Paal-Helge Haugen | 60

  TRANSLATED BY Julia Johanne Tolo     Tired, unquenchable, taut against a blanket of warm wool. Jitter like heavy fire back and forth through my body, burning me dry. All this [...]

Jocelyn Saucier | Twenty-One Cardinals

When the old coot with the nicotine-stained teeth asked the question, I knew we were headed back to the good ol’ days. I have no problem with that. I love it when I feel our family slip into the [...]

Maxine Chernoff | Garland

“For all signs have disappeared.” –Aleksandr Skidan Comes the moment offered as a sprig of berries to the empty hand, collusion of world and its reasons, wellspring and source, the whipping [...]

Anna Halberstadt | Three Poems

MOSCOW SUBURB Blocks of gray buildings in Tyoplyi Stan a windy suburb in the southwest of Moscow where Napoleon’s army used to burn fires to try to survive the Russian winter of 1812. Three phone [...]

Stanislav Lvovsky | My Cause

translation by Jane Bugaeva This is what they say: We came here from another book. But the stuff under us—the stuff that’s visible through the cracks of the wood floor in his house—it shows up [...]

Polina Barskova | First morning

***translation by Catherine Ciepiela Pierre Abelard, balls pulverized, lies on the floor. His body, swollen, pale, is dripping tar. His dog, who didn’t save him, howls there in remorse. Dawn [...]

Marius Burokas | Two Poems

Townspeople (the other side of an old poem) town carnivals and songs. no one waits for tomorrow. drizzle. packed streets. a jumble at your feet. we all depart our dwellings quickly. smiling [...]

Three Poems by Galina Rymbu

translation by Jonathan Brooks Platt *** the moving space of the revolution you think you’re Nekrasov or something, bitch? war machines all along the roadside the functionary of the whip took a [...]

Two Poems by Arseny Tarkovsky

translation by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev Under the heart of grass, dew is heavy Under the heart of grass, dew is heavy. Along the path, a barefoot child carries an open basket of [...]

Pascale Rafie | Baklawas

Translated by Melissa Bull MONOLOGUE 12 – Autumn 1974 Spotlight on Nadia. A black rotary phone. NADIA I was buying pistachios for those baklawas with the aunt’s stuffing recipe and then I don’t [...]

Maia Evrona | Two Poems

Your One and Only Moment Your one and only moment, the fruit that fell from the Tree of Life just a second ago and warm and fresh still crouches full of juice in the grass is in a lot light-years [...]

Linor Goralik | Untitled

translation by Linor Goralik The dark-blue thing turns bluish. The pale thing crawls out and becomes white-hot. The green thing was burnt yellow on the first days of summer. Now it turns brown, [...]

Dalia Staponkutė | A Negative

To the town where I live I’ve got many names and a tangled history, which occupies my centre as a giant Hephaestus of rough glass shards masterfully joined together. The massive sculpture-mount [...]