Ann Arbor Review


Robert Nisbet
Alan Britt
Jennifer Burd
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Running Cub
Elisavietta Ritchie
Odimegwu Onwumere
Laszlo Slomovits
Lyn Lifshin
Ramesh Dohan
Silvia Scheibli
Alex Ferde
Richard Kostelanetz
Richard Gartee
Irsa Ruci
Duane Locke
Janet Buck
Nahshon Cook

Jim Daniels
Fred Wolven
Peycho Kanev
Ali Znaidi
Sunday Eyitayo Michael
Karyn M. Bruce
Arsim Halili
Engjell I. Berisha
Muharrem Kurti

Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2015 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 48 years all together....


Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

Submissions via e-mail:



A little idyllic time
for the white lit passages for letters of love
for the wave of a river for the creeks
for the soft voice for the light wind
a little time for the mistakes of an error
for the pardoned error and the extended hand
for all the initiatives without quarrel

A little time for relaxing on the sea
for the sea of dusk and fallen leaves
for you who has his desire for my good joys
a little time to the forgiveness of envy
for the accepted envy for the cloudiness of the forehead
during the envy
for the excited woman and suffered man
for the sun from the east for nature when becoming full of stars


Today I am not in Migration Today
I am not in migration I am not with the ice of the shade on a path

Today I am not in Asylum
Neither eating sadness with myself

Today I have no nostalgia
Neither engulfed with the autumnís leaves in Solitude

Today I don't have rain my eyes
neither remember with longing to make a call

Today I am not in hiding
Shrinking and frozen as an iceberg


How the darkness arrived
and abandoned hope
on half of the way

Why kisses did not come closer
to each other
to provide fire for lips
How they donít walk in the multicolored garden
only two nights
Free like a moon amidst the stars above

How it entered amidst the heart
the ice of blame with frost
and did not allow to see that creek
that was providing milk to love.


Muharrem Kurti, Prishtina, Kosovo

Translator (from Albanian): Peter M. Tase, Milwaukee, Wisconsin


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