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Nothing Here is Enough

I need veiled eyelids, black lines, and ruined puppets to make geography. I need a sky wider than longing, and water that is not H2O to make wings. More

Pronouns

He plays a train. She plays a whistle. They move away. He plays a rope. She plays a tree. They swing. More

The Cup

She extinguished the lights except one candle and placed her finger on the cup and repeated words like an incantation: O spirit . . . If thou are present, answer Yes. And then… More

When I Was a Man

When I was a man I lived in San Cristóbal. At the top of the mountains in the south, along the border of Guatemala, in a place where they… More

The War Works Hard

How magnificent the war is! How eager and efficient! Early in the morning it wakes up the sirens and dispatches ambulances to various places swings corpses through the air rolls stretchers to the wounded summons rain from the eyes… More

Greeting, Slippage, and Shaping

As someone specifically interested in the translation of poetry, of the free verse variety, I will come down squarely on the side of occasional long shots, slippages into the… More

Falange

FalangeOur arrival is gradual, discreet,but we’re certain, as certainas six and seven make thirteen.The hour doubles itself, heightensas we drive past, ever smugand rounding up silences.We’re severe, as completeas… More

Miltos Sachtouris: The Soldier

The SoldierI have written no poemsin thudsin thudsmy life rolledOne day I trembledthe next day I shudderedin fearin fearmy life passedI have written no poemsI have written no poemsI… More

May Day

May DayPoland in France with the sound of a centaur going into waterTo thou your misfortunein the collective amnesia of dates, of Nocturnesof Shakos, of blackened fragments of icons… More