The Dust Draws Its Face on the Wind, a book review by Tulasi Acharya The Dust Draws Its Face on the Wind (HarperCollins) by Avinash Shrestha Translated by Rohan Chhetri “Dust Draws its face on the Wind,” a collection of Nepali poems by Avinash Shrestha and their translations by Rohan Chetri, winner of a pen/Heim…
A poem by Bilal Al Masri, translated from Arabic by Dr. Anba Jawi, MBE, and Dr. Mohamad Haj Mohamad A Story I Like smoke dispersing,words distance themselvesas you and I return to being strangers,just two characters lost in a long story,an endless one, whose sad authoris uncertain which way to turn. II When you are…
We extend our heartfelt thanks to all the poets, writers, reviewers, and translators whose work has made “Summer Horizon: The Sixteenth Edition of Life and Legends” possible. Your contributions continue to enrich the magazine and deepen the literary conversations we hope to share with our readers. This edition includes a special feature honoring Jack Foley,…
Essay by Jeffrey-Michael Kane Standfirst: For fifty years, some critics have played “John Irving Bingo” — ticking off orphanages and wrestling matches, readable prose and recurring grief — while missing the writer standing in front of them. Irving is not a sentimental novelist who keeps failing to be serious. He is a tragic novelist in…
my brother, my torturer (xxxxxxxxxiii) May 8, 2026. Cité de Billes.Douala. Cameroon. my narrownight always behave like the squire.it is filled with potholes. and when thesleeping guitars, the toxic angels &rebels of my brother wind, it becomesa gutter of aches. i drown inside thespraying. my lean breath hurtles andmy body chokes out. the sleeping guitars,the…
Samodiva He took you, nymph, from your springyou left the pool with water as clear as tearshe saw your naked beauty only as womannot wildernessyou protect the woods, the spruce and the pinebecause there will always be menbe men who bury their axes into barkuntil they strip it of its dark dressunveiled to its golden…
Seema Speaks “I am part of an Indian army, an invisible army,a hidden force, an underground battalion,an army of twenty million women construction workers.I have stolen a few minutes from mixing cementto have a few words with you. A few minutes away from the heat,the dust, the pollution, the worry about my daughterback in the…
We Understood Each Other After years together & years apart &years like pausing a tedious film, we recognized subtle sides, insides,insights, what made you you & me me. My embarrassment, your success—you wrote a book, which I applauded— warmth overwhelmed me, joyas though your new self-worth were mine. We left no room for politics, religions,past…
Of Dire Combustion and Confused Events Akira Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood (1957)after Shakespeare’s Macbeth (1606) I worry about the horses,dashing, galloping into thickestof impenetrable fogs. Out and back again,they return to view, whinnying with each turn,in endless, forced gallop under their two warriors.Only the Doppler effect of drumming hoovestells me when they are comingand when…
Jack Foley in Conversation with Kalpna Singh-Chitnis Speech come to those who have no need for anything but air ~ Jack Foley Once, I asked Jack Foley how he would like the world to remember him. He replied: “As a good poet and as someone who changed people’s minds in certain respects. Someone who said…
The Unbearable Patience of Desire: On Mariano Zaro’s The Weight of Sound A book review by José Enrique Medina The Weight of Sound (Walton Well Press) a poetry collection by Mariano Zaro The Weight of Sound by Mariano Zaro does something most poetry collections only pretend todo: it holds still. And in that stillness, the…
Another Birth All my being is a verse of darknessthat will take you, repeating within itselfto the dawn of eternal blossoming and growthsin this verse, I sighed you forthin this verseI bound you to the tree, to the water, to the fire. Life, perhaps,is a long street where a woman holding a basket passes every…
