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web-featured Tag

By Qubad Jalil-Zada, translated from the Kurdish Sorani by Halo Fariq and Hannah Fox. 1. The cool breeze of autumn is coming but instead of covering herself, the forest is undressing.   کزەی پایز بەڕێوەیە دارستان لەبری خۆی داپۆشێت، خۆی ڕوت دەکاتەوە.       2. In the city, the wind covers her neck and breasts with the clothes on the line.   لە شار، ڕەشەبا سنگ و مەمکی خۆی بە جلی سەر تەنافەکان دادەپۆشێت.       3. While bathing by the riverbank, the moon hangs her silver lingerie on the branches of the breeze.   لە قەراخ ڕووبارێک خۆی دەشوات. دەرپێ زیوینەکەی بە لقی شنەوە هەڵواسیوە _مانگ

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"Aquamarine" by Matteo Mauro one where the sky is all mine one where baba and i meet in the middle one where corners have bent one where sugarcane fields have lost their green confidence in its truth, almost ugly in broad daylight, worn out, wholesome in memory no space for shoulders- your posture will go bad i think about artists that sing of this city they bring out photographs devoid of color but tell the richest stories will i ever know that richness? i think of attachments i didn't know i had places i carry around my limbs are tree branches that move near the light, the body never forgets i think of this city's streets, the

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الرسم لشادي لويس   في المرة الأولى التي ذهبنا فيها إلى بيت الأخت جنفياف كانت النار هي السبب. الحرائق التي لم تشتعل بعد، بقيت كامنة تحت السطح، نستمع إلى صوت طقطقتها ولا نراها، تتلظّى بهدوء، وفي الانتظار. ليلتها، عدنا أنا وبابا إلى البيت بعد مغامرة الصيد الفاشلة. كان وقت العشاء تقريبًا، والبيت غارق في ظلمة غير معتادة كأنها تخفي شيئًا داخلها. أشعلنا الأضواء، وتوجه بابا إلى المطبخ مباشرة، وهو ينظر حوله بتوجّس، ولم يكن هناك شيء في البيت يستحقّ تلك النظرات. كبَّ معدات الصيد الصغيرة في صفيحة الزبالة، ومعها بعض ممّا تبقّى من اعتزازه بنفسه. لم أكن واثقًا إن كان ينبغي

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"Migration" by Marianne Shaker the past / the future / the mind / the word / the breath 1obsessing over return itches our tonsilshe sings farid el atrash to scratch the back of his throatwhen he feels a sickness coming, longing 2single as the hanging uvula of a bell             ululations at the wedding             carry the sounds of pigeons with             swollen necks the prospect of a child             a barrette slipping off her thin hair             in a sandy playground 3a shawl flies off my headI’m snatched back i remember the slow push

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From Arsenic to Prussic Acid Years after Emma Bovary poisoned herself with arsenic, Eleanor Marx – daughter of Karl Marx and one of the first people to translate Madame Bovary into English – took her own life by drinking prussic acid. Shortly after the novel’s translation, the motifs of Emma’s life started appearing in Marx’s: unfaithful men, accumulating debts, and adultery. Many contemporary discussions of Madame Bovary in translation still discuss Eleanor Marx’s version of 1886  and the similarities between her and Flaubert’s protagonist. Distancing myself from such comparisons, I compare Marx’s rendition with Lydia Davis’ 2010 translation in order to

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"Haven 5" by Nicole Sayegh Do jasmines live in Berlin?Do they bloom in Oslo, Boston, or London?On an evening stroll in Prenzlauer Berg,will I be intoxicatedby the hedonistic smell of a wild jasmine? What if I take my jasmine tree with mewhen I leave? Googling: How to smuggle trees across international borders?Googling: Prison time for cross-border jasmine smugglers. I want to savor the jasmine flowers bloomingfrom my balcony. I want to chew the tenderwhite buds and digest them. When we were children, the grownups warned usagainst eating watermelon seeds lest they grow into treesin our bellies. If I

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"Plasticity" by Sandra Ghosn if I wrote to you a family story you would want to know how we relate – you and I. are you white? does it interest you that I am a bit white? everyone finds familiarity familial but I – I disappoint everyone I know – expectation is a currency squandered on a crowd  everyone is a bit white. white blood cells are all we have to protect us clear and seminal and cyclical like God growing and growing until cancers appear a joke that google cannot erase though she would like to I am told white cells

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"Tabriz Cemetery 2" by Sajed Haqshenas اختارت روى روكز وسارة صفي الدين، من فريق التحرير في القسم العربي، أربع قصائد للشاعرة لويز غليك التي حازت على جائزة نوبل للآداب. تحوم تلك القصائد حول الغربة، غربة الآباء والأجداد وآثارها على الذاكرة، تحاكي الغياب كما يتجلّى في الموت والهجرة والعزلة، فيما تقف لويز بعيدةً، تراقب شخصيّاتها وتتماهى معها. ترجم القصائد الشاعر سامر أبو هواش في مجموعة شعرية صدرت تحت عنوان "عجلة مشتعلة تمر فوقنا" (منشورات الجمل/الكلمة، ٢٠٠٩).   أسطورة   جاء جدي إلى نيويورك من "دلوا": وتوالت العثرات. في هنغاريا كان أكاديمياً، صاحب امتياز. ثم جاء الفشل: صار مهاجراً يلفّ التبغ في مستودع

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"Untitled" by Nour Mouslim i used to share a bed with the clattering city,insulated only by white sheets, window screens awoken daily by a small bird’s voice, listen:isn’t this noise? i’d like to be that bird. i click my tongueuntil it blisters. i’m told this is disruptive. i could be louder,if you like. i could be louder & choose onlyto make myself known. in my home we are surrounded bysilence and so you hear everything. back there, we were surrounded byeverything and so we heard the birds. i’ve said too much. i have onlybeen silent twice, once

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