I would have liked to flee to Marie, who would have driven this person from the city with a single brief appearance. But even the moon with its pocked face wanted, it seemed to me during this night, to mock me from a distance and to proclaim to me that I, too—as if in the […]
Translation
from Silence at Last by Karl-Heinz Ott
Letters of the Alphabet by Tatiana Neshumova
(Translated from Russian by J. Kates)
How long have they called me to themselves These incorruptible black beasts. There was a time when they opened for me Not their jaws, but a door. They called out to me, not as a friend, But as a shepherd, a laborer, To lend a hand. And I learned little By little to be equal […]
Untitled by Tatiana Neshumova
(Translated from Russian by J. Kates)
In my enormous head Winter dragged itself along. And the head was majestic. But an old man With blue eyes, chesty, Said nothing to me of being blind. And we ran off to his house. And I kissed His enormous head And his snow-white mouth. Already a year has passed since he died. But winter […]
Give Me Lunacy at Least by Ghalib
(Translated from Urdu by Tony Barnstone and Bilal Shaw)
Love, I can’t own you, but give me lunacy, at least. Let my last lunacy be your legacy, at least. Don’t cut all ties with me. Let me hate you and you hate me, at least. What shame in me being with you? If not in public, see me privately, at least. Go ahead, believe […]
The Tulip by Ghalib
(Translated from Urdu by Tony Barnstone and Bilal Shaw)
In the inner workings of the tulip, a red scar burns hot. The farmer’s blood sears him; he’s relieved when lightning burns the crop. Here’s the thing: until the bud blooms it feels secure. Despite its collected heart, the flower’s dream is torn apart. I’m too weak to bear this impatient grief —a straw in […]
Wasteland by Ghalib
(Translated from Urdu by Tony Barnstone and Bilal Shaw)
Again I recall her tear-glazed gaze. My heart and liver call out, thirsting for my lover. Doomsday had not yet paused for breath when I recalled the time you left. Oh, Desire, your simplicity makes me recall my lover’s witching glance. Excuse my longings, O thirsty heart. When I call out, I recall my lover. […]
Excerpts from shadowslongshoreman by José Daniel García
(Translated from Spanish by Jesse Tangen-Mills)
Day is a cooling ember. Before it gets dark as the well that engulfs the sun and retains its water, I will describe fractals with my finger over the ashy skin of dusk. Seashells swept away at night damp like an evaporated sea, like an opaque spill on a blue tablecloth covered in white crumbs. […]
Saturday Evening by Clarisse Francillon
(Translated from French by Michelle Bailat-Jones)
[Editors’ Note: Clarisse Francillon was awarded a special prize in 1943 by the Swiss Schiller Foundation. This story was published by the foundation as a “novella” in 1944.] “The burgundy is more dressy, but the navy, of course…” Rita tilted the mirror. The woman placed her foot on the ground and the suede […]
6.60 by Martial
(Translated from Latin by David Macey)
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. […]
12.13 by Martial
(Translated from Latin by David Macey)
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.
