Author Feature - December 2020

The trilingual Georgian/American award-winning poet, novelist, multimedia artist. The winner of the 2019 SpillwordsPress Poetry Award and the finalist of the Adelaide Literary Award Anthology 2019 for the category of Best Poem.

An active participant in the American and international poetry and artistic scenes, such as PEN World Voices, 92Y Poetry Center, Voices of Poetry, Brownstone Poets, Lit Balm, Spectrum Reading Series, Long Island Poetry Listings, New York Public Library, Starr Bar Poetry Series, Poets in Nassau, Poets in Massachusetts, Columbia University –School of the Arts in the City of New York, Great Weather for Media in New York City, New York City Voices, Bowery Poetry Club which named him a Literature Luminary as well as the StatorecMagazine named him the Incomparable Poet.

His works have been published and anthologized in USA, UK and all over the world by the many literary magazines, journals, and publishing houses.

He is an author of fifteen books of poetry, eight novels and three audio albums of poetry. His first book-length works in English, a poetry Eastern Star, have been published in USA in October 2020 by Adelaide Books New York, also his book-length work in English, a novelA Mystiere, and a poetry Lilac Shadow of a Treeare forthcoming in USA in spring / fall 2021 from Mad Hat Press.

He lives and works in New York.

Artistic Freedom Initiative Bio

How did you get involved in writing poetry?
I build a text by breath and heartbeat. I called this process architecture of feelings, sounds and visions and by the way I earned my undergraduate degree MFA from the Faculty of Architecture at the State Academy of Fine Arts in Georgia. I can feel the words and I can see the words as a breath and heartbeat of language –of Georgian language, and of English language. I am a Georgian/American poet. I understand, it may sound strange, when Georgian language and English language meet each other in your consciousness and find a forever home there, but this is love and expressing it, especially in the language which lives inside your heart, is a supreme achievement of poetry to me, because for me poetry itself is a native language of humanity and a constitution of all mankind. Yes, spirit of us is poetry.

What is one of your favorite poetry experiences?
Unexpectedness is the way. Moving forward and trusting the flow, that is the main thing. Poem knows what to do with you, you must trust your own heartbeat. All the mysteries of the world are dwelling beyond fear to continue the path. Breath after breath, word after word, line after line, trusting the flow you navigate your ship of narrative across your own self, with a sound and image simultaneously. I feel something and I know the time is near. For me, a poem most often begins with the vision’s luster and sound at the same time in a particular linguistic stream and its music and silence as well. In all honesty the image of scene does not exist separate from its expression. Silence is a clue.



Our home is present. Our heart is present.
The only time where we are breathing.
The only time where miracles happen.
We place past and future into breath.
Time shall be no more.
We will be one day fully in present,
at home. Without obsessing about past
or future, or memories. Mirages of clear water
across dusty horizons, ripe expectations just
over the rise, right there. An old photograph
makes us chuckle, but now your smile
has such a glare, I just can't tell.
The journey keeps me turning back
to something forgotten, to something
misplaced, keeps me turning back
toward you. There is virtually no sound,
just a receding distant noise, a single wave
pulsing at its very end. Alive here, steeped in
disquieting thoughts trying to burst into song,
fumbling to utter a single word, any word.

The truth glows.
Hot in here. Right here.
Deep in our minds.
Words always have
a double meaning.
We may not know
on whom they could depend
nor second to seek calmness
beyond our own. We are sliding
on the other side of alone.

It hardly matters
what stands in the corner,
who stands in the corner,
hidden by drapes.
My heart is calm.
My mind resounds
with a melody, only drapes rustle.
No one dares to appraise silence
and expectations, like that drapes,
bare my breath in a soul
at each encounter.

Time would come to pass.
Window in my soul.
Shadows of stones
at dawn are slowly
getting longer.
Dew of morning slides
on the grass. It seems to me
mind plays a game
without a score.
I sit by the door.
I loved.