On January 15, 2016, the first issue of the Scarlet Leaf Review saw the light of the Internet. One year after, it's reached 462,478 hits and offered us the joy of reading and publishing authors of all nationalities, ages, genres and ideas. 

It's been an interesting year - we have grown a lot and learnt a lot. This year opened our eyes to a new world of literature. We have had the chance to publish authors for the first time but also to enjoy the writings of seasoned authors. 

There is more ahead of us but we are proud of what we have accomplished with the contribution of so many talented people. We are also grateful for the chance we have had - to encounter so many promising talents and to join a world of ideas and principles. 

We want to thank you all of you: authors and readers. You have made this year of existence exciting and memorable. 

The Jan 15 2017 edition will not follow the same recipe as the ones before. The structure is different. Don't worry: we aren't as nonconformist as we may seem! On Jan 16, the regular issue will be live as well and will not differ in structure as this one.  Keep in mind, you can look at the categories on the right side of the page and find the name of the author you want to read. 

Let's also not forget that Jan 15 is the anniversary of the great poet Mihai Eminescu, the misunderstood genius, whose words are so compelling that people learnt Romanian just to be able to read his poems in original. We published some of his poems in the first issue of this magazine, however, we will republish one of them - Evening Star - as it is one of his most famous poems:



                                                    EVENING STAR
 
There was, as in the fairy tales,
As ne'er in the time's raid,
There was, of famous royal blood
A most beautiful maid. 
 
She was her parents' only child,
Bright like the sun at noon,
Like the Virgin midst the saints
And among stars the moon. 
 
From the deep shadow of the vaults
Her step now she directs
Toward a window; at its nook
Bright Evening-star expects. 
 
She looks as in the distant seas
He rises, darts his rays
And leads the blackish, loaded ships
On the wet, moving, ways. 
 
To look at him every night
Her soul her instincts spur;
And as he looks at her for weeks
He falls in love with her. 
 
And as on her elbows she leans
Her temple and her whim
She feels in her heart and soul that
She falls in love with him. 
 
And ev'ry night his stormy flames
More stormily renew
When in the shadow of the castle
She shows to his bright view. 
 
* *
 
And to her room with her slow steps
He bears his steps and aims
Weaving out of his sparkles cold
A toil of shaking flames. 
 
And when she throws upon her bed
Her tired limbs and reposes,
He glides his light along her hands
And her sweet eyelash closes. 
 
And from the mirror on her shape
A beam has spread and burns,
On her big eyes that beat though closed
And on her face that turns. 
 
Her smiles view him; the mirror shows
Him trembling in the nook
For he is plunging in her dream
So that their souls may hook. 
 
She speaks with him in sleep and sighs
While her heart's swelled veins drum:
-"O sweet Lord of my fairy nights,
Why comest thou not? Come!
 
Descend to me, mild Evening-star
Thou canst glide on a beam,
Enter my dwelling and my mind
And over my life gleam!"
 
And he listens and trembles and
Still more for her love craves
And as quick as the lightning he
Plunges into the waves. 
 
The water in that very spot
Moves rolling many rings
And out of the unknown, dark, depth
A superb young man springs. 
 
As on a threshold o'er the sill
His hasty steps he leads,
Holds in his hand a staff with, at
Its top, a crown of reeds!
 
A young Voivode he seems to be
With soft and golden hair;
A blue shroud binds in a knot on
His naked shoulder fair. 
 
The shade of his face is of wax
And thou canst see throughout -
A handsome dead man with live eyes
That throw their sparkles out. 
 
-"From my sphere hardly I come to
Follow thy call and thee,
The heaven is my father and
My mother is the sea. 
 
So that I could come to thy room
And look at thee from near
With my light reborn from waves my
Fate toward thee I steer. 
 
O come, my treasure wonderful
And thy world leave aside;
For I am Evening-star up from
And thou wouldst be my bride. 
 
In my palace of coral I'll
Take thee for evermore
And the entire world of the sea
Will kneel before thy door. "
 
-"O thou art beautiful as but
In dreams an angel shows,
The way though thou hast oped for me
For me's for ever close. 
 
Thy port and mien and speech are strange
Life thy gleams don't impart,
For I'm alive and thou art dead
And thy eyes chill my heart. "
 
* *
 
Days have past since: but Evening-star
Comes up againd and stays
Just as before, spreading o'er her
His clear, translucent rays. 
 
In sleep she would remember him
And, as before, her whole
Wish for the Master of the waves
Is clinching now her soul. 
 
-"Descend to me, mild Evening-star
Thou canst glide on a beam,
Enter my dwelling and my mind
And over my life gleam!"
 
He hears: and from the dire despair
Of such an woeful weird
He dies, and the heavens revolve
Where he has disappeared. 
 
Soon in the air flames ruddy spread,
The world in their grip hold;
A superb form the spasms of the
Chaotic valleys mold. 
 
On his locks of black hair he bears
His crown a fierce fire frames;
He floats as he really comes
Swimming in the sun's flames. 
 
His black shroud lets develop out
His arms marbly and hale;
He pensively and sadly brings
His face awfully pale. 
 
But his big wonderful eyes' gleam,
Chimerically deep,
Shows two unsatiated spasms
That but into dark peep. 
 
-"From my sphere hardly I come to
Follow thy voice, thy sight;
The bright sun is my father and
My mother is the night. 
 
O come, my treasure wonderful
And thy world leave aside
For I am Evening-star from up
And thou wouldst be my bride. 
 
O come, and upon thy blond hair
Crowns of stars I shall crowd,
And more that all of them, up there,
Thou wild look fair and proud. "
 
-"O thou art beautiful as but
In dreams a demon shows,
The way though hast oped for me
For me's for ever close. 
 
The depths of my breast ache from the
Desire of thy fierce love
My heavy, big eyes also ache
When into them thine shove". 
 
-"But how wouldst thou that I come down?
Know this - for, do I lie? -:
I am immortal, while thou art
One of those that must die!"
 
-"I hate big words, nor do I know
How to begin my plea;
And although thy discourse is clear
I don't understand thee. 
 
But if thou wantest my flamed love
And that would not be sham,
Come down on this temporal earth,
Be mortal as I am!"
 
-"I'd lose my immortality
For but one kiss of thine!
Well, I will show thee how much too
For thy fierce love I pine!
 
Yes, I shall be reborn from sin,
Receive another creed:
From that endlessness to which I
Am tied, I shall be freed!"
 
And out he went, he went, went out,
Loving a human fay,
He plucked himself off from the sky,
Went for many a day. 
 
* *
 
Meanwhile, the house-boy, Catalin,
Sly, and who often jests
When he's filling with wine the cups
Of the banqueting guests;
 
A page that carries step by step
The trail of the Queen's gown,
A wandering bastard, but bold
Like no one in the town;
 
His little cheek - a peony
That under the sun stews;
Watchful, just like a thief, he sneaks
In Catalina's views. 
 
-"How beautiful she grew" - thinks he -
"A flower just to pluck!
Now, Catalin, but now it is
Thy chance to try thy luck!"
 
And by the way, hurriedly, he
Corners that human fay:
-"What's with thee, Catalin? Let me
Alone and go thy way!"
 
-"No! I want thee to stay away
From thoughts that have no fun. 
I want to see thee only laugh,
Give me a kiss, just one!"
 
-"I don't know what it is about
And, believe me, retire!
But for one Evening-star up from
I've kept my strong desire!"
 
-"If thou dost not know I could show
Thee all about love's balm!
Only, don't give way to thy ire
And listen and be calm. 
 
So as the hunter throws the net
That many birds would harm,
When I'll stretch my left arm to thee,
Enlace me with thy arm. 
 
Under my eyes keep thine and don't
Let them move on their wheels
And if I lift thee by the waist
Thou must lift on thy heels. 
 
When I bend down my face, to hold
Thine up must be thy strife;
So, to each other we could throw
Sweet, eager, looks for life. 
 
And so that thou have about love
A knowledge true and plain,
When I stoop to kiss thee, thou must
Kiss me too and again. "
 
With much bewilderment her mind
The little boy's word fills,
And shyly and nicely now she
Wills not, and now she wills. 
 
And slowly she tells him:- "Since thy
Childhood I've known thy wit,
And as thou art and glib and small
My temper thou wouldst fit. 
 
But Evening-star sprung from the calm
Of the oblivion,
Though, gives horizon limitless
To the sea lone and dun. 
 
And secretly, I close my eyes
For my eyelash tears dim
When the waves of the sea go on
Travelling toward him. 
 
He shines with love unspeakable
So that my pains he'd leach,
But higher and higher soars, so
That his hand I'd ne'er reach. 
 
Sadly thrusts from the worlds which from
My soul his cold ray bar. . . 
I shall love him for ever and
For ever he'll rove far. 
 
Like the unmeasured steppes my days
Are deaf and wild, therefore,
But my nights spread a holy charm
I understand no more!"
 
-"Thou art a child! Let's go! Through new
Lands our own fate let's frame!
Soon they shall have lost our trace and
Forgot even our name!
 
We shall be both wise, glad and whole
As my judgement infers
And thou wouldst not long for thy kin
Nor yearn for Evening-stars!"
 
* *
 
Then Evening-star went out.  His wings
Grow, into heavens dash,
And on his way millenniums
Flee in less than a flash. 
 
Below, a depth of stars; above,
The heaven stars begem, -
He seems an endless lightning that
Is wandering through them. 
 
And from the Chaos' vales he sees
How in an immense ring
Round him, as in the World's first day,
Lights from their sources spring;
 
How, springing, they hem him like an
Ocean that swimming nears. . . 
He flees carried by his desire
Until he disappears. 
 
For that region is boundless and
Searching regards avoids
And Time strive vainly there to come
To life from the dark voids. 
 
'Tis nought.  'Tis, though, thirst that sips him
And which he cannot shun,
'Tis depth unknown, comparable
To blind oblivion. 
 
-"From that dark, choking, endlessness
Into which I am furled,
Father, undo me, and for e'er
Be praised in the whole world!
 
Ask anything for this new fate
For with mine I am through:
O hear my prayer, O my Lord, for
Thou gives life and death too. 
 
Take back my endlessness, the fires
That my being devour
And in return give me a chance
To love but for an hour!
 
I've come from Chaos; I'd return
To that my former nest. . . 
And as I have been brought to life
From rest, I crave for rest!"
 
-"Hyperion, that comest from
The depths with the world's swarm,
Do not ask signs and miracles
That have no name nor form. 
 
Thou wantest to count among men,
Take their resemblance vain;
But would now the whole mankind die
Men will be born again. 
 
But they are building on the wind
Ideals void and blind;
When human waves run into graves
New waves spring from behind. 
 
Fate's persecutions, lucky stars,
They only are to own;
Here we know neither time nor space,
Death we have never known. 
 
From the eternal yesterday
Drinks what to-day will drain
And if a sun dies on the sky
A sun quickens again. 
 
Risen as for ever, death though
Follows them like a thorn
For all are born only to die
And die to be reborn. 
 
But thou remainest wheresoe'er
Thou wouldst set down or flee. 
Thou art of the prime form and an
Eternal prodigy. 
 
Thou wilt now hear the wondrous voice
At whose bewitched singing
Mounts woody get skipping to skies
Into sea Island sinking!
 
Perhaps thou wilt more: show in deeds
Thy sense of justice, might,
Out of the earth's lumps make an empire
And settle on its height!
 
I can give thee millions of vessels
And hosts; thou, bear thy breath
O'er all the lands, o'er all the oceans:
I cannot give thee death. 
 
For whom thou wantest then to die?
Just go and see what's worth
All that is waiting there for thee
On that wandering earth!"
 
* *
 
His first dominion on the sky
Hyperion restores
And like in his first day, his light
All o'er again he pours. 
 
For it is evening and the night
Her duty never waives. 
Now the moon rises quietly
And shaking from the waves,
 
And upon the paths of the groves
Her sparkles again drone. . . 
Under the row of linden-trees
Two youths sit all alone. 
 
-"O darling, let my blessed ear feel
How thy heart's pulses beat,
Under the ray of thy eyes clear
And unspeakably sweet. 
 
With the charms of their cold light pierce
My thought's faery glades,
Pour an eternal quietness
On my passion's dark shades. 
 
And there, above, remain to stop
Thy woe's violet stream,
For thou art my first source of love
And also my last dream!"
 
Hyperion beholds how love
Their eyes equally charms:
Scarcely his arm touches her neck,
She takes him in her arms. 
 
The silvery blooms spread their smells
And their soft cascade strokes
The tops of the heads of both youths
With long and golden locks. 
 
And all bewitched by love, she lifts
Her eyes toward the fires
Of the witnessing Evening-star
And trusts him her desires:
 
-"Descend to me, mild Evening-star
Thou canst glide on a beam,
Enter my forest and my mind
And o'er my good luck gleam!"
 
As he did it once, into woods,
On hills, his rays he urges,
Guiding throughout so many wilds
The gleaming, moving, surges. 
 
But he falls not as he did once
From his height into swells:
-"What matters thee, clod of dust, if
'Tis me or some one else?
 
You live in your sphere's narrowness
And luck rules over you -
But in my steady world I feel
Eternal, cold and true!"
-----------------
Poezii
Romanian Voice

​Teodora Dumitriu was born and lives in Campina, Romania. Passions: children, books and English. Sometimes, she writes. 

​My name is Moses Chukwuemeka Daniel,  I am from Nigeria, Africa.  I'm a teenage poet, I love writing and I sing too.  My poems have been published in some  online journals and magazines.

​Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school teacher (remember the hormonally-challenged?) living in Southern California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing, Rick would rather still be tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon. He can be reached atrdhartwell@gmail.com.