NOTEBOOK The history of how Karl and Saskia got to know each other is an all-or-nothing tale, a history that has become snowed under even though they’ve only known each other for
My grandfather was old. He had a bushy white beard and smelled of tobacco. He walked with a stick, was always dressed in black, and dropped bits of food when he ate. But he could f
I see my bedroom in full sunlight for the first time. Everything is as I remember it, yet everything has changed. Lifeless. Cold. As if no one ever grew up here, as if no one ever
Of the Dutch>English literary translators based in the Low Countries, many (if not most) of us are basedin the Netherlands. I am American, live in Amsterdam and translate from both
By Aimée de Jongh From TAXI! Published by Conundrum Press (2019) Read The Dutch Riveter here or order your paper copy from here. Buy this title through the European Literature Net
ILLUSION This morning while I wasn’t yet awake and not asleep either, doom crept in on cloven socks, nestled invisibly against me and spoke my name, a whisper— not wanting to w
THE FOLLOWING SCAN WILL LAST FIVE MINUTES Before you sink away into the morphinesweet unreality of the everyday we would like to say something about those spasms and fasciculations
I would möchte be a frauship’s shallow schouwdek a bitsy bitchy lust objection with dikke thighs dikes off all men deck deilig thighs bulk carriers that tar all, tenderly tegen
my skin my cast iron skin my equator skin my cast iron equator skin my skin my scarring skin my grey scarring skin my grey skin my asylum seeker skin my skin my colourblind skin my
FRICTION (II) Who made the young me sweat in bed with visions from the psychiatric ward girls who’ve grown obsessed with the man and the touch of the man, and the touch of the wo
