Jorge Guillén: Death in the Distance
What’s urgent is the ripe
Fruit. The hand already peels it.
January 29, 2021 · 1 Comment
José Emilio Pacheco: High Treason
I’d die
for ten places,
a few folks,
ports, forests, deserts, forts,
a broken city, gray, monstrous
September 18, 2020 · 8 Comments
Pablo Neruda: The Riddles
You have asked me what the crustacean spins between its limbs of gold
and I answer: the sea knows it.
May 8, 2020 · Leave a comment
Eva-Maria Simms, Michael Simms: Translating Rilke
Every thing is protected
by a grace ready for flight,
every stone and flower
every child at night.
December 6, 2019 · 2 Comments
Choman Hardi: Homeland, what shall I do with you?
What shall I do with you, homeland?
What shall I do with all this blood?
Where shall I put you
to prevent you from filling my days
with damage and grief?
October 21, 2019 · Leave a comment
Elizabeth Jacobson: Which Yellow Bird
Just to the right of the lifeguard shack, a couple was fucking on a chaise longue . in the first row of many rows of chairs which had been set … Continue reading
April 29, 2019 · Leave a comment