Sunday the 16th
se debe leer en un idioma que no sea el propio
Friday, October 28th, 2016
Mirá / estas cenizas / que fueron en otro tiempo mi cuerpo / lo que has abrazado fuerte / en otro tiempo / sientelas caerse / estas cenizas / entre tus dedos. Escuchá / al bosque / silencioso.
Look, now/ at these ashes / that used to be my body / you held me tight / used to / Now feel them falling / these ashes / between your fingers. Listen / to the silent / forest.
Monday, February first, 2016
Otra vez publicado -- mi traducción del cuento "Mariquita Sánchez" por Paula Jiménez España se puede leer en la nueva edición de Palabras Errantes, "Writing Lesbian Desire".
Sunday, January 10th, 2016
Tweedledum and Tweedledee
It is inherently liberating for a writer to retell the story of Tweedledum and Tweedledee. The essential absurdity of opening your story "Tweedledum was squatting pensive by their camp fire..." can absolve the author of any further need for exposition or explication. The fictional world of his narrative will be heralded in all its richness and detail by the mere presence of the chubby, angry twins.
Agreed to have a battle;
For Tweedledum said Tweedledee
Had spoiled his nice new rattle.
Just then flew down a monstrous crow,
As black as a tar-barrel;
Which frightened both the heroes so,
They quite forgot their quarrel.
Thursday, July 30th, 2015
the repetitive nonverbal dialogue of crickets and birds. Pradeep pradeep!
Thursday, February 19th, 2015
One nice side benefit of the class I took last spring at la Universidad Desconocida was the chance to meet classmate Isabel Zapata. Today her "Canción de Cuna para Sonámbulos" is online at Limulus along with my translation. Check it out! A beautiful poem.
Thursday, January first, 2015
mañana es otro día
por J. Osner
nos unamos los manos:
nos giremos hacia el este
esperando al sol que teñirán
de rosa sus rayos el cielo negro;
nos dejarán saber
que empieza el nuevo día,
ese día hasta que postergábamos
todos los deseos más queridos.
agárrame a mí ahora la mano
y dime nuevamente, muévete:
nos ya estamos quemando
debajo del sol del mediodía.
Saturday, December 13th, 2014
by J Osner
The first day
was water. On the second day
water created earth.
On the third day mud
breathed air. On the fourth day creation blazed, and said
that it was good. Muddy reality,
eternally drying out in the heat
of the moment.
Saturday, December 6th, 2014
on an easel on the stage, the title -- ποταμοῖσι τοῖσιν αὐτοῖσιν ἐμϐαίνουσιν, ἕτερα καὶ ἕτερα ὕδατα ἐπιρρεῖ. Different waters bathe those who step into the same river. --Heraclitus of Ephysus. The spot fades and the placard is removed; enter Cratylus stage right. Lights come up stage right on Cratylus and gradually on the rest of his colleagues, who are standing like statues. Each (except Cratylus) has a placard identifying the character's name at his feet. Cr. kicks them away one by one as he points at the actor -- "waking him up".
Monday, November 17th, 2014
— My friend, you are a barbarian. You paint as if one eye were on the moon and the other on Mars. I don't like your work; but you have made me weep. And tears are the blood of sincerity. Cool -- two publications in a row of Marta Aponte Alsina translations! A story I translated last year is included in the November issue of The Acentos Review -- 1955: Lavender Mist.
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