There’s joy on Easter, and that joy lasts a long time. And Lent, it’s not about food, it’s about self-sacrifice, humbling yourself before God. You’re saying, You’re the big guy. I’m the small guy.
It doesn’t matter which language you speak, because language does not influence your way of thinking.
“d. h. lawrence”
“fuck your cv”
Three poems by Salvador Espriu, translated from the Catalan by Andrew Kaufman and Antonio Cortijo Ocaña
“The Blind Musicians”
Four monologues from “Everybody Be Nice”by Julia Lukshina translated from the Russian by Anne O. Fisher
When Owlet was two years old I ran across the phrase “a mother should tempt her child into the world.” Meaning that she should show her child how cool it is to be alive, how interesting it is, how inspiring. Something like that. And that’s probably a good idea. I’m trying.
“That which befell you neither occurred nor didn’t occur”
“At the end of every season”
“Discover the place where you live”
Excerpt from “Complemento” by Rafael Guizado, translated from the Spanish (Colombia) by Gigi Guizado
My job is this: be what the others are not.
Excerpt from “The Wind’s Desire” by Myung-Wha Kim, translated from the Korean by Walter Byongsok Chon
I get that’s what happens to her. But can a Korean man love a woman twenty years older?
To know how to exploit the weaknesses in human nature in order to best serve Christ is one of the paradoxes of the inquisitor’s calling.
Her suffering fits right into the camera.
“Notes from the Punitive Psychiatric Hospital” by Andrei Dichenko, translated from the Russian by Slava Faybysh
From up where we were, we hadn’t noticed the defeathered bird corpses littered down below…This friendly bird graveyard was never swept away, probably to teach us all a moral lesson. (TCTC nonfiction)
in the center of my heart they buried a limewood carving of a bird.
Four Poems from “Still Lives (Voices)” by Pedro Serrano, translated from the Spanish (Mexico) by Anna Crowe
What are the whereabouts of this babble of tongues, / this suicide flight of words, / this hermit-crab that is my story? (poetry)
She spends her days tending the grapes, and she runs a little gift shop in the village . . . Now that she’s simplified her relationships with people, she seems even healthier, even more herself.
With boys comes a lot of stress. You worry about how you can buy him his own place, or you worry about who he’ll bring into your house.
Two Poems from “La grazia di casa mia” by Julio Monteiro Martins, translated from the Italian by Donald Stang and Helen Wickes
The last traces / of what I have lived, / of what I have loved, / are vanishing at the mercy of the wind.
it’s still spring in Rome, a perennial incitement to live. We meet in Piazza Cavour, me with my selfish FFP3 mask, Luisa with her altruistic blue cloth one.
I dreamed the sun, very low, / painting me a mustache of sweat and coal. (poetry)
Four Poems from “I Give Thanks to the @” by Souad Labbize, translated from the French (Algeria) by Susanna Lang
the city’s landmarks / are illuminated / by your stopover in my thoughts
“Fulvio. On the road to Chiquitos, Bolivia, 1935” by Paula Abramo, translated from the Spanish (Mexico) by Dick Cluster
Greek amphorae sprouting branches in the toboroches / and Dante’s whole paradise embodied in a dragon fruit (poetry)
And not one protection / has come to them / nothing sound
For what do I need / this beautiful key? (poetry)
“Chicago has nothing to be ashamed of in comparison with New York.” (nonfiction)
“Words, Death, and Rock ’n’ Roll: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Contemporary Poetry in Catania, Sicily” by Ana Ilievska
In the city that some used to call the Seattle of Italy, nowadays you can only overdose on poetry.
“The Last Moments of a Brave Mouse” by Ahmed Shaker, translated from the Arabic by Essam M. A-Jassim
The mouse saw the Ghost of Death approach him as the humans struck him with the shoe, stick, broom, and a series of quick kicks.