The Ofi Press Magazine

International Poetry and Literature from Mexico City

The Ofi Press Literary Magazine Issue 32- October 2013

 

05-10-2013

Dear Readers,

I am delighted to present issue 32 of The Ofi Press with eclectic poetry, fiction and interviews from all over the world. As you know we have moved to a bimonthly format now and so each edition will be jammed packed with even more writing from around the world!  In this edition we have poetry from Pedro Serrano (Mexico), Lars Palm (Sweden), Rinzu Rajan (India), George Mario Angel Quintero (USA/ Colombia), Julie Maclean (UK/ Australia), Stephen Watt (UK), Beth Jellicoe (UK), Sarah Hymas (UK), Fernando de la Cruz (Mexico), Don Cellini (USA) and Steffan Gwynn (UK). We have fiction from Bob Little (UK), Maria Kenny (Ireland), Jasmine Jade Toledo (USA/ Puerto Rico), Angela G. Fabunan (The Phillipines/ USA) and Srdjan Srdic (Serbia). You can find interviews with author Cris Mazza (USA), poet Eva Salzman (USA/ UK) and football referee Kimberly Hadley (Canada).

I have said this before but the most pleasurable part of editing this magazine is reading all of the submissions and meeting such wonderful writers and people. Thank you.

Our next reading of 2013 will be held at the American Legion at 25 Celaya in Mexico City starting at 7.45pm on October the 16th. I hope you can make it. Our forthcoming open mic nights have all been set for the third Wednesday of each month. Please check out our events page for more information!

I hope you enjoy this month's reading and as ever, if you have any questions or comments, please contact us at: theofipress@mail.com, follow us on twitter @theofipress or find us on facebook at “Ofi Press Mexico”. 

Un abrazo a todos!

Jack- Editor

Classic Poem

 

Mnemosyne

By Trumbull Stickney (1905)

 It’s autumn in the country I remember.

How warm a wind blew here about the ways!
And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber
During the long sun-sweetened summer-days.

It’s cold abroad the country I remember.

The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain
At midday with a wing aslant and limber;
And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain.

It’s empty down the country I remember.

I had a sister lovely in my sight:
Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre;
We sang together in the woods at night.

It’s lonely in the country I remember.

The babble of our children fills my ears,
And on our hearth I stare the perished ember
To flames that show all starry thro’ my tears.

It’s dark about the country I remember.

There are the mountains where I lived. The path
Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber,
The stumps are twisted by the tempests’ wrath.

But that I knew these places are my own,
I’d ask how came such wretchedness to cumber
The earth, and I to people it alone.

It rains across the country I remember.