October 31 – November 6, 2011: Dori Marler and Nabin Kumar Chhetri

week of October 31 – November 6, 2011

Dori Marler and Nabin Kumar Chhetri

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Dori Marler

Bio (auto)

A painter, writer and poet, Dori Marler discovered her passion for the arts at the early age of 6, writing, drawing, painting, and she has never stopped in her quest for artistic expression, creative knowledge and experimentation. Her art is an extension of her. “I am completely at peace when I am painting or writing. It is as if the world goes away and suddenly hours have passed,” says Dori. “I am interested in portraying beauty and color in a casual, unpretentious way.” It is to this end that Dori presents her work to the public. By exploring many mediums from oil painting to acrylic, pastel, watercolor and charcoal, Dori is able to allow her creativity to flow. Her subject matter ranges from landscapes, still life and seascapes to portraits and abstract expressionism. Her poetry speaks from serious slice of life stories of love, loss and sometimes, whimsy. Dori was one of the featured poets at the San Luis Obispo annual poetry festival in 2005. She has also been featured at monthly open mics including Barnes & Nobel Encino, the Story Salon Studio City, Borders, Canoga Park, Beyond Baroque in Venice and the Rapp Saloon in Santa Monica. Dori was co host at the former bimonthly event, the Poets/Gallery at VIVA Art Center in Sherman Oaks. On the art scene, Dori has served as the Director of the Salon at VIVA and has shown her own art in shows presented by various organizations; Woman Painters West, San Fernando Valley Art Club and the Valley Watercolor Society, are a few.

The following work is Copyright © 2011, and owned by Dori Marler and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Hypnotist

you walked in with your
Tracy Chapman wail
and your Merlot mouth
the floor tilted like the fun house
on the Atlantic City pier
I’d seen your kind before
in Al Pacino movies
but Baby, I dove in anyway
you ran yourself through my veins
like a chemotherapy kick
on strawberry cheesecake
you lit the Christmas lights
on Bud Powell’s ivories
and taught me to breathe
and to give my soft spots
to the bottom of the cure
In the morning I was all purple silk
royal right down to my toes
your good looks left
an outline on my bed
like chalk at a crime scene
repeat after me
step away from the poem
this table is reserved for lovers

Nabin Kumar Chhetri

Bio (auto)

Nabin Kumar Chhetri is a Nepalese poet. He graduated with a degree of M.Litt in Novel from the University of Aberdeen. He has been awarded from Italy, Israel and Nepal for his poems. He has recently won a honorary mention for his poem ‘My Father’s House’ from Nosside International Poetry prize, Italy. His anthology ‘ Zero Passion ‘ ( ISBN No. 8186056238 ) published by writers Forum, India has been catalogued in the National Library, Minister of Culture, India. His poetry has been published in Weyfarers(UK), Ricepaper Magazine(Canada), Penny Dreadful(USA), The Sun(India), Nosside Poetry Anthology(Italy), Quest(India), Spinny Babbler(Nepal), Mawaheb( Canada), Poetry Quarterly(China), Fade Poetry Journal. ( UK), Cynic magazine, New York ( USA), Tower Journal( USA)

The following work is Copyright © 2011, and owned by Nabin Kumar Chhetri and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

A Girl From Hiroshima

That was the fifth year of my school.
The streets were full of wild flowers.
On the backyard, Tommy was playing.
Father, a mechanic had gone to work.
Mother was boiling water for tea.
A lonely kite in the sky,
made small movements, as though,
tired of being in the air, it wanted a drop.
At the garden in front of me,
a butterfly was caressing a rose.
Next to the rosebush, a small cobweb danced in the air.
The spider had long died, mending it.
It was a hot day, sister was at school.

Later, a flash of light came.
Red, brighter than the sun.
Tommy’s leg was in the air.
Father never returned back.
Mother never woke for tea.
My nine years old sister became blind.
Flames poured over me.
Death came in a never-ending string.
I survived looking at the bodies of children,
floating on Ota river.
Others, who had died, left shadows on the walls,
and nightmares that would follow me for years.

I am an old woman now.
It seems I have never grown,
since that day,
when Hiroshima had turned into a furnace.
When the birds had fallen from the sky like stone,
and death came cheap.

Whenever I see the wild flowers,
the faces of those children, come with a force.
I feel my father coming back,
any moment, from the bend of the road.
Sister, returning back from school.
The garden full of flowers again,
like that year when the butterflies came,
right next to my window.

I still feel like that child again,
whom they wanted to kill.


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