Announcing Our September Book Club Selection: Bedbugs by Martina Vidaić

Vidaić’s novel calls out and works within irreconcilable contrasts: inside and outside, urban and rural, educated and less so. . .

In Bedbugs, both the environment and the individual are veering on the precipice of ruin. Pushing the frenetic and confessional potentials of the epistolary form, Martina Vidaić charts the psychological dissolution of her protagonist with the constant incursion of her disintegrating surroundings, resulting in an enthralling collision of misfortune, trauma, momentum, and one’s own instinct for survival. This sense of doom, balanced with acerbic wit and paced mystery, fuels the Croatian writer’s distinctive, absorbing investigation into our contemporary human conundrums of alienation and dread—but also our stubborn, headlong insistence of going onward. 

The Asymptote Book Club aspires to bring the best in translated fiction every month to readers around the world. You can sign up to receive next month’s selection on our website for as little as USD20 per book; once you’re a member, join our Facebook group for exclusive book club discussions and receive invitations to our members-only Zoom interviews with the author or the translator of each title. 

Bedbugs by Martina Vidaić, translated from the Croatian by Ellen Elias-Bursać, Sandorf Passage, 2025

The structural overview or the room-by-room discovery: these are two basic ways to describe a living space. The first gives context, while the second demands patience—and some faith, especially if the space is messy. In Bedbugs (Stenjice, 2021), Croatian writer Martina Vidaić’s second novel, some faith is needed as the story ramps up. When the reader sees that the entire book is written without a single paragraph break, they will know that it might take some focus to follow along—even with the expert translation of Ellen Elias-Bursać, who is no stranger to Croatian language and literature. But this dense journey into the winner of the 2023 European Union Prize for Literature is worth taking for the entirety of the grounded story, and even more so for the inventive, fluid metaphors and descriptive passages that carry the reader to the conclusion, even if it’s not a tidy one.

From the first line, both sardonic humor and bemusing doom abound. “I am writing to you, Hladna, my cold friend, because I happen to know you’re the only person who won’t laugh when I say that the day the ants chewed holes in my underwear, I finally had to face up to the fact that my downfall was a certainty.” The narrator’s dramatics feel a little overdone, but they still make me chuckle—and this is even before the bedbugs, which according to her Googling: “once they get into an apartment, bedbugs are extremely difficult to get rid of.” Throughout the novel that amounts to a 180-page letter, Gorana Hrabrov’s downfall may be certain, but the course always feels like somehow it could trend upward. This woman is smart and, like a bedbug, extremely difficult to get rid of; will she make it?   READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest from Hong Kong, Egypt, and India!

This week, our Editors-at-Large bring us news from around the globe on the latest in world literature. From Hong Kong’s vibrant multicultural literary festival, to the release of Alaa Abd El-Fattah in Egypt and a collection of award-winning Indian authors, read on to learn more.

Charlie Ng, Editor-at-Large, Reporting from Hong Kong

Hong Kong’s literary scene welcomed a vibrant celebration of European writing with the return of the European Literature Night (ELN) this September. Organized by Czech Centers and the European Union National Institutes for Culture, the event originated in Prague in 2006 with the aim of introducing contemporary European literature through public readings in non-traditional venues. Following a successful debut in Hong Kong last year, the 2025 edition featured a strengthened line-up of thirteen European countries. Over four and a half hours, well-known local guests read excerpts from European writers for approximately ten minutes each. Readings occurred simultaneously at fourteen different locations across Central and Sheung Wan at thirty-minute intervals, allowing audiences to plan their own personalized literature route.

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Deep Time Elegy: A Review of What good does it do for a person to wake up one morning this side of the new millennium by Kim Simonsen

[T]his is a book for readers who prefer elegy that is alert rather than ornamental.

What good does it do for a person to wake up one morning this side of the new millennium by Kim Simonsen, translated from the Faroese by Randi Ward, Deep Vellum, 2025

In seeking an entry into Faroese poetry, one should begin with Kim Simonsen, an award-winning writer and academic from the island of Eysturoy. Having been active for over two decades in conventional academia as well as in artistic circles, he is also the founder and managing editor of a Faroese press called Forlagið Eksil, and is the author of seven books as well as numerous academic papers. Hvat hjálpir einum menniskja at vakna ein morgun hesumegin hetta áratúsundið (What good does it do for a person to wake up one morning this side of the new millennium) won the M.A. Jacobsen Literature Award in 2014, and now, its translation by Randi Ward into English will be published by Deep Vellum in 2025. Written in free verse, the collection aspires to juxtapose the vast sweep of geology with the relative miniature of humanity, invoking the life cycles of organisms and landscapes whose timescales dwarf our own lives. Yet, the lyric centre of these poems is grief; the speaker has lost their loved one, and here measures their absence against the timelessness of eons. Divided into four parts, the book is also interspersed with illustrations from natural history texts such as Maria Sibylla Merian’s Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium (1705), Leopoldo Caldani and Floriano Caldani’s Icones Anatomicae (1801-1813), and Frederik Ruysch’s Thesaurus anatomicus primus (1701), among others.

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Life Cycles of the Text: On Eliot Weinberger’s The Life of Tu Fu & Eric Weiskott’s Cycle of Dreams

Was I reading Tu Fu, Du Fu, or 杜甫 ? Or was I reading Weinberger? Have I really read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky? Or only Pevear and Volokhonksy?

Reviews of translations tend to find themselves in familiar ruts; concern over perceived faithfulness, deftness or lack thereof, that is, if they recognize that it is a translation at all. Below, Mathew Weitman casts a scathing eye to recent criticism of Eliot Weinberger’s The Life of Tu Fu, praised by Forrest Gander as a “distinctive and refreshing” text, and broadens his discussion to include Eric Weiskott’s translation of and expansion upon the Middle English poem Piers Plowman in Cycle of Dreams. Weitman’s essay, through the works of Weinberger and Weiskott, disregards the justification of unconventional translations to explore instead what these works represent for translation, authorship, and humanity’s shared experiences across time and space.

For over forty years, Eliot Weinberger has piqued our foremost and laziest critics. His expertise remains inconveniently wedged between autodidactic and erudite, and his unique blend of formal innovation and wry humor never undercuts the seriousness of his disparate subjects of study. His translations of Octavio Paz, Bei Dao, and Jorge Luis Borges—to name a few—are forever colored by his well-known inquiry into the art of translation, 19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei (a critical work that is itself colored by Weinberger’s self-reflexivity and ironic dogmatism). This is all to say that though Weinberger’s systematic destruction of readerly expectations—via genre, via tone, via form—should come to be expected, for the past few months I’ve enjoyed the bemused, uncurious, and outright lacking critical discourse around his newest book, The Life of Tu Fu.

In the small pool of Weinberger’s reviewers, two factions have formed in the shallow end. First, there are those who attempt to summarize the work. These blurbists are quick to tell you things you already know—things like (to paraphrase), “Though its title suggests this would be a biography of the Tang Dynasty poet Tu Fu, it is actually a book of poems.” And/or: “Weinberger’s newest collection of poems is not comprised of original poems—at least not in the romantic sense of ‘original.’ Instead, they are translations of various Tu Fu poems collaged together… Like a cento [or something].” These protracted synopses avoid critical engagement with the text almost as assiduously as the text avoids genre. READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: Two Poems by Paola Assad Barbarino

We all search for the dry shadow at the time of the storm

“I make love to myself with eye crusts and sheet marks in my cheeks.” In this week’s Translation Tuesday, the Venezuelan poet Paola Assad Barbarino turns her eye towards the overlooked liminal moments of human life: waking up at the wrong hour in an unfamiliar bed, wandering the streets in the days between jobs, wishing for someone who left a long time ago. Through two dramatically different metaphors—the experience of jet lag in the first, and the life of a street cat in the second—these poems, expertly translated by Magdalena Arias Vásquez, draw our attention to the rich detail of the moments in our own lives we would rather ignore or hurry to get over with—to our shared experience of frailty and transience in a world that was not made for us. Read on!

 Jet Lag

I live intensely in unearthly hours:
I wake up when it grows dark,
I eat breakfast at hour zero,
I try on dresses while fasting,
I decide the calmness in peak hour,
I curse in childlike schedule,
I make love to myself with eye crusts and sheet marks in my cheeks,
I crave kisses with an expired date,
I miss you when it is already too late,

in short,
it is jet lag.

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The Perennial Moon: An Interview with Li Zi Shu and YZ Chin on Mahua Fiction

Mahua writers. . . have eschewed the “pure” language passed down through the eons in favor of depicting reality on the ground. . .

Mahua literature, or Malaysian Chinese literature, emerged in the early twentieth century, drawing inspiration from the Wusi (May Fourth) Movement and reflecting on localised identities, questions of belonging, and negotiations of culture within plurilingual, multicultural Malaysia. Often subjected to nationalist policies that prioritise creative works in Malay, Mahua literature occupies a liminal space, overlooked by Malaysia, mainland China, and the larger Chinese-speaking world, yet resonant in its transnational and Sinophone dimensions, according to scholar Cheow Thia Chan in Malaysian Crossings (2023). Many Mahua authors write in conversational Chinese (Bai hua) embedded with atmospheric Malaysian locality. Called a “transperipheral” formation outside borders by Chan, it navigates a global marginality with a style that’s almost an anomaly—and rightfully so.

Among these Mahua voices, Li Zi Shu stands out as a representative figure, along with King Ban Hui, Li Tianbao, Zeng Linglong, Ho Sok Fong, and Ng Kim Chew. Born in Ipoh, Perak in Malaysia, Li Zi Shu worked as a schoolteacher, dishwasher, shoe store salesperson, and then a journalist before dedicating herself fully to writing short novels. Eventually, she began writing longer works, including her celebrated first full-length novel The Age of Goodbyes, published in its Chinese original in Taiwan in 2010 and in mainland China two years later. Chosen as one of the best novels by Asia Weekly in 2010 and China Times in 2011, the novel was translated into English by Louise Meriwether Prize-winning Malaysian fictionist YZ Chin for Feminist Press.

In this interview, I spoke with Li (in West Malaysia) and Chin (in New York) in a conversation that spans Li’s novels, especially The Age of Goodbyes, the diaspora of Mahua writers and Malaysian Chinese communities, and what it means to not belong.

Alton Melvar M Dapanas (AMMD): Zi Shu, your novel The Age of Goodbyes was described by Michael Berry in The Columbia Companion to Modern Chinese Literature (2016) as “not only a new take on Malaysian Chinatown life during the 1960s but also a fresh use of the Chinese language, tinged with a neoclassical style, and a complex metafictional narrative.” Could you share how this novel come together over time?

Li Zi Shu (LZS): The Age of Goodbyes was written before I turned forty. At that time, I felt a sense of urgency—I had been writing for over a decade, mostly short stories and flash fiction. I was eager to try my hand at a longer form, or rather, I truly wanted to craft something more “grand,” something that could be regarded as a “great” work. Looking back now, I realize that was a somewhat naive perspective, and perhaps a misunderstanding of what literature is. Over the years, I have developed a much greater appreciation for the subtle and the minute. Nonetheless, before I turned forty, I held high expectations for this long novel. I wanted to pour all my knowledge and ideas accumulated over the years into this one work. The use of a metafictional narrative was a deliberate “device,” partly because it allowed the novel to have more space—much like adding an attic or a cellar to a house, enabling multiple layers of storytelling to coexist. At that time, I was eager to demonstrate everything I could do with a novel within a single piece. The structural choice of metafiction was driven by that desire.

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Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest from the Philippines, Italy, and Mexico!

This week, our editors report on a workshop centred around disaster writing in Mexico City; a literary festival with themes of urbanism, gentrification, personal history, and war narratives in Milan; and the passing of two groundbreaking translators in the Philippines. 

René Esaú Sánchez, Editor-at-Large, reporting for Mexico

I used to live with my mother in a small apartment in the eastern part of Mexico City. One day, my bed suddenly shook. I attributed it to a passing truck—but the movement started to feel suspiciously long and, when I realized what was happening, I grabbed Cookie, my dog, and ran out of the building. That day was September 19, 2017, when a 7.1 magnitude earthquake shook central Mexico, taking the lives of more than three hundred and sixty people, affecting over thirty thousand; it caused the collapse of thirty-eight buildings in the city, and damaged more than twelve thousand. Strangely enough, the earthquake struck on the same date as another historical quake in Mexico City thirty-two years prior, and, worse still, just a few hours after the ceremony commemorating the thousands who had died back then.

Writing from disaster is strange: it is an exercise in personal memory, in archiving, a hybrid between literature and journalism. What matters are the hours, the clothes you were wearing, what people told you, what you held in your hands. And precisely because this year marks forty years since the 1985 earthquake and eight since that of 2017, the Institute of Geophysics and Literatura UNAM—both institutions of the National Autonomous University of Mexico—have organized the workshop Zona de riesgo (“Risk Zone”), which seeks to recover, through creative writing and sound production, the collective memory of two of the most significant events in the country’s recent history. READ MORE…

Living Inside the Text: An Interview with Marilyn Booth on Translating Jan Dost’s Safe Corridor

I do think it’s essential, as a translator, to bring empathy to a text, to make that empathy work in the translation, when it is appropriate.

Syrian writer Jan Dost’s Safe Corridor is a searingly surreal portrait of the physical and psychic wounds that war inflicts on the most vulnerable among us. Narrated with lyrical intensity by thirteen-year-old Kamiran, the novel blends the brutal reality with Kafkaesque metaphor, depicting Syria’s painful conflict and the ways by which its abhorrent violence is processed and internalized. Furthering this work’s poignant impact is its lucid, flowing translation by renowned author and translator Marilyn Booth; in this interview, she speaks to us about remaining faithful to voice, handling stylistic variations, and her much-admired history with Arabic literature.

The Asymptote Book Club aspires to bring the best in translated fiction every month to readers around the world. You can sign up to receive next month’s selection on our website for as little as USD20 per book; once you’re a member, join our Facebook group for exclusive book club discussions and receive invitations to our members-only Zoom interviews with the author or the translator of each title. 

Ibrahim Fawzy (IF):  What first drew you to Safe Corridor and to Jan Dost’s work in particular?

Marilyn Booth (MB): I first met Jan at the Emirates LitFest in Dubai, just before the COVID pandemic. We had a wonderful conversation about literature and life, and I left with a couple of his books. When I read Safe Corridor (ممرّ آمن), I was absolutely blown away. Since then, I’ve read several more of his novels, though not all of them yet.

Jan is not only prolific but remarkably versatile—a poet, a novelist, a memoirist, and he also writes compelling historical fiction. Distinctive narrative voices are what most draw me, as both reader and translator, and that is precisely what I found in Jan’s work. He is a meticulous stylist, with hardly a wasted word. For a translator, that makes the work more demanding, but also deeply rewarding. READ MORE…

The Burden of History: A Review of Batool Abu Akleen’s 48kg

48kg . . . does not hide the Zionist intention behind abstractions, but rather confronts us with the stark realities of a genocidal war.

48kg by Batool Abu Akleen, translated from the Arabic by Batool Abu Akleen, Graham Liddell, Wiam El-Tamami, Cristina Viti, and Yasmin Zaher, Palestine, Tenement Press, June 2025

Batool Abu Akleen’s bilingual collection of poems, 48kg, is not solely a powerful literary work; rather, it is a testimony of the genocide that has been wrought upon Gaza for the past two years, written in a poetic verse and style. Her writing is urgent, heart-breaking, honest, and brutal; every line lingers long after reading.

A blend between personal witness and poetic verse, the collection was translated from the Arabic by Akleen herself along with Graham Liddell, Wiam El-Tamami, Cristina Viti, and Yasmin Zaher. The close collaboration ensured that the urgency of her voice was not lost in translation. Indeed, her first-hand experience of the genocidal war on Gaza is not hidden in gentle language, and the bilingual nature of the text puts the original Arabic side-by-side with its English counterparts. In translation, Akleen endeavors to convey her experience of genocide to a broader, non-Arabic speaking audience.

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Translation Tuesday: Six Poems by Liesl Ujvary

Yes, it’s true that we are free people. We are free people because we know that we are free people.

For this week’s Translation Tuesday, we bring you a trenchant sequence of six poems by Austrian poet Liesl Ujvary, translated from the German by Ann Cotten and Anna-Isabella Dinwoodie. In our current information-saturated age, the very nature of truth has become the central battleground, and Ujvary’s poems lucidly illustrate this. Each poem uses the deceptively plain language of logical exercises to dissect the mechanisms of modern discourse—where topics such as art, human relationships, and science are often filtered through the lenses of capitalism and politics. They expose how a passionately held conviction can be systematically inverted, and how the dialectical process is routinely weaponized into pure propaganda. The result is an ominous portrait of “doublethink,” where contradictory narratives coexist and simplicity masks manipulation. Entertaining yet chilling, this collection of poems distills the essence of the “fake news” era.

this is better

democracy is better than dictatorship
butter is better than margarine
schools are better than military training camps
sex is better than booze
humans are better than computers
houses are better than barracks
poems are better than advertisements
students are better than cops
truth is better than lies

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What’s New in Translation: September 2025

New publications from Palestine, Afghanistan, Italy, Senegal, France, Belgium, Serbia, Russia, Poland, and Kyrgyzstan!

Ten titles, ten countries! This month, we’re presenting reviews of a wide-ranging text of image philosophy in the age of virtual reality; a Russian master’s memoirs of his infamous literary friends; poetry anthologies featuring testimonies from the genocide in Gaza and the bold voices of Afghan women; a delicate and revelatory Serbian novel parsing lineage and dementia; and so much more. . .

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From Language to Language: The Hospitality of Translation by Souleymane Bachir Diagne, translated from the French by Dylan Temel, Other Press, 2025

Review by Xiao Yue Shan

Power is domination—at least, that’s how it’s been overarchingly conceived. Though the concept abstracts out to a vast array of actualities, from the centralized to the diffused, the individual to the plural, the Foucauldian and the Weberian, the most immediate and base display of human power is that of one subject being undermined by another. Translation, then, as an intersectional arena between two bodies that are as similar as they are different, is an optimal stage by which to study the varying dynamics of power; but especially within the postcolonial context, it has commonly begun with the premise that translation is a dominating act, with one more powerful language exercising its patterns, definitions, and cultural values over another. In From Language to Language, the Senegalese philosopher Souleymane Bachir Diagne wants to build his theories on a different foundation.

It may seem that the closer one looks at translation, the less feasible an equilibrium seems—at least, from the outside. For bilingual or multilingual persons, however, the idea of equal values for different languages is simply fact; the hosts of multiple languages are likely to regard them as equally essential components, regardless of any diglossic differences in fluency, utility, or geographical relevance. As a speaker of Wolof, French, and English, Diagne is in this camp, and opens this English edition of From Language to Language with a personal anecdote on his family’s migration, which ends with the determination that his children should “live out their different identities and the languages that expressed them with self-assurance as pride.” His own multilingualism therefore places him at a position more primed to think of translation less as a sequence of conquests, and more as a rendezvous of common goals, whether that be the making of a fully-fledged individual, or of a more varied and generous world. There is, he says, a “gratitude and equality within a shared humanity, which is at the very heart of translation.” READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest in literary news from Nigeria and Palestine!

This week, our editors report on the literature that testifies to the ongoing genocide in Gaza, new initiatives to promote writing from the Global Majority, and exciting technological initiatives to preserve heritage and indigenous languages across Africa.

Carol Khoury, Editor-at-Large, reporting from Palestine

PEN’s spotlight on Palestinian literature is more vibrant than ever. In a recent dispatch, we featured Children of the Dew by Palestinian writer Mohammed Al-As‘ad, soon arriving in English thanks to translators maia tabet and Anaheed Al-Hardan, and the upcoming anthology Palestine – 1 (Comma Press, October 2025), which reimagines the 1948 Nakba through speculative fiction. Now, English PEN and the Booker Prize Foundation have announced the six winners of the brand-new “PEN Presents x International Booker Prize,” designed to support translators from the Global Majority. Among the winners are two Arabic-language books: the Sudanese title Ireme by Stella Gaitano, translated by Mayada Ibrahim and Najlaa Eltom, and the Palestinian title Playing with Soldiers by Tariq Asrawi, translated by Anam Zafar. As both Sudan and Palestine are sites of enduring crimes against humanity (to say the least), this announcement reminds us that literature is a profound test of our shared humanity. Both works have world English rights available, promising more stories—not only devastating news—for global audiences.

While Gaza City may be facing unimaginable challenges as we read and write these lines, the people of Gaza are definitely not off the map; they’re not “there,” they’re very much “here.” They’re making their voices heard loud and clear through literature that bursts with resilience and hope. Further evidence of this exists in We Are Still Here: An Anthology of Resilience, Grief, and Unshattered Hope from Gaza’s University Students, which gathers raw, courageous stories, poems, essays, and testimonies from students now living through unimaginable trauma. Edited by Jacob Norris and Zahid Pranjol, these pieces are like snapshots of real-time courage, proving that words can be a powerful act of survival and hope. READ MORE…

Grief and Knowledge in a Dying World: A Review of Inn of the Survivors by Maico Morellini

Stability and instability. Throughout Inn of the Survivors, the theme of balance comes up time and again—literally and metaphorically.

Inn of the Survivors by Maico Morellini, translated from the Italian by Rose Facchini, Snuggly Books, 2025

Inn of the Survivors is Italian writer Maico Morellini’s debut in the English language, a haunting and eerily familiar work from a sophisticated voice in speculative fiction, arriving in Rose Facchini’s translation. Set in a dystopian future after an unspecified climate disaster, the novella tells the story of a seventeen-year-old girl’s arrival at the titular Inn of the Survivors, a haven on the Adriatic coast. Having taken off from her remote home in the mountains overlooking the Po River Valley, and following a three-year trek through Bologna, Forlì, and Cesena, she finally reaches the Inn and encounters others like her: people who have been on the run, trying to survive, living with trauma, grief, or shame. The price of staying? You must tell your story.

Lest you think my use of the second person is casual, it should be said that except for the backstory—which appears in the latter half—the novella is written entirely in the second person. While this narrative device appears often enough in English, it is far less common in Italian, with only two novels coming easily to mind: Se una notte d’inverno un viaggiatore by Italo Calvino, and the most recent Strega Prize winner Come d’aria by Ada d’Adamo. This is likely due to the Italian third person impersonal (si + verb), which can mean anything from “you,” to the more formal-sounding “one,” to the most passive of voices. As such, choosing to write this tale in the second person was a bold and effective choice on the part of the author, with the new text sounding entirely natural (the ideal result for a work of cli-fi). Yet, thanks to specific geographic locations that are an integral part of the story and the protagonist’s desire to understand her country, it still retains a quality we can call “Italian.” READ MORE…

“Swarms touch the text where thought burns”: An Interview with Aiden Farrell on Translating The Vitals by Marie de Quatrebarbes           

The text is as bodily as the body is textual, their respective functions included.

The Vitals, written by Marie de Quatrebarbes and translated from the French by Aiden Farrell, examines the chasm of loss and desire to “conjugate the moments outside of me, spent so far from you, with this distance that is ‘I see’ and you who are ‘so far from me.’” Written in lyrical, diaristic fragments that take place between July and December, the poems certify de Quatrebarbes as a master of the short prose poetry form, which she imagines as nestled matryoshka dolls. Each poem is titled with the day of the month as the speaker lives her life and thoughts intrude. “Say again, do mourners have a singular?” asks de Quatrebarbes, as she lives and re-lives: “The day of his departure–the eye simply wanted to take stock.”

Farrell’s English translation is a deft reflection of the poet’s angular and defamiliarizing experiments with syntax, discontinuity, and memory; in this interview, I spoke with him on the ongoing process of translational work, its intersections with his personal writing, and the ways in which de Quartrebarbes subverts language.

Tiffany Troy (TT): What is the act of literary translation to you?

Aiden Farrell (AF): I like that you’ve framed literary translation as an act, because that’s exactly what it is, and any definition that tries to go beyond the action of translation has to be taken with a grain of salt—which is to say that translation is nothing if not a process, necessarily changing from project to project and from translator to translator.

A writing practice necessitates a reading practice; translation is both at the same time, and also not exactly, because when I’m reading to translate I’m not reading as I otherwise would, and when I’m writing my translation I’m not writing as I otherwise would, but I’m still doing both. To varying degrees, every poem I read asks me to reinvent the way I read poetry, and calls attention to my standards for reading, and then also for writing. The same goes for translating—I have to reinvent, surrender just enough of my instincts that I can be open to receiving what the original poem is giving me, but also hold on just enough that I can respond accordingly. I have to disappear so as to appear, only a second later. READ MORE…