It’s the wrong exit, and I’m lost on my way/ to Malibu Beach. I might not hear the freeway/ if the car windows were up.
The poems below have been excerpted from a longer work called Wulf & Eadwacer, an experimental translation by M.L. Martin.
These poems by Chilean poet Stella Díaz Varín are from her collection, 'Time, Imaginary Measure,' and have been translated from Spanish by Rebecca Levi.
The poet Cynthia Cruz discusses Nomadism and the nature of dreams.
At dawn, after they drove me/ by emergency to the hospital, or/ the mansion on the outskirts of the city.
These poems by Lidija Dimkovska have been translated from the original Macedonian by Ljubica Arsovska and Patricia Marsh.
She slouches, shoulders/ pitched, tongue static as a bell/ without breeze.
Three washings and still under my fingernails the smell of September.
It’s as if Mario Montalbetti is daring his reader to seek permanence in poetry’s aftermath, to maintain remembrance in spite of the difficulty.
First flower, or nearly./ No one forces it to do anything./ This is the backdrop.
Reading No Budu Please is like committing to the excavation of the continual traumas that occur within a post-colonial consciousness.
What killed her/ knew the scent of her center well, knew how to woo her/ and did.