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Juan Banuelos
Nobody Lives in My Country Anymore Print Pages:  Page 95 from Issue 91 TRIQUARTERLY Nobody Lives in My Country Anymore] uan Banuelos Translated from the Spanish by Reginald Gibbons A walled-up country ... Issue 91 page Juan Banuelos Saturday, October 1, 1994 Poetry Translation Issue 91 Print Share Tweet ...
Valerio Magrelli
La famiglia del poeta / The Poet's Family Dormo accanto a mio figlio / I sleep next to my son Print Pages:  Page 142 from Issue 127 La famiglia del poeta Ci amiamo tanto ma ogni cozzo e un lampo, ... siamo la famiglia delle pietre focaie. Issue 127 page Valerio Magrelli Tuesday, January 1, 2008 Poetry ...
Patrizia Valduga
Cadeva il giorno e cadeva l'amato / The day was falling and my lover Print Pages:  Page 198 from Issue 127 Cadeva il giorno e cadeva l'amato in tal mio agguato. L'aveva ... avrai di curartene ormai. Issue 127 page Patrizia Valduga Tuesday, January 1, 2008 Poetry Translation ...
then two. A book flaps pigeonlike, and closes. My fourth-floor neighbors couldn’t make the rent. The sky knows where they went. Their TV crashes to the grass, the cracked screen sprays a spittle of glass. ... 15, 2016 Poetry Issue 149 Share Tweet ...
Carole Oles
Forsaking the Violin All year, Mozart went under the sea of rock punk reggae that crashed into your room ... If I had those fingers!... Five of yours grasped my pinky, the world before you grew teeth. O.K. ... or farewells with. 97 Issue 61 page Carole Oles Monday, October 1, 1984 Poetry Work Issue 61 Print Share Tweet ...
My Iceberg Translated from German by Mary Jo Bang Mein Berg ... du und kein einziges sicheres Wort jemals zu finden ist   My Iceberg ... in the belief before them, as—if there’s another you other than me, that speaks, my      wishes. So they say ...
Fayid Jamis
Auschwitz was not the garden of my childhood Print Pages:  Page from Issue 13-14 Auschwitz was not the garden of my childhood Auschwitz was not the garden of my childhood. I grew up among plants and animals, and at night poverty lit its lamp in my home. The trees were loaded with nests and stars, a very white mare ...
Liliana Ursu
Playing with the Mirror; What My Eyes Say; American Night Print Pages:  Page 175 from Issue 97 ... continent. In my small mirror I try to catch not my face red after love, nor the sad eyes of the icon in my deserted house in Bucharest. Here, in America, my mirror reflects back only a stranger. Mirror, mirror ...
Yehuda Amichai
My soul Print Pages:  Page 248 from Issue 39 Savage memories Yehuda Amichai I think these days of the wind in your hair, and of my years in the world which preceded your coming, and of the eternity to which I proceed before you; and I think of the bullets that did not kill me, but killed my friends- ...
John Rybicki
Say My Name Print Pages:  Page 56 from Issue 121 John Rybicki Say My Name Say my name is ash and I keep it in my pocket to play with. Say I'm hammering my fingers on the air like ... Now who's a good sound to try through your fingers, owl-like, who who, only I wish my fingers ...

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