This collection of twenty-three poems from Pedro Serrano is aptly named The Conjurer: the illusion he crafts through his usage and arrangement of language; his handling of the emot
Divided into five untitled sections, this collection’s thirty-six poems are laid out across ninety-five pages, enabling each original in Slovene to sit opposite its English trans
Those who hoard fire in their rooms also hoard the temptation to set themselves burning. You feel sorry for the fire. It fills your room. I see your hand resting on the arm of your
Rabid winds besieged the town sent downpours down to its very core The winter war had begun City-dwellers ran for shelter By Gerður Kristný Translated by Rory McTurk From DRÁPAb
She came to buy herself a brand-new face. It seemed too dear. A frock would have to do. That got her in a fitting room where she became psychotic. Was it the light? Her skin? That
ONLY THE BEGINNING COUNTS (2) In the bar in the square everything is cut back to far-off and nearby. You come from here. I left a month ago. The barman is glued to the radio deaf t
She came to buy herself a brand-new face. It seemed too dear. A frock would have to do. That got her in a fitting room where she became psychotic. Was it the light? Her skin? That
Arc Publications Translators’ Forum is a place to discuss literary and poetic translation, and learn from your peers. It’s for budding translators of poetry and fiction, o
