FRANCO ALL NIGHT ~

 

ON IMPUNITY, PINOCHET IN ENGLAND. . .~

 

R E A D   M E

    Knopf 2025

JOHN PRINE ~

 

J O H N   P R I N E

     Norton 2025

JUMP CUTS ~

 

R E A D   M E

One of the best titles from this

intermittent intriguing press ~

the poetry titles are on the weaker side

the re-issues are invaluable

the prose titles robust

THE BAND TONIGHT ~

 

℗ 2000 Capitol Records, LLC Released on: 2000-01-01 Producer: John Simon Composer, Vocalist: Richard Manuel Bassvocalist, Background Vocalist: Rick Danko Mastering Engineer, Mixing Engineer: Andrew Sandoval Engineer: Don Hahn Mastering Engineer: Dan Hersch Composer: Bob Dylan

RAUL MALO ~

 

R A U L    M A  L O

THINGS THAT DISAPPEAR ~

 

J E N N Y   E R P E N B E C K

R E A D   M E

     New Directions 2025

WANDA JACKSON TONIGHT ~

 

℗ 1958 Capitol Records, LLC

HALYNA KRUK ~

 

August

at night the pear bulbs illuminate

august's final meters    a porno plays

in someone's window, in a black living room

grasshoppers chirp, the spectators giggle,

the credits roll by unread

someone whispers emphatically in my ear: get rid of

all useless sounds like laments

about what happens to us in the end,

'cause it's not time yet, there's suspense and so on,

for it's geature-length and you can, by living

slowly and frugally, dry pears for winter,

darn stiff autumn shrouds of conversation with voices,

go for a stroll together around the empty park,

fingering the hole in your pocket,

which, in the end, we both fall out of

____________________

Halyna Kruk

Lost in Living

Lost Horse Press, 2024

translated by Ali Kinsella/Dzvinia Orlowsky

THE WORLD IS DANGEROUS ~

 

Hurray for the Riff Raff's "The World Is Dangerous" from the album 'The Past Is Still Alive,' out on Nonesuch Records: 2024

TILSA OTTA ~

 

I saw a herd of toads in the gully of my reflection

Staring at each other arguing over insects

It wasn't romantic 

White suits folded on the lake

And a gold medal gleaming like the mosquito

That can distinguish blue blood

From slime

Sliding down the rocky salt flats

Of Acaoulco's snowy isthmus

It was my saddest memory

I was in pieces

I was feeling Greco-Roman

A hermaphroditic breeze fluttered the skirts

Of parking lot shadows

An oil smell took me out of the scene

And I entered the dark cinema

I lit a cigarette

The first light came on and by law

They kicked me out of this world

_________________

Tilsa Otta

The Hormone of Darkness

translated Farid Matuk

Graywolf Press, 2024

CORA WEISS ~

 

C O R A   W E I S S

Cora Weiss at a news conference in New York City in 1972 with David Dellinger, center, the co-chairman of the Committee of Liaison with Families of Servicemen Detained in North Vietnam, and the Rev. William Sloan Coffin Jr., a Yale chaplain.Credit...Ron Frehm/Associated Press

MIKEAS SANCHEZ ~

 

Jesucristo’is Ja’ Ñäjktyäj’ya Äj’ Tzumama’is Kyionuksku’y

Äj’ tzumama’is ja’ myuspäkä’ kastiya’ore
natzu’ jyambä’ä ngyomis’kyionukskutyam
natzu’ xaä’ tumä nabdzu’
jyambäukam yanuku’is musokiu’tyam
Äj’ tzumama’is wyanjambana’ jujche’ ore’omorire’na
Muspabä tä’ tzamä’sawa’jin
tese’ kujtnebya’na eyabä’ ngomis wyinan’omoram
tese’na konukspa chokoyjin ni’ijse
Jesucristo’is ja’ myajna kyonujksku’y
te’ yore äj’ dzumamas’ñye
ñä’ ijtu’na pomarrosas yoma’ram
tese’ sunkbana’ tumä’ matza
wyrün’omoram wadbasenaka’
San Miguel Arkangel’is ja’ myajna’ kyänuksku’y
äj’tzumama’is kyänuksku’y wenen’omo yaxonguy’tyam’dena’
jukis’tyt numbana’ tese’ poyajpana te’ toya’ram
patsoke wejpana’ tese’ te’ Sungä mita’na yängu’kyämä
Te’ yängu’kyämärike pänayaju’ kuyay’yune’ram

 

Jesus Never Understood My Grandmother’s Prayers

My grandmother never learned Spanish
was afraid of forgetting her gods
was afraid of waking up in the morning
without the prodigals of her offspring in her memory.
My grandmother believed that you could only
talk to the wind in Zoque
but she kneeled before the saints
and prayed with more fervor than anyone.
Jesus never heard her
my grandmother’s tongue
smelled like rose apples
and her eyes lit up when she sang
with the brightness of a star.
Saint Michael the Archangel never heard her
my grandmother’s prayers were sometimes blasphemies
jukis’tyt she said and the pain stopped
patsoke she yelled and time paused beneath her bed.
In that same bed she birthed her seven sons.

 

Nereyda’is myabaxäyu nwyt New’York

Nereyda’is myabaxäyu nwyt New’York
ne’ yamumä’ kiene tumä tuku’ ma’aomo ñoyibäis Macy’s
tumä ore’yomo
tumä pabiñomo pänajubä’ dä’ najsomo’ram
tumä’ nkiae ne’ pyoyubä koxtaksi’
ne’ chajkienbäu’bäis dyagbajk’ajku’y
Yanu’ku’is myuja’ajkujxye’
jaya’ iri’ nijuräbä kubgu’y nasakobajk’omo
yäjse’ tejse’ yenu’ ojse’jin
te’ nkiäram takyajubä pakakis’
kawa’ wä’ yispüjkiaju te’ tzama ja’ yispäjkia’äjse xis’
jiksek’ Ngiomi te’ nasakobajk’
Tzitzungätzäjk’mäbä
Tumä mätzik’ wane’rire’na
juwä’ yagbajk’unestam’ wyä’ñayajpana ñyatzku’tyam
Teje te Pinakate jenere’na natzkuxebä’
Tumä ne’pyakäyubä’ pabiñomo’koroya
teje’ te tojtzubä’najs Sonorasñye’ jenere’na mujabä’
wäkä pyatayaä’ pyajk’ käwanubä poyo’omoram
Nereyda’is myabaxäyu nwyt New’York
ne’ yamumä’ kiene tumä tuku’ ma’aomo ñoyibäis Macy’s
Nasakobajk’ uka mujspa manä’
minä’ pinja’ yanima
minä’ yajk’ tzunja’ kyändätzä’ tumä’moneko’ majkis yames’ñye
minä’ nobujta’ dyajxu’tzujkayajubä’ xys’
minä’ yajk’ tujkwiruä kyae’omo
te’ kyae’ myätzäbya’bäsna tzaune’ram
ijtyajubä te’ tzitzungätzojkis’myeya’omo
minä’ tejin’ käminä’
minä’

 

Nereyda Dreamed in New York

Nereyda dreamed in New York
contemplating her reflection in a Macy’s window
a migrant ore’yomo
a girl born in the Tzitzun empire
a girl fleeing barefoot
The grandness of her lineage could never
be compared to any other kingdom
but she grew up hungry
and her hands chapped by the cold
knew the countryside better than they know her own body
so Nasakobajk from the majesty of the Tzitzungätzojk
was just a music box
where the orphan girls stored their fear
But the Pinacate was too rural
for a cold girl
but the Sonora desert was very big
to find her skeleton hunched among the dunes
Nereyda dreamed in New York
contemplating her reflection in a Macy’s window
Oh Nasakobajk if you can hear her
draw near to gather her soul
draw near to satiate her 500-year thirst
draw near to rescue her injured body
draw near to turn her back into a girl
the one that played with the pebbles
that surround Tzitzun’s crater
draw near to her
draw near

Translated from Zoque by way of Spanish by David Shook

How to Be a Good Savage and Other Poems (Milkweed Editions 2023)

These poems first appeared in English in World Literature Today 88, no. 5 (September 2014)