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FOUR WAY REVIEW

URGENT: NEWS OF THE DEATH OF HIBA ABU NADA by João Melo, trans. G. Holleran

Saturday, 22 June 2024 by João Melo

Excuse my urgency, oh right-thinking beings
especially you translucent
and 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 with
every day.

I hesitated to convey this fateful news
so hastily. Perhaps I should wait
for the leaden grey smoke from the bomb that killed her to dissipate,
while she, surely,
scrutinized the sky for a sliver of light and
maybe even
the last birds.
Or, more convenient yet
it’d be better to say nothing,
until today’s hegemonic oracles,
like all oracles,
circulate an official statement
denying it as usual
without any doubts
or uncomfortable questions.

But when I read
the last words of Hiba Abu Nada before she died,
I was moved to spread this news,
before her banner could be censored
by those who defend selective liberty:
“If we die, know that we are content and steadfast,
and convey on our behalf that we are people of truth!”


Grace Holleran translates literature from Portuguese to English. A PhD candidate in Luso-Afro-Brazilian Studies & Theory at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, Grace holds a Distinguished Doctoral Fellowship with the Center for Portuguese Studies & Culture and Tagus Press. Grace’s research, which has been supported by a FLAD Portuguese Archives Grant, deals with translation and activism in the early Portuguese lesbian press. An editor of Barricade: A Journal of Antifascism & Translation, Grace’s translations of Brazilian, Portuguese, and Angolan authors have been published in Brittle Paper, Gávea-Brown, The Shoutflower, and others.

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FOUR POEMS by Olivia Elias, trans. Jérémy Victor Robert

Tuesday, 18 June 2024 by Olivia Elias
Headshot of Olivia Elias

Day 21, Words Are Too Poor, October 28, 2023

words are too poor        but I have only them
my only wealth
empty my hands       & so great the sufferings

here again       I press my arms around my chest
here again       I get into this old habit of covering the page with little
squares filled with black ink

the little squares of our erasure

/
I write what I see     said Etel Adnan* who knew a lot about
mountains’ strength as well as Catastrophe

I also know the power of this Mount facing the sea
Carmel of my very early days       Mount Fuji of absence
& denial around which I gravitate     above it the
black crows of desolation

as I know all about our Apocalypse which keeps on repeating
repeating       the earth turning on its axis       the sun that veils its face

/
here’s what I see
the madness of the overarmed Occupying State
crushing bodies & souls     live on screens       at least until
night falls       a night of the end of the world       only
pierced by ballistic flashes

in Sabra & Shatila the spotlights
.       illuminated the massacre’s scene
today in this Mediterranean Strip of sand
.       total darkness shields Horror

the sky explodes in a thousand pieces amongst
monstrous mushrooms of black smoke      the time to
count one two three       towers collapse one
after the other   like bowling pins their inhabitants
inside     then get into action the steel monsters

flattening the landscape      they call it
(translation: converting this ghetto sealed off on all sides
into a 21st-century Ground Zero)

everyone wondering       When will my time come?
& parents writing their children’s name on their small wrists
for identification (just in case)

/
no water      no food      no fuel & electricity       & no medicine
decided the Annexationist Government’s Chief

let’s finish this        once & for all & forever       they shout
relying on the unconditional support of
their powerful         Allies the ones primarily responsible
for our fate by writing it off on the bloody chessboard
of their best interests

as if their contribution to our erasure redeemed their crimes

Hear Ye       Hear Ye
proclaims America’s great Chief, waving his veto-rattle
Absolute safety for the Conquerors

Hear Ye       Hear Ye
chorus the mighty Allies

/
Gaza / 400 square kilometers/not a single safe place /2.3 million people /half of them children / hungry /thirsty/injured /desperately searching for missing family members dying under the rubble

& Death  the  big  winner

/
they should know that souls cannot
be imprisoned     no matter how tight the rope
around the neck      & how strong
the acid rains & firestorms

One day, however, one day will come the color of orange/
/a day like a bird on the highest branch**

where we will sit
in the place                       left empty
in our name
in the great human House

————
*Etel Adnan, “I write what I see,” in Journey to Mount Tamalpais (Sausalito: Post-Apollo Press, 1986; Brooklyn: Litmus Press, 2021).

**“One Day, However, One Day,” from Louis Aragon’s homage in Le Fou d’Elsa (1963) to Federico García Lorca, who was murdered, in August 1936, by Franco’s militias.


DAY 74, THERE WILL ALWAYS BE POETS, December 20, 2023    


instability   a general rule
it seems a new ocean’s on the verge
of emerging  in
        Africa
& floating between
        here
                    &
                          there
could affect not only people or land
but also the seasons     I experienced it 

of fall I didn’t see a single thing
this year   the acacia’s
color even changed without
my noticing 

one morning    looking through
the window    I realized
it was there
                 naked
at its feet a carpet of yellow
leaves littered the ground 

nothing to keep it warm
        exposed
to the cold   icy rain   missiles 

& here I was    & still I am
glued to the screen
startled by every explosion
of the red-little-ball
clinging to the glittering
garlands

as soon as one of the
flesh-eating-red-balls hits
the ground a sheaf of fire
bursts   followed
by a huge black smoke
cloud 

then
screams
cries
panic
agony
day & night (even
more so at night) keeps on
going the hypnotic
ballet

today
Day 74
74 days of this 

will spring come back
or only   a long winter
of ignominy   cold   hunger 

history will remember
there will always be poets
to tell the martyrdom
of the Ghetto People 

NOTE: An earlier version of this translation appeared on 128 Lit website, December 28, 2023.


HEAR YE, HEAR YE!

At regular intervals shaking his rattle   carved with the word veto   the Grand Chief of America takes the floor for an urbi et orbi statement

With the utmost firmness

broadcast on a loop
in newspapers on screens
around the world

withwithwithwithwithwithwith
thethethethethethethe
utmostutmostutmostutmostutmost
utmostutmost

FIR/MNESS
like
FER/OCITY
growing
exponentially

utmostutmostutmostutmosT

exceptionallyFirm  

FIR/MNESS
FIRE/MESS

Iron balls blazing
in the sky
black & read whirls

it’s raining
black ashes
east bank not west

with the utmost
firmness

We support the Conquerors’
Right to Security


COLIN POWELL. GUERNICA. SCULPTURE

1

The devil is in the detail. Colin Powell–former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Secretary of State to the 43rd President of the United States, George W. Bush, between 2001 and 2005–was said to have placed great importance on this. Unfortunately for him and the legacy he leaves to history, he broke that rule on one memorable occasion

It was on February 5, 2003, when he called for a military crusade against Iraq on the podium of the United Nations, based on false evidence of weapons of mass destruction. His effort resulted in the very thing it was supposed to prevent–the deaths of hundreds/hundreds of thousands of Iraqis–& plunged the country into widespread chaos, which is still unfolding today

That day, UN officials covered with a blue veil a tapestry hanging at the entrance of the Security Council representing Guernica, the monumental work painted by Picasso at the request of the Republican government during the Spanish Civil War. Twenty-seven square meters commemorating the stormy & total destruction of the small town of the same name by the German & Italian air force, on April 26, 1937

2

In March 2021, the tapestry was returned to the Rockefeller family who had loaned it for 35 years & wanted it back. Has it been replaced? With what work? I don’t know, but I’ve got an idea. Let’s offer a cubist sculpture/assemblage of 550 stones extracted from our lands on which Settlers, protected by militias/soldiers & courts, are having a great time

Upon each of these stones
that capture the light so
beautifully
is an inscription: the name of
a village
from yesterday and today
that was
razed/ablaze

May a blue veil cover it when the Guardians of the ghetto & the bantustans take the floor


JÉRÉMY VICTOR ROBERT is a translator between English and French who works and lives in his native Réunion Island. He published French translations of Sarah Riggs’s Murmurations (APIC, 2021, with Marie Borel), Donna Stonecipher’s Model City (joca seria, 2020), and Etel Adnan’s Sea & Fog (L’Attente, 2015). He recently translated Bhion Achimba’s poem, “a sonnet: a slaughter field,” which was published on Poezibao’s website, and Michael Palmer’s Little Elegies for Sister Satan, excerpts of which were posted online by Revue Catastrophes. Together with Sarah Riggs, he translated Olivia Elias’ Your Name, Palestine (World Poetry Books, 2023).

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SLUMROYAL by Yahya Hassan, trans. Jordan Barger

Tuesday, 18 June 2024 by Yahya Hassan

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 GRAVES  

ALL FOR A GUN SALUTE AND LULLABY  

SLEEP AND HUNGER PREVAIL  

THE MONARCH LOSES TRACK OF TIME  

AND IS OVERRUN BY HIS OWN COURT  

MANSIONS AND PALACES ARE PERFORATED  

THE VATICAN VACILLATES 

CHINESE ROYAL DAUGHTERS SMUGGLE THEIR VIRGINITY 

OUT OF THEIR ROYAL LANDS 

ACCOMPANIED BY SILK BUTTERFLIES  

THE STRONGEST TREES BREAK FREE FROM THE UNDERGROWTH 

SWELLS OF CLOUDS BILLOW SKYWARD  

THE SEA SWALLOWS THE CONTINENTS  

WHILE BIRDS DRAG THE HORIZON ALONG 

SKIFFS ARE OVERTAKEN IN A STORM  

FORCING THEM OFF THEIR SMUGGLING ROUTES  

QUARTERDECKS ARE CLEARED OF SAILORS  

AND LOADED WITH PIGS AND FAIR MAIDENS  

THE CHILDREN OF THE NATIVES ARE CAST OUT  

AND SKINNED ON THE STERN WITH THE BIRDS AND FISH 

THEIR FATHERS GET THEIR HEADS CAVED IN 

IF THEY ARE TOO STUPID OR TOO CLEVER  

A BLOODBATH SOUNDS BEST AT SEA 

HER MAJESTY COULD SHARPEN A KNIFE  

AND JOIN THE BRAWL 

SPEWING POISON AND HACKING AWAY  

THE MOATS ARE OVERFLOWING  

WITH COLD SWEAT  

PESSIMISM REIGNS FROM THE STALLS  

ALL THE WAY TO THE BALLS  

MECHANICAL WARFARE SHOOK ENEMIES AND ALLIES ALIKE 

NOW ANYONE COULD GO TO WAR ON A WILD HORSE   

AND DEFEAT A WHOLE REGIMENT  

ALL TO BE STABBED IN THE BACK BY A CHAPLAIN  

ANYONE CAN TAKE UP THE CROSS  

EVEN JESUS STUCK HIMSELF UP THERE  

THEN SKIPPED AWAY  

ACROSS THE ATMOSPHERE 

THE TITANIC WAS PACKED WITH REFUGEES  

THE ARISTOCRATS’ CHILDREN FLOATED TOPSIDE  

BUT THEIR FORTUNES SANK  

THE WEARIEST WIDOWS FOUND ROOM IN THE LIFEBOATS 

LAND DEEDS AND TRAVELLERS’ CHEQUES STICKING OUT OF THEIR TITS 

PROUD FRIGATES LAY SIDEWAYS ON THE WAVES  

LEAVE ME A CESSPOOL IN DENMARK  

IF THAT’S WHERE I BELONG 

THE QUEEN HAS YET TO LEAVE HER OWN HEIR  

SO MUCH AS A BARREL OF SAND  

MERCENARIES AND DAY LABORERS CROSS THE CHANNEL 

FEELINGS OF SOLIDARITY AND SUB-ZERO TEMPERATURES 

MASQUERADES AND TIRADES  

ALL THE TRAITORS TEARS 

ON THE ROYAL STAGE  

THIS TIME WE’LL SPAR WITH BEAUTY AND WIT  

OR RAW POWER AND PERVERSITY 

I SHALL OUTDO ALL MY KIND  

AND FORCE THEM TO LIVE A HUMBLE AND RELIGIOUS LIFE  

I’M CAUGHT BETWEEN TWO MEN WITH BAD BREATH 

THERE IS A DEVILISH AURA AROUND ME 

WHIRRING AND BAROQUE IN THE BACKGROUND 

WE DRANK WINE WITH THE SAME URGENCY 

THAT SOBER PEOPLE DRINK WATER  

AND I FELT PURSUED BY MY OWN WAYS 

IT WON’T BE THE COMMON MAN’S CENTURY ANYWAY   

SO GET OUT OF THE WAY 

AND DON’T RUN INTO THE FIELDS   

RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF HARVEST 


Jordan Barger is a translator of Norwegian and Danish, with an MFA in Literary Translation from The University of Iowa. Translations have appeared in Poetry Magazine, Poetry Review UK, FENCE and Sleepingfish XX. Their translation of Sigbjørn Obstfelder’s The Red Drops appeared onstage in Philadelphia thanks to Sewer Rats Productions.

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