Our old ones are dying. Their parents restrained every syllable. the children floated away from their homes to boarding schools. graveyards, and war zones. It is my fifth day in the hospital. Outside for the first time. I hold my medicine bag in my pocket, and I think about Granny Marie. A . . .
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“I am a writer,” and I hate this part. I am a writer, so I am grateful for the requisite third-person: she is a writer and she hates writing about herself. This is her name. This is where she lives, and how. Here are a few facts that are true but safe, . . .
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The process of becoming sick may be familiar to you,or it may not. First, I had unexpected pain. This is notto be confused with previous unexpected pains.Actually, the unexpected pains had continued back foras long as I can remember.—from “Untitled (from Ghostdaughter),” Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) What writer(s) or works . . .
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Stand on a bridgeThere, in the center, facing north.Feel the whole bridgeCollapse beneath you: Goodbye, bridge.—from “Rondelet for the Terminally Ill,” Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.The first thing I wrote as an adult was a short story I intended to send . . .
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a sloth-slow strength stretches like lines of longitude / sighing through my lingering life and other lives before / oh above and parallel to mine gently curving / a fierce kink in meridians of knowledge / systems fixated on fixes—from “how do we protect the mutant from annihilation by the ‘normal’,” Volume 64, Issue 4 (Winter . . .
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Pebble tossed, ricochets, sinksThe sea mounts, thrashesI shake from my bodyThe wave’s vengeance—from “The Pebble” by Levent Beskardes, Translated by Stephanie Papa, Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) Tell us about one of the first pieces you translated.I think the first poems I translated were actually in Portuguese, rather than French. I . . .
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An Interview with Peter Bush, translator, by Albert Lloret: You have recently published an English translation of Víctor Català’s novel A Film (3,000 meters) with Open Letter Press. What kind of a novel is it? Does it belong to any genre? No, it playfully skates between genres. In her prologue, Víctor Català refers to her book . . .
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Six months before your trip, you begin the search. Scrolling through headshots, you note several eligible prospects. One after the other, you dial the numner below each photo. The first seven receptionists inform you that, contrary to the green check mark on your insurance’s provider list, the doctor isn’t taking new clients. . . .
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Only death::orse is real. Only forward is unhorse & the little graces & galactic undeeds—& you can’t slick nor kick to spur(n) a :: direhorse ::can never own a force—from “\DEAT {H :: O R S E} \\\,” Vol. 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) Tell us about one of the first pieces you . . .
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If only I could refrain from eating,the route to corruption and folly.I never deprive a mother of her sucklingsor have a share of a calf’s milk—from “If Only I Could Refrain from Eating” by Abū Al-‘Alā’ al-Ma’arrī, Translated by Salma Harland, Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) Tell us about one of . . .
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