Sometimes they left me for the day while they went — what does it matter where — away. I sat and watched her work the dough, then turn the white shape yellow in a buttered bowl. A coleus, wrong to my eye because its leaves were red, was rooting on the sill in a glass…
An unknown river whose banks drip feathers, orchid petals, wherein live fish mysterious; a medieval scholar, humanist scamp. No, a rare, rich dish, thick with crème fraîche; the local junior high known for annual bake sales. A beautiful African princess, two thousand cows her dowry; a town in New Jersey. A defunct balm or salve;…
for . . . . Beyond anything else, he dwells on what might inhabit his mind at the moment of his death, that which he'll take across with him, which will sum his being up as he's projected into spirit. Thus he dwells upon the substance of his consciousness, what its contents are at any…
a clear zither complains far into the night, the moan of wind and rain swirls round in the strings. a solitary lamp, a Ch'u horn heard; a waning moon glides down behind Chang Terrace. already the fragrant grass is withered but still her lover has not come. a letter home cannot be sent for the…
trans. Hungarian Bruce Berlind In March we began the longer and longer walks, in populated areas, and what with the diversity of houses and streets we walked out of ourselves the desire to get away, which however would have been only a so-called trip, but we did not dare leave the birds here, then we…
He should never have died though I've been lecturing about him all spring he's alive saying important things on Thursday things that would solve all our problems if only we were strong enough to be absolute Every Thursday the snow dunes have melted the sun burned, exhausting Every Thursday I've prayed not to be buried…
Year in, year out, I've ploughed and fished: the gulls have come to depend on me. The steps have grown a thick mat of slate-green moss, Wisteria shoots out lush purple vines. Wind-blown orioles churr from tree to tree, Rain-dampened swallows swoop in and out of the buildings. I didn't realize the spring light was…
trans. Hungarian Jascha Kessler and Maria Körösy End of November, 1956: a remote acquaintance looms out of the fog. We stalk the streets for an hour. He says, “. . .First the Party drops me, then Alice too. . . .” I won't rehearse the years, the friendship, and what struck me by surprise, the…
trans. Persian Elizabeth Gray Her curls dishevelled, sweating, laughing, and drunk, her shirt torn, singing ghazals, flask in hand, her eyes quarrelsome, her lips crying “Alas!”, last night at midnight she came and sat by my pillow. She bent her head to my ear and said plaintively, “O my ancient lover, are you sleeping?” The…
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