1 I’m bold, I am. I’m not even afraid of dying. I cross the clearing, my shadow a king, small…
Poetry Travels
Last week, on 16 February, the world lost Irit Amiel. This month’s Poetry Travels pays tribute to her and her…
Anne and Margot hidden so long under the stars, covered with little more than a voice, filled the lines with…
I toss away the diary. While, in the street, leaves fly like pages. By Jaume Subirana Translated by Christopher Whyte…
my skin is white on account of a sun allergy and because I spend my days with the curtains drawn…
I d(r)ipped my pen in your pain and we(‘) d(rew/rue) endlessly weird runes tog(e/a)ther By Mario Martín Gijón Translated by…
what comes snakes worms frogs mire-filled stuttering of a lipless mouth rising slowly to whisper from the depths albatross seagulls…
TRANSLATION From the street through the window I see my mum standing at the sink in a burning house. I’ve…
* My eyes, dense night where you alone drink. My eyes, garden of sand where you alone whisper My eyes,…
I am a poet. And I travel. Well, perhaps less so right now, but hopefully this is just temporary ……
