فراخوان جایزه بین المللی شعر مونترال Montreal ۲۰۲۲ 

این جایزه توسط دپارتمان انگلیسی دانشگاه مک گیل در مونترال کانادا برگزار می شود. هیئت داوران متشکل از شاعران و منتقدان معتبر بین‌المللی فهرست کوتاهی از حدود 60 شعر را انتخاب می‌کنند که داوران از بین آنها یک برنده را انتخاب خواهند کرد. فهرست نهایی در گلچین جایزه شعر مونترال منتشر می شود.

One needs to be a little lost to find it
on a Dutchess County knoll. Building 85
still stands. Look it up. Or better, go yourself.
Its lower story windows broken, boarded,
but the other thirteen floors appear intact enough
to taunt the empty village outside its gates
with State employment. Our lives, that “campus”
and my journeying, have crossed: first as a child,
and later as a doctor who made some kinds of work done there
my habit, my profession, and today, when heading home
from Danbury in the snow, with no one quite expecting me.
I turned off at Wingdale, followed ditches lined with cow vetch
dropping on the downside of a sudden rise. There:
bakery, laundry, low-slung dorms, brick housing
for unlicensed pharmacists, a minor stadium, and, hidden
in the trees, burial ground with rotting gate and lettered arch—
patients abandoned to the place—every inch dissolving,
stripped of flashing, grizzling with mineral ooze.
And over it all, like speaking eye, the glass high-rise, lobotomy
suite, insulin tubs and narrow beds for the electrically changed.
As my father was, strapped down in ’74,
having been there months and shrugging his way
beneath the gaping fence. He told us once he was tired
of trading cigarettes for whiskey in the tunnel
between the dorms, where sex was sold, and coke
and heroin. Said he’d aimed for Armonk, IBM’s mainframe
where he’d been a salesman, been okay, planned to show up
like Santa in a limo, got as far as Ureles Liquor, collapsed
beside the tracks, was brought back in, sent upstairs.
No wonder he made us stay at the sticky picnic table
in the shade when my mother took us there to see him.
No wonder he was afraid to look the orderlies in the eye,
or so I remember seeing, though it may be
I imagined what I saw, eyes alive with what he didn’t tell,
what I felt and what I’ve tried to know so well
it would unknow itself, unwind to nothing, disappear,
why I am unprepared for this cold fear
and rage—could I tear that grim museum
off the map, would that tear him, tear me in two—
no child should ever be there, or have been, no one.

هر اثر باید شعر اصلی و منتشر نشده باشد و ۴۰ سطر یا کمتر باشد.

آثار می توانند در هر موضوعی بوده و باید به زبان انگلیسی نوشته شود.

هزینه شرکت در فراخوان:

■ مبلغ ۲۰ دلار تا ۱۱ اردیبهشت
■ مبلغ ۲۵ دلار از ۱۲ اردیبهشت الی ۲۵ اردیبهشت
■ و مبلغ ۱۷ دلار برای هر اثر اضافه

جوایز:

■ برنده این رقابت مبلغ ۲۰,۰۰۰ CDN جایزه دریافت خواهد کرد.

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