art. literature. commentary.
Contributed By: David Macey, Martial
Rome lauds, loves, and sings my little books.
I am in every pocket, every hand.
Behold: she blushes, pales, dazes, yawns, looks
sick. That’s what I want! Now I’m my own fan.
Laudat, amat, cantat nostros mea Roma libellos,
meque sinus omnes, me manus omnis habet.
Ecce rubet quidam, pallet, stupet, oscitat, odit.
Hoc volo: nunc nobis carmina nostra placent.
Return to table of contents for Issue 12 Winter 2018.
Among the rich, anger’s no rarity: hatred comes cheaper than charity. Genus, Aucte, lucri divites habent iram: odisse quam donare vilius constat. Return to table of contents for Issue 12 Winter 2018.
“He reeks of last night’s wine!” That’s off the mark. He drinks until dawn clarifies the dark. Hesterno fetere mero qui credit Acerram, fallitur: in lucem semper Acerra bibit. Return to table…
In Prisov, not far from Košice, a shul or rather an exhibit of itself restored, except of course for its congregation, is open for tourists to visit and inspect. On a wall are photographs of…
I’ll remember you too clearly . . . There was the college room of it: a fishnet on the walls and ceiling above a single bed. A turntable on bookshelves of stacked cinderblock and pine…
