A Journal of Translation
Originals by Ángel José Fernández Translated, from the Spanish, by Yasmín Rojas Unsent letter [A terrestrial message] … love towards cherished ones is in you a lot more than in me. In you, it is a daily state, in me …
Original poem by Joel G. Burke Ode to “Oranges” The first time I walked with a girl, I was fifteen. November. Her hair shivered crisply, her breath, a circling hummingbird that cannot land on a flower trapped under snow. But …
Translation by Maria Bartlett A Daily Verse Washing my hair I am one with the water Drying my hair I am one with the air Combing my hair I am one with the comb Laughing I am …
Translation by Lorena Espinoza A Dog Has Died My dog has died. I buried him in the garden next to an old, oxidized machine. Someday he will join me Right here in this spot. Now he has gone with …
Translation by E. Rose The Dream The Dream VII Every time I leave you I keep the splendor of your last Gaze is my eyes. And, then, I run to lock myself up, I turn off the lights, I evade …
Translated by Janie N. Paz Hummingbird Love… (dedicated to you) In the dark night from my window I dream of your arrival hummingbird of the dawn Embraced to the flight that is born from your wings I want to …
translated, from the Spanish, by Ayden LeRoux Like an therld sailor, he scans the horizon with his binoculars. He doesn’t look at the blue horizon line though; his eyes follow the serpentine sketch of the road that crosses through the …
Veleta Viento del Sur, moreno, ardiente, llegas sobre mi carne, trayéndome semilla de brillantes miradas, empapado de azahares. Pones roja la luna y sollozantes los álamos cautivos, pero vienes ¡demasiado tarde! ¡Ya he enrollado la noche de mi cuento en …
Wind Vane Southern Wind, dark, burning, you arrive over my flesh, bringing me seeds of brilliant looks, soggy with orange blossoms. You make the moon red and sob the captive poplars, but you come so late! I have already rolled …
Cerebral Aneurysm, Eventuating in Coma by Robert N. Watson Insubstantial time goes by so fast it seems to sing, To singe with wind-burn any figure-head that stares uncaring; Let rain sting the eyes and stain the painted face’s cracks; Crashes …