original Irish poem with English translation by Gillian Clarke ar ôl “Bird Watching” R. S. Thomas after “Bird Watching” by R. S. Thomas A daeth taith fawr ddwsinau o ddrudwns i ben. It’s long journey’s end for a murmuration of starlings. Nid sbienddrych o bell yn gorwelio eu plu sy. Ond heddiw seicdreiddwyr eu…
original Irish poem with English translation by the author faiteadh súile feithide i bhforaois fearthainne i mBorneó the blink of an insect’s eye in the rain forest of Borneo chuir gála gaoithe ag réabadh na tíre, ag pleancadh scioból tuí set gale force winds ripping the country, battering tin sheds is monarchan iata, scoileanna réamhdhéanta…
In the middle of my life I had the most marvelous piece of luck I entered a hotel and among golfers pregnant with beautiful minor worries watched the cheerleaders gallop as James Wright said terribly against each other’s bodies but really it was not except for their cries of happiness bouncing off the mountains surrounding…
after Joy Harjo The verb has a long history of violence: to take is to grab, seize or capture, esp. by force; note its hard k set against the long vowel, a sign of intent, this cave of sound. He took her by the throat and shook her is one in a proliferation of…
Oak branches shuffling slow amends in the sorry wind, as if trying to push A large gift into your arms. Step back into your dusty boots, love, left & Right then, creased like fruits gone to rot. Filling up an outline of myself, Is all. You’re the reason here they call a mouth a trap….
it starts in rage not anger or rancor or a bitch cornered whose fear-fuelled snarl turns fit nor the politesse of some pale Ramon screaming no more of a jonesing more veins stretched as pig gut over sphincter mince more a thumbnail that breaks the skin to pull a strip or length of rind to…
when the sun un-sets, and vanilla wakefulness is still somewhat subservient to sleep’s dirty kingdom? Well there I was, inside some sixteenth-century Padua and I watched agog as pretty maids in period underclothes scampered laughing down a palace’s back stairs; and on those stairs, wedged pressed against a wall between the ceiling and the floor,…
that once cool and heavy egg that would one day have hatched a clever goose of gold. I cooked it in a pan until it smelted from a hard into a runny yolk, and then I promptly drank the molten yellow, gulped it down and felt it start to burn away my tongue and gums…
The deer has the eyes of a deer in headlights. I must have them too, sitting in the car, driving. The deer came out of nowhere. It is magic. It’s the kind of magic you wish wouldn’t happen. The deer must be thinking the same about me. The road came out of nowhere, this man…
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