Born and raised in Bombay (Mumbai), Pramila Venkateshwaran is a prominent voice in Asian American poetry. In her works, she blends her vision, life experiences, memories, and cultural influences, like an artist, mixes colors to paint a picture on canvas. In her writings, she gently and subtly approaches her readers and exits impactfully, leaving one…
Flash Fiction: Of Memories, Mirrors, Miracles and Dreams Insane By Chitra Gopalakrishnan
Sharda presumed the letters were for her. For milliseconds, her heart was fooled into a whorl of wild, tropical joy, into a spiral of luminous hope, into becoming a living labyrinth of spinning, concentric, elliptical coils. Her realization of the messages being for another folded her fleeting sensation of being in a happy surge. The…
Flash Fiction: Samca by Roxana Cazan
I don’t remember exactly why she chose to visit me every night because I wasn’t a child anymore. I had not spent my youth wandering about the hill behind my grandmother’s house, looking for watercress, gathering it in a pile nestled inside the folds of my skirt. I didn’t talk back to my elders, and…
Mariana Marin: Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
Rice Pudding in the Praterstrasse We were living between heaven and hell literally,we were slender, nervous, we’d silenceeach other with a silky tenderness,we’d wipe our nightmares,we’d make our beds, our boots,we’d go skating on goddamn ice of life.Sometimes we’d notice reality.Then something would squatin the darkest corner of the houseand would begin to whimper in…
Ștefan Augustin Doinaş: Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
The Boar With Silver Fangs A Prince from Levant in love with the huntingthrough dark forest’s heart was making his way,For finding his path through the bushes hard fighting,was playing his bone flute and to his men he’d say: Let’s go for the hunt in the deep wildernessthe hunt of the wild boar with silvery…
George Bacovia: Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
Lacustrine So many nights I hear the rain,I hear the matter cry again…I’m lonely, and my thoughts may drainTowards the dwellings lacustrine. And it’s like sleeping on wet floorboards,A wave keeps hitting me’n the back —I shudder in my sleep and reckonI did not pull the drawbridge back. An historical void is stretching,I find myself…
Ion Barbu: Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
King Crypto and Laplander Enigel Sad minstrel, much steamierthan good old wine served at the weddingBy the groom’s father given thereWith bags and ribbons, tinsel weaving, Of all most stubborn minstrelA grand old song still tries to sing,Sing of Laplander Enigel,And Crypto, the mushroom-king! You, guest with quest!Your feast, my tongue did burn and sting,I’ll…
Tudor Arghezi: Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
Hide and Seek My dears, once I will playWith you, of something strange at sight.Your Father doesn’t know when is that dayBut definitely, once we will play,Once, maybe, after the twilight. It’s of elders’ a cunning gameWith children, like you, with girls with frocksGame of servants and of masters, the same,Game of birds, of flowers,…
Poetry: Susan Sanders
Infinite Difference “If we keep on speaking the same language together,we’re going to reproduce the same history.” Luce Irigaray Our language holds us hostage.and we are forced to speaknew truths but sometimes,the words are twisted into lieswe are told to hide. To speak louder calls attentionto the volume not the words, not themeaning, not what…
Adrian Păunescu: Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
Unanimously ill What would it beif we’ll got sicksuddenly,If there won’t besomeone us to treat,someone to removebandages and bracket? What if,as our legal right, sayto get sick,we find out quickthat we are ill one dayand had no one at allno one to call? And what if, sayon a damned daywe’d got sickallat once astray? ….
Claudiu Komartin: Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
“Neither in the sky, nor in the middle of the ocean,nor in the caves of the mountains” Doctor, doctor, don’t smile yet, you haven’t found your man.I’m more sarcastic than you any day,and cynicism is better left unsaidit’s a little early, don’t you think?I know, it’s just the two of us,although I would have preferred…
Mariana Codruţ: Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
Divided… divided between humilityand disastrous egosreceiving in the plexus his owngroan reflected in wordshe – a precious spicetaken out on special daysfor the hunt on the platter –reminds youwhen it is not the case:I am the poet! . împărţit… împărţit între umilinţăşi orgolii dezastruoaseprimind în plex propriulvaier răsfrînt de cuvinteel – un condiment preţiosscos de…