Moon Magazine, and Spontaneity. You can find out more at: https://ashadowfalling.wordpress.com Stacey Silverfink Featured in ArLiJo Issue 107 [In my world of denial] In my world of denial, Life was merely a terrible entity, And as love itself was insufficient, There was no peace or any saving grace, And it was simply comparable to an insolvable crime, And I only rationalized all of my emptiness, And as I also counted all of my chickens long before they hatched, I also believed that money could always buy happiness, And I saved old thread, Only scraping the bottom of the barrel, And I only cared to stay home perpetually, Never caring to obtain any new knowledge, And I could do nothing but stagnate, But your love is like a magnet that sustains me. Copyright © 2018 by Stacey Silverfink. About the Author Stacey Silverfink, born in Manhattan, has worked and lived on the North Shore of Long Island, New York. She graduated from the New York Institute of Technology and has worked as a generalist paralegal. The themes of her poems center on the redeeming value of love over many of life—s vicissitudes. She hopes to inspire through her poems. |
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