I toss away the diary. While, in the street, leaves fly like pages. By Jaume Subirana Translated by Christopher Whyte…
Poetry Travels
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 ……
