It is with great please that our Literary Revelations Journal brings you the mesmerizing poetry and recitation of Swarn Gill. The power of Swarn’s metaphors, the aesthetics of his verses, and the philosophy behind them are fabulous. I hope you enjoy this feature.
First, let’s drill into his bio.
Swarn Gill was originally born in Edmonton, Canada. He came to the U.S. for graduate school to pursue his dream of being a meteorology professor. His passion for poetry and writing was rekindled during his PhD. when he realized he had been so focused on one thing that he had neglected other avenues of joy and creativity in his life. Writing enabled him to explore the human condition, reflect on his own life experiences, and capture the beauty of nature through poetry. Initially his journey into writing poetry came from a love of words. The way they dance, play, and flow and the way they sound when spoken aloud. So he began reciting his favorite poems.
Swarn’s writing is also very much informed by his scientific mind. He believes science and nature are constant sources of art and inspiration and it shows in his prose. He takes pride in weaving it into his poetry and prose when possible, braiding his two passions together. Swarn considers himself more of a storyteller than a poet, always favoring a first-person perspective when he writes. This lends his prose to offer his readers an adopted perspective which allows them journey through his evocative narrative as if it is their own. Though not formally trained in literature, Swarn attributes his growth in his writing ability to a strong, supporting writing community online. Swarn describes the community as “a place of truly remarkable people who have helped him improve his poetry skills greatly.” Swarn spends his days teaching, writing, going on walks in nature, and sharing those moments with his friends and family. Currently, he resides in southwest Pennsylvania with his wife and two sons where he is still very active in the local poetry community.
The Appetite of Time
I have a hunger I am taking your moments nothing you do goes unnoticed your memories sit in my belly, digesting you will never stop feeding me the happy, the sad it is all my nutrition
I have a hunger for your physical attrition My tongue slathering around your ligaments teeth gnawing on your bones my hands pulling down your skin your heart, gripped like a vice between fattened thighs
I have a hunger for the demise of all that’s been made it shall crack and crumble mountains will flatten to plains another extinction so delicious sorry evolution it’s the end of your revolution I shall have things my way
I have a hunger even the universe, my prey stars will blink out like city lights bereft of power I pull and stretch at the very fabric of existence all will be dark and lifeless then it will only be me full and content
In The Beginning…
daytime heat wanes an ape sees a rock red-orange beams soften its hardness
she turns around and for the first time in the existence of this unusual species she cannot communicate her eyes drink the sky and she sits. in silence
in the background she hears day-weary life scurrying to hide for a night’s rest
while simpler beasts prepare watchful eyes peering to take advantage of darkness’ boon
no creature but that ape is gazing at the sunset she knows that the world is both exactly the same and forever changed that there is something special. happening to her
oh, to be there at that moment at the inception of beauty
Eric Daniel Clarke is an Englishman, raised in the West Country close to Hardy’s Wessex. He’s lived his adult life near London, working as a scientist in the physical and life sciences, and is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Chemistry. In recent years he began writing poetry and prose. His first collection of poems ‘Shorts: A Take on Poetry’ was published in 2020 by Potter’s Grove Press. His work has appeared in anthologies, most notably two poems ‘Erin’ and ‘A Beginning of An End’ in ‘Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women’ published in 2022 by Experiments in Fiction.
Eric writes contemporary poems on life and relationships in a simple yet thought provoking style. He is currently collating a second collection of poetry. His labor of love is the near completed novella ‘You Can Call Me Erin’ – the story of an online relationship told in verse through the voice of one – the titular Erin.
Notice how Eric’s economy of words enhances the beauty of his pieces. It makes them powerful. It makes them shine.
Today Literary Revelations brings you two poems by Eric and two examples to illustrate the poetry of his verse novella currently titled ‘You Can Call Me Erin.’
When Eyes Blink Images
Can you see a memory, sketch it and colour in, can you tell if daybreak, as shades of dark thin, can you be still, be present, when eyes blink images of where been, who with.
I’ll Ask You
The night we met, in truth I couldn’t tell, the night we first danced, time and place recall, less so the detail, of what said, how long we were in hold, I’ll ask you, you’re still dancing, my feet kind of moving, much as before.
You Can Call Me Erin: Verse Examples
Goodness, do you mean that? No, I don’t think you talk too much. Guys who reach out to me don’t use words the way you do.
I’ll not tell you much about me? What’s a girl to do, you’ve not asked me anything. Yes, you can get to know me, I like that you want to.
Hello Sam, you can call me Erin. I like a man who’s lived, your smile tells me you have, whoever took that photograph knows your angles well.
Yes, you’re the first man I’ve spoken to seriously on here, I got more than I bargained for when I messaged you. You got me asking, are you for real?
The things you say to me, it’s as if you know me. I feel at ease with you, I like your understated manner, you’re good at this aren’t you.
I know that we need to meet, I want to, it’s not a case of having to, okay. We need to get the timing right, next week doesn’t work for me.
Excuse me, what am I supposed to have realised? You’re the one who needs to look. It feels to me as if you’re trying to tell me what to do, I don’t like it, Sam.
You may not think you’re having a dig, but it seems like it to me. It’s obviously not helping you going away again, it’s putting pressure on us both.
I appreciate you’re only asking for a coffee and a chat to begin with, I think it’s a good idea, but please can we sort this out when you get back. How long will it be?
A few weeks! I’d no idea you’d be away that long. My head is pounding, Sam. I can’t take all this in. I’m so unsure what to do. I can’t make sense of the feelings I’ve for you.
First thing Matt Taggart is going to tell you about himself is that he is a loving husband and father. His accomplishments as an author always come second. Taggart is an award winning American author. His piece, “Bodies in the Basement,” was selected publication of the year (non-poetic) at SpillWords Press in 2019. His poetry was published in several anthologies among which the #1 Bestselling Anthology, “Pain & Renewal,” Vita Brevis Press, and “Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women,” Experiments in Fiction. His work was also published in various poetry journals and sites.
Why does Taggart start his bios with: “I am a loving loving husband and father?” I can only speculate. Perhaps because he always carries his childhood with him. Perhaps because as Graham Greene contended: “There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.” Regardless, Taggart’s poetry is a poetry of high caliber. In the writings below the talent of maturity shines through the eyes of a child.
The Abandoned Dawn
He wished the door wouldn’t again open; knowing he’d be forced to become another version of himself. Placed unto him from a variation of life not meant to be seen, or felt, or lived. Now- the footsteps, so very light, unheard by the household so late at night, but felt by the boy, each and every vibration, knowing it would be soon time to close his eyes and beckon the rising moon to please take him along with its translucent majesty high above where his being felt the covers being lifted.
The ravine leading to the brook was steep and beautifully built by nature. The oaks, birch, pines, and maple trees did their best to provide cover from prying eyes. The path leading steeply downward was just on the right hand side of a mostly hidden oak tree and once passed the initial arms of the welcoming foliage, a peace settled inside his body, having started with sight but becoming deeply more while traveling through to his heart and mind. As he rushed, and slid, the young boy grimaced a grimace meant for the gurgling brook. Now, standing here, by the moving stream, he was alone, free, and well. And didn’t it seem that it was always this way.
It is our pleasure to bring you an interview with Gaetano Camillo, a fabulous poet, who was nominated for the Nobel Prize. The interview was conducted by Virginia Mateias https://twitter.com/MateiasVirginia, poet and journalist, living in Montreal, Canada.
Gaetano Camillo has been living in Rome for over 90 years. He has been a football player, a coach, a lyricist. In 1995 Gaetano Camillo was nominated for the Nobel Prize for literature. He was designated by L’UNIPAX as “The Peace Messenger Poet,” and called “Mr Poetry,” or “The Poet of Love.”
He kindly accepted to give Virginia Mateias an interview for our Literary Revelations Journal. We are honored to publish the interview.
V.M.: I’m glad to meet you again, Gaetano. I think that the wisdom and the beauty of the poems you have written are keys to the inner light we all need. However, let’s first talk about the long journey to becoming a poet. You were born in Rome, and, when the Second World War started, you were just 7 years old. How was your childhood in a war-torn city? What did you dream of as a child? What impressed you at that time?
G.C.: First, I would like to thank you for still remembering me after almost 29 years since I had the honor to meet you. I was born in Rome, in a modest family. We lived near the football field where my father was a caretaker. So football was my first toy. The only toy, I can say. When the war started, the bombings, the death, the raids, the 100-gram bread daily ration, deeply marked me at an age when playing should have been my only concern. My dreams as a child… peace, serenity, smiling faces, and the possibility that one day I shall play football on the field I helped my father to tend to.
V.M.: Adolescence is mainly the age of searching for one’s identity. You were a football player and then a coach. How did you turn from a sportsman into a poet? How did poetry appear in your life? Was this the time when your friends called you “Mister Poeta”?
G.C.: When the war ended, poverty forced me to work to help my family. But finally football matches were played again on “my field” and I was there, first as a mascot and then as a player on the same team with those I looked up to. As years went by, my job and my football playing became one. Together with my family, they became the cardinal points of my life. As one cannot be a football player forever, after my retirement I started training almost all the football teams around Rome (Castelli Romani). At that time I had a wish: to write lyrics for the tunes I was humming during the training. I was lucky to meet some people who introduced me to a new “job,” that of a lyricist. In time, showbiz proved a disappointment to me, so I started writing poetry. This proved to be my calling and got me the ”Mister Poeta” nickname.
V.M.: Your poetry has been compared to King Solomon’s “Canticle of Canticles“; to Rabindranath Tagore’s poems; to the great Japanese poetry. Personally, I associate you with Kahlil Gibran. Your poetry, just like Gibran’s, synthesizes eternal human endeavors. Your style is quite elegant in its simplicity. Which of these comparisons do you find to be best?
G.C.: To be honest, I don’t know what to say. I ‘met’ Tagore, Japanese poetry, and Gibran after I had my first books published, when critics compared my poetry to theirs. I cannot say which one I feel closer to because what I write comes from the depth of my soul. In fact, the last poem in “The Song of Nature” – “My poetry is written by the Universe/I just copy it.” .” („La mia poesia la scrive l’Universo / io non faccio che copiare.”) – expresses my “reality” most genuinely.
V.M.: “The Song of Nature” brought you the nomination for the Nobel Prize for literature in 1995. You have received numerous national and international prizes since then. You are considered one of the great modern Italian poets. What is the social role of the poet in the early 21st century?
G.C.: For some time now poetry has been of a secondary importance for people. There are fewer and fewer poetry readers, poetry lovers. In the age of speed, of time spent in front of TV, or on social media, I feel that poetry does not find a place in the readers’ heart as it used to. Nevertheless, I still think that the poet’s role is to write about all those things that give life a sense, about love, about friendship, and never to lose hope.
V.M.: What are the poetic themes you find challenging? Which ones do you love most?
G.C. Love, freedom, and nature. In fact, on the internet, I am often called “The Poet of Love.”
V.M.: Although both your personality and your work embrace the whole world, there are two places that are precious to you: India and Romania. Would you tell us why do you hold these two countries so dear to your heart?
G.C. First there was India, a country that I visited many times, which entered my soul with all her colors and contrasts. The result? In 1992 I had “A Flower from India” published in Hindu and translated in English. Then, after 1998, I had two poetry books translated and published in Romania: “The Flute of Silence” and “The Tree of the Wise Man.” I went to Bucharest for the release of the books, and I got to know a country and people that I felt close to my heart. On that occasion I met my wife, Doina.
V.M.: What brings you joy, and what brings you sadness nowadays?
G.C.: During the last two years there have been, unfortunately, a lot of things that have saddened me: this pandemic that has brought about so much death, climate changes causing disasters all over the world (remember what happened in the Western Europe, in Germany,) the wars in the Middle East, the migrants who died trying to cross the Mediterranean Sea, animals killed as a trophy, forests foolishly felled. Daily there are people, children, dying of starvation. And there are people who pay millions just for space tourism.
The things that fill my heart with joy are fewer and simpler: a scientific breakthrough which can save lives, a peace treaty, children playing in a park, a field with flowers, the health of the people I know, and, last but not least, Italy winning the UEFA.
V.M. One of my favorite books of poetry is “The Tree of the Wise Man.” In 1998 you wrote: “The earth is bleeding…/All living beings are weeping. / Woods are weeping/Rivers are weeping/The man would weep/But he cannot find his tears.” When I read this I thought that empathy is a must for an accomplished poet.
G.C.: Since I was a child, the hardships during the war caused me to pay attention to everything around me, to suffer not only for my family but also for those less fortunate than us. As I’ve grown older, this attention to the world surrounding me kept growing in me, and more than once I’ve put the common good above my own personal good. You are right. I think that, in order to offer full, universal love, it is important to enter the heart and the soul of those around you, to understand their feelings and their trials.
V.M.: Trees have always fascinated us. Where does this magic come from? The art critic Carlo Savini said that your book “Love in the Shadow of the Linden Tree” (Sempre Publishing House, 2001) is “a stone of light.”
G.C.: For me, the trees are sons of Mother Earth just as we are. Their green leaves are full of hope because they know they will be reborn every spring.
V.M.: If you could be reincarnated as a tree, what would you choose? Would you be a fruit tree, a scented tree, or a beautiful blossom tree?
G.C.: That’s easy. If possible, I would be a blossom tree with the scent of the future fruit.
V.M.: Thank you, Gaetano Camillo for the richness and the beauty of the verses you have offered us. I would also like to thank Mrs. Doina Sanda for her help and for being by your side.
A poem by Gaetano Camillo
Love is a zero without walls
Love said, “When you see a snowflake turn into a tear, I’ll be there. When you see a little flower smiling in the sun, I’ll be there. When you close your eyes to look for my light behind your lids, I’ll be there. “
Gaetano Camillo – Selected Publications
Roma in saccoccia (1980, 1982, 1984) Roma pazzo pazzo amore (1989) Amore e spicchi de pallone (1990) Spicchi de pallone (1990, 1992) L’amore e uno zero senza pareti (1992) Une fiore dall »India (1992) Il canto della natura (1994) Quando il calcio diventa amore (1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2006, 2011) L’amore sotto l’albero del tiglio (2001, 2002, 2009) Il pentathlon della vita (2003) Il flauto del silenzio (1998) L’albero del saggio (1999, 2000, 2005, 2006, 2007) Giochi di colore (2002) A flower from India (2002) Mejo de me solo io (2011) Amate l’amore – Riflessioni dell’animo (2011)
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We are excited to open our publishing house with a call for submission to a poetry anthology entitled: Hidden in Childhood.
Are you ready to explore your childhood and tell us what you see there? Are you ready to bring us the magic, the joy, and perhaps the pain of your childhood?
Every life is a miracle. Every child is a spring bud. Bring us the whispers of the spring bud you were, the mysteries and the happiness of any festive days celebrated in your culture. Remember your mother’s lullaby, your innocence, and the eagerness with which your eyes absorbed the world. Remember your father, and your grandparents. Behind your childhood memories is the person you are today. Childhood always comes first. Maturity comes later. Childhood is the pit of the fruit. The fleshy part is maturity.
We are aware that returning to childhood is not always easy. Sometimes innocence with her spring eyes and cuddling dreams is accompanied by pain. We are aware that there are millions of children who suffer in this world. There is poverty, orphanages, child abuse. If your childhood was difficult we understand it is painful to write about it. However, if you feel comfortable writing about, we will eagerly read your story.
To those of you who want to undertake this journey: Pick up your pens. Tap your keyboards. Mesmerize us. Immerse yourself in your memories and give us your best poems.
Some quotes to inspire you.
As a small child, I felt in my heart two contradictory feelings, the horror of life and the ecstasy of life. ― Charles Baudelaire
For in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be. ― John Connolly, The Book of Lost Things
The child, in love with prints and maps, Holds the whole world in his vast appetite. How large the earth is under the lamplight! But in the eyes of memory, how the world is cramped! ― Charles Baudelaire
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Dear Editor, Name: (please use the exact name you want to appear in the anthology) Bio: no more than 40 words. Attached please find my submission. Best
Submissions will close on January 3, 2023.
Next week Literary Revelations will bring you an exciting interview with a Nobel Prize nominee together with his fabulous poetry. Please follow our site and stay tuned.