‘It murmurs beneath the crust of the ground, or a person who serves as the ground you stand on.’
‘The me that was then / follows, watching from the dark / theatre of my skull.’
The Politics of Feeling
‘Everything already is fraying at the edges if not completely gone.’
‘It was fake that your hugs were convulsive / and your furies unpredictable.’ Translated by Cassandra Gillig and Anne Boyer.
‘his balance / between person and / abstraction’s so stirring I want no other token for anything can happen’
Fyodor Denisovich Konstantinov
‘A piece of boxwood, gripped in a vise, / waits on the workbench for his knife.’ Poetry by Lev Ozerov, translated from the Russian by Boris Dralyuk, and introduced by Robert Chandler.
Turn the River
‘Backtrack / to the bones of the matter, which are the bones themselves.’
‘Tryptamine skies and the forehand backhand falter / in earth’s revolutions’
I Wrote a Poem About a Fucking River
‘though I’ve sat where torrents recall no slush / I’m drawn by your ceramic explosions’
Reflections on shame in sacred spaces
‘At sunset the light is both nasty and nice / in my robe.’
Cassiopeia (three back-to-front songs)
‘Anyway, I did not die. / I lined the sky, inside-out.’ Translated from the Georgian by Jean Sprackland and Natalia Bukia-Peters.
Every Day Was Ordinary
‘A life is an open thing / leaking out into / the air around it.’
‘I wore off my tongue / like candy’ Translated from the Catalan by Oscar Holloway.
Though I Have Never Been to Ostia, I Have Seen the Place Where Our Dreams Died
‘like pasolini’s dream of an african oresteia let us be ridiculous’
‘days I talked with Zeus / I ate only ice / felt the blood trouble and burn / under my skin’
Biscotti Boys / On Men Who Wear Living as Loosely as Their Suits
‘salmaan the second son & his mama’s seventh seal by way of underwater & underemployment’
The Feeling Sonnets
‘Making sense of a feeling is like building a boat from water.’
‘I hadn’t / realised it possible / that I might grow into kinder / ownership of my own looks’
‘cut a piece from a lip and put in a secret place’ – New poetry translated from the Icelandic by Vala Thorodds.
‘a man caught my eye as I was about to cross the road / and asked to shake my hand. You have a kind face, he said.’
‘It’s dangerous like a very powerful doorbell. / Or a portrait covered with a blanket.’
‘In my crumbling country every day, / people spend their lives standing in lines / to buy designer sneakers.’
‘Imagine all the prodigal / People, hoping only to / Escape every human mistake.’