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Five Poems from “In the morning we are glass” by Andra Schwarz (translated from the German by Caroline Wilcox Reul) Artwork by Hannu Töyrylä
In the morning we are glass
*
Am morgen sind wir aus glas
My hands reach into emptiness what is left under earth
I walk to the black mill at its edge the spring
nothing moves I still hear the grinding of wheels
the spray of water and how they revolve decades
in the millworks the building the dismantling the change
finally the child from then no one knows what might have been
every year another ring grows wolves prowl in the
forest now that I’m gone everything is large & -
Excerpts from the book length poem “Melismas” by Marlon Hacla (translated from the Filipino by Kristine Ong Muslim) Artwork by Tilde Acuña
Excerpts from
Melismas
Because I had been given healing salts, objects
that bring restoration, I shall brave the ripeness
of the week for you. I will sing about strengths
that seek loneliness but capable of saving
the world from impairment caused by its own
design. I have no more use
for you but each time I discard
the list that condones your utility,
a rice paddy’s hue turns pale, blankets are suddenly blown away
to reach every layer of the sky. -
“The Lake” (parts 1 to 3 of Dead Letter Office) and “After Objects” by Marko Pogačar (translated from the Croatian by Andrea Jurjević) Photography by Dora Held
Dead Letter Office is forthcoming in March 2020 by The Word Works.
The Lake
Again that tragic
Mixing up of things and folks.
— Novica Tadić1.
I am the lake, I set out
in the morning from the slow cocoon of the sun—
sink into myself as if into a silent room or despair.
plants nest in my chest
like wading birds nest in shrubs,
the eternal choir of grass blades. -
“Showers in Barrio Bagol” by Elizabeth Joy Serrano-Quijano (translated from the Cebuano by John Bengan) Artwork by Kenneth Paul Senarillos
Showers in Barrio Bagol
Here in Lumbang, the rice fields are as wide as the sky. We measure time with the sun. The rising of the sun signals the tilling of soil, our daily labor. The sunset signals the time to rest our bodies.
Since I became aware of my surroundings, this has been our life: no labor, no food. There have been nights when we had nothing to eat especially when nobody would hire us to work. My children are used to our situation. We may be poor, but I work hard so my children could go to school,
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Two Poems by Lisa Boyce
Feathers and Silk
it used to be your chest was my pillow
temporarily of course – always temporarily –
you needed more space
said you couldn’t fall asleep
sweaty limbs tangled like sheets
while I – girl who sweats
through her shirts
when it’s 30 degrees out
– wanted
onlytobecloser
devised a way to get nearer to your heart
dreamed of cracking open your chest
so I could crawl inside
be at the center of it all
sometimes if I squeeze my eyes tight enough
the pillow I am holding
becomes your chest
– but softer –
it does not smell like you
– roast chicken and orchids –
I burrow deeper
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“Long Vacation” by Jake Bauer
I am a person in need of a very
long vacation to a very cold climate.
There, one can ski out onto
the ice which is actually
a frozen-over cup of water
waiting on the nightstand
of a thief after a quick job. A boy
had to die. The world is big
then it is diamond-small
and you slip it in your pocket
on your way out the door, thinking
I’ll need this later.*
Jake Bauer is the Marketing Director for Saturnalia Books.
