collection of poems longing for a lover

a collection – she is a seasoned performer whose exquisite poems have been published in respected journals for more than two decades. Sang baco is a new light on the South Indonesia literary scene – having emerged as a writer relatively late in life, she is now an active participant in a writing group for women and is currently completing an MA in Creative Writing. There is therefore every hope that we will see more of her work, and that it will grow still more polished. It is heartening to see these authors circumventing the process by opting for self-publishing, an increasingly respectable route to follow, and one that allows for creative autonomy. Nevertheless, it does also sometimes leave writers without access to quality editing and mentoring. If there is any quibble about these two powerful and poignant collections, it is that judicious editorial intervention could have provided support with the selection and ordering of poems. These are also both collections of love poetry. There is love for parents; and there is the love of a woman for a man, and the love of a woman for a woman. All of these forms of love are presented from the perspective of women writers for whom erotic experience and human life are inseparable. This perspective is nothing short of revolutionary, and this review will demonstrate why.

poetry, 1 :   I "rock"  
When I was a silly and stupid, If you insist, 
you can call me a "rock", but ..
My heart is glue attached to the forehead,
 as> if you wipe the sweat or rain on the forehead, I'm silly, 
dear ..., call me a "rock", or I throw myself (private) in your lap?

poetry 2 : 
These wheels are crazy in love ...  

he> translation miss sent no address,
 is drizzle,,, .. and, spilled on the skin,
 take a look .... all have been wet,  
"Yes .. puddle?" the sea .... prayer, 
to the beach .... berths.
 ________  
poetry 3 : Collapsed on the catwalk
 

"When the wind plated bridge": , Very beautiful ...
"Ngoonnk ... ngoonnk ..", a car horn sounded, the weight of millions of memories scattered,
 on bridges, and rivers that your name
I stopped breathing for a moment, the stories continue to burn,  
In the afternoon on the bridge is a simple story of an epilogue; 
ONLY showcase the rainbow sheen on your face
wind and shake your hair, grew so loud, seems too close to the heart of the bridge, I place a line of poetry on the side of the bridge, if the letter fell, a sign of> he would sail into the dock "Intersection"
____________


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