Category: Poetry
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URGENT: NEWS OF THE DEATH OF HIBA ABU NADA by João Melo, trans. G. Holleran
Excuse my urgency, oh right-thinking beingsespecially you translucentand self-referential poets,but one of our sisters,the Palestinian poet Hiba Abu Nada,has just died in Gaza under the shrapnel of a benevolent bomb,sent by another God,different from the one she spoke withevery day. I hesitated to convey this fateful newsso hastily. Perhaps I should waitfor the leaden grey…
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FOUR POEMS by Olivia Elias, trans. Jérémy Victor Robert
Day 21, Words Are Too Poor, October 28, 2023 words are too poor but I have only themmy only wealthempty my hands & so great the sufferings here again I press my arms around my chesthere again I get into this old habit…
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SLUMROYAL by Yahya Hassan, trans. Jordan Barger
INFECTIOUS INSANITY AMONG TODAY’S MEN AND WOMEN WORRYFREE FARMERS ENTWINE THEMSELVES WITH DIRT CATTLE AND COUNTRY WIVES NEPOTISM AND INBREEDING GO HAND IN HAND NOT JUST WITH THE ROYAL POLICE BUT ALSO RECRUITING OFFICERS AND MARINE MINISTERS AND CORVETTE CAPTAINS AND FIELD MARSHALS AND FIELD MISTRESSES REQUISITIONED FROM THE RESERVES MISERABLE SOULS DIG THEIR OWN…
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JUNE MONTHLY: In Solidarity with the Palestinian People
Nearly a year after the October 7 Hamas terrorist attack and Israel’s subsequent escalation of a decades-long project of state-sponsored genocide of the Palestinian people, Gaza continues to face deadly bombings and attacks from Israel. According to Gaza’s Health Ministry, the death toll of Palestinians is in the tens of thousands, with no sign of…
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INTERVIEW with ROBIN LAMER RAHIJA
Robin LaMer Rahija‘s first full length collection, Inside Out Egg, was released in April. Ada Limón writes that “each poem contains the whole unbound strangeness of the human experience–the offhand remark, the blur of being in a body– all of this is written with a humility and understated wit that both growls and sings….” We were…
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FOUR POEMS by Ryoichi Wago, trans. Judy Halebsky & Ayako Takahashi
Screening Time November 26th, 2011 —exiting the restricted area, a 20 km radius of the power station screening palms screening the back of my hands screening with my hands up screening with my hands down screening over my head screening …
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THREE POEMS by Rumiko Kora, trans. Judy Halebsky & Ayako Takahashi
Alive, the wind lifts seeds and carries them awayspider eggs hatch and depart on the windover years the wind breaks down plants into soilwe are of the wind and all of our sensesthe wind breathing through us Within the Trees, A Universe -Sacred Forest of Kinabatangan, Malaysia…
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FOUR POEMS by Alexander Duringer
The Poet Where the poet is, everything glows: red-capped forehead, peppered beard. He holds a torch to frozen streets that truss his lines, writes temptations of the pool glazed by a boy, bright & soft. He traces new constellations into moles on the backs of men asleep upon his stomach. In one of his failures he drank blood from…
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TWO POEMS by Tomas Venclova trans. Rimas Uzgiris
Variation on the Theme of Awakening What echoes in the dark? Is it the wind of Junein the gardens by the lake? If so, the two of usare in the summer house up high, still young,having fallen asleep just before dawn. A muffled engine? Then we’re in that dive by the harbor, in a country where we’d…
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TWO POEMS by Zuleyha Ozturk Lasky
Severn, Maryland pink mouths of crepe myrtle mouthing words like çay demle kızım and a sloped garden in the back and a creaking deck and a bookshelf full of religious texts and my bedroom in robin blue and hairbands always lost under couch cushions and prayer rug facing the direction it’s supposed to face and…
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THE POINT OF ARTICULATION by Car Simione
To prepare for the apocalypse, I practice looking in the mirror. I kiss myself on the mouth. I practice hopping on one foot, but the eventual sight of you nosing among the lilacs nearly topples me, so I excavate the marketplace and poll the dignified masses in their plaid coats. They ask for more time. Despite my ministrations, the flowers keep dying.…
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TWO POEMS by Sophia Terazawa
Residual These syllables strike our lower register [branching: fog]. Who whispers like a friend, “Bêche-de-mer,” I wring out towels and pillow cases. Sunday afternoon. Check on your sister, you sign. She won’t speak anymore. Glass trees. Soapstone box. You package her father’s old shirt there in Queens [arms crossed…