Frank Báez: Poemas en el original en español.
Frank Báez: 'Llegar a los treinta gordo y con las posibilidades de disfrazarte de Santa Claus en Navidad. Tomando pastillas. Jugando la lotería. Comprando productos bajos en calorías. Empeñando...
View ArticleHomero Pumarol: Poemas en el original en español.
Homero Pumarol: Hay algo descompuesto en el rostro triste y alegre del poeta, oculto al fondo de los ojos como al fondo del vocablo Personae.
View ArticleVenezia vista da un veneziano.
Michele Casagrande: 'Da veneziano posso facilmente esprimere la prospettiva locale. Da due decadi ormai l’Amministrazione della città ha imposto una nuova varietà di turismo. L’obbiettivo è di...
View ArticleLorenzo Calogero: Six poems.
Lorenzo Calogero: 'SO ALONE I am looking at poor clouds and objects in the emptiness of the high sunray; then hiding away where no shadow dwells anymore or no one at all.'
View ArticleA portfolio from ‘Openwork’.
André du Bouchet: 'and so the most beautiful poems have led to some blank texts like a sheet of blank paper—are available: that is, they have not ceased to act. Like everything that has begun to act....
View Articlefrom ‘Blind Distance’.
From the editorial note: Pierre Chappuis is an essential French-language poet in a generation that includes Philippe Jaccottet, Yves Bonnefoy, André du Bouchet, Jacques Dupin, and Jacques Réda. His...
View ArticleFive poems by Jules Supervielle.
Jules Supervielle: 'If you touch his hand, it’s without knowing. You remember him, but under another name. In the middle of the night, in your deepest sleep you say his real name and invite him to...
View ArticleThe preface to ‘Émaux et camées’.
Gautier: 'I wrote, although the hurricane lashed windows which I always close, Enamels first, then Cameos.'
View ArticleThree poems by Anne Mounic.
Anne Mounic: 'Plenitude, integrity, some inner stirring – the soul, once one gives in to self from self, achieves its own new music, depicting slow flow of river between fields and woods about to...
View ArticleWriting to Shakespeare.
Bonnefoy: '...you’re standing in a corner of the theatre. It’s cold, and a wind seems to be blowing. You’re talking to several men, young and old. One of them will be Hamlet; another, Ophelia. Do you...
View ArticleY.
Pierre Voélin: 'in the distance the processions move on and he who is listening behind the wall of foliage remembers the promises of your name' The post Y. appeared first on The Fortnightly Review.
View ArticleWinétt de Rokha: Three poems.
Winétt de Rokha: 'The word becomes a butterfly of the night, bats its wings, stops, opens itself to unforeseen pearls — catches at an echo that rolls slowly away, dividing and dividing again, and...
View ArticleIlhan Berk.
Peter Riley: 'It seems that in his later years Berk cultivated an extreme version of what some poets would call “risk-taking” which mainly casts the task of cohering back on the reader. I like to think...
View ArticleThe Olympic Games.
G.S. Robertson: 'Athens, all hail! Hail, O rejoicing throng! And from our lips receive the tributary song.' The post The Olympic Games. appeared first on The Fortnightly Review.
View ArticleLorenzo Calogero and other poets in translation.
Peter Riley: 'By 1945 Calogero had got himself into a fairly dreadful state of hopelessness and was comforted only by his distance from the demands and rewards of urban centrality, in a pastoral...
View ArticleFive poems.
Gëzim Hajdari: 'The stones along the road are silent, the bitter grass in the field trembles. Under a sky always dark naked, orphan trees.' The post Five poems. appeared first on The Fortnightly Review.
View ArticleThe Lay of Love and Death of Christoph Cornet Rilke von Langenau.
Rilke: 'Outside, a storm is racing across the sky, breaking the night into pieces, white pieces, black ones. The moonlight goes past like a drawn-out lightning flash and the flag which doesn’t move has...
View ArticleHow should we translate ‘A scrap of paper’?
For a Scrap of Paper By PAUL HYACINTHE LOYSON. Translated by J. G. Frazer. WHY BURSTS THE CLOUD in thunder, and to devastate the world The levin bolt of battle from heaven, or hell, is hurled? Why...
View ArticleThree poems from Together Still.
Yves Bonnefoy: Yes, but look: the grass is crushed, where an animal has slept. Its hideaway is like a sign. The sign is more Than what was lost, than life going by— Than the song on the road, late at...
View ArticleDevotions.
Yves Bonnefoy: And always to quays at night, to bars, to a voice saying I am the lamp, I am the oil. The post Devotions. appeared first on The Fortnightly Review.
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