New York… Harlem 1939
“Nothing has changed, nothing will,/ it’s all about money and bombs, this century.” Weekend poem, by McDonald Dixon.
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The Betrothed
“they seldom gave each other pleasure/and in vain they learnt patience and goodwill,/ in vain they taught their bodies…” Poem of the Week (September 30), by Gábor Schein. Translated from Hungarian by Erika Mihálycsa.
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Blossom
“…the way it swells/ on the branches/ like flesh on bone, ballooning/ and sweet…” Weekend poem, by Jenny Danes.
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Song for Gaboo
“You were our first star/ maestro of Broglie Street/ your piano flourishes cascading down the evening…” Poem of the Week (September 23), by John Robert Lee.
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A Thousand Miles
“that Aymara man there/ who stowed his bundle in our hold/ & that small boy/ with a shoe box,/ the little we can carry…” Weekend Poem, by Lorraine Caputo.
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ohio
“the first dry leaves drift to the ground/ as if somewhere a library were on fire.” Poem of the Week (September 16), by Jan Wagner. Translated from German by Iain Galbraith.
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Rosso’s Lament
“Back in the pale end of winter/ Rosso looked at me as if he couldn’t quite remember/ who I was…” Weekend poem, by Rowland Bagnall.
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Boy in an Old Photograph
“It is his last photo,/ but the camera keeps clicking/ every year without him/ in the dark lens.” Poem of the Week (September 9), by Mir Mahfuz Ali.
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Harry James
“Everything is stilled, when dancers/ stop and listen to the liquid gold…” Weekend poem, by Milton P. Ehrlich.
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‘The Mirror’ (Зеркало, 1975)
“The scenes plunge into each other, cut/ by cut: the surge of the forest into/ the goose step of the soldiers…” Poem of the Week (September 2), by Ilma Rakusa. Translated from German by Paul-Henri Campbell.
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