Won in Translation
Translation is often seen as a necessary evil. It is the imperfect remedy to the embarrassing fact that we can’t speak all the languages, to be swept under the rug and forgotten about. Translation is merely the conduit that allows us to access writings that would otherwise remain mysterious to us.
Tres Poemas de la Generación del 27
Words by Iona Blair. Art by Betsy McGrath.
A Ghuí ar a Croí
Dá mbeadh brait gréasacha na neimhe Maisithe le solas airgid óir, Iad gorma, dorcha, agus séimhe, ‘S mise amháin ina sealbhóir, Chuirfinn fútsa na brait gan agó; Ach, níl a’am ach brionglóidí bochta; Chuir mé mo bhrionglóidí fútsa fadó: Céimnigh orthu go ciúin, cosnochta.∎ &n
Stockholm Syndrome
we captured the city / persuaded the morning to wait / not to dawn / or betray us / or tread on our shadows just yet now we are alone / but entrapped is a bat in the net of your wings / these have managed somehow to regenerate we captured the towers / […]
