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I don't look over my shoulder, no idea where I'm going and not an ounce of fear, falling like fluff from an eiderdown quilt and piercing the afternoon air, real as an hour of solitude or the fragrance of a certain herb: my wounds are healed over and all five senses in sync, harmonized to the birds and the sky, the grimy wall of an underpass with graffiti scratched in a child's hand, announcing I was here. But not only here, my lord, as you know, I go where you want...

Karbala is a medium-sized city in central Iraq, recently the scene of violent clashes between U.S. troops and Iraqi militants loyal to the young Shi'a cleric Moqtada al-Sadr. But for Shi'a Muslims around the world Karbala is both a town and a tragedy, the point at which history began to go wrong. In the year 680 A.D., soldiers of the Sunni Ummayad dynasty, led by the depraved caliph Yazid bin Muwayiah (c 645-683 A.D.), confronted the Prophet Mohammed's grandson Hussein in a...

Among the many pronouncements that have shaped our understanding of literary translation, perhaps none is more often echoed than John Dryden's preface to his version of the Aeneid. "I have endeavoured to make Virgil speak such English," asserted Dryden, "as he would himself have spoken, if he had been born in England, and in this present Age." No doubt Dryden's achievement is to have made many of his contemporaries believe that he had impersonated the Latin poet. But this is...

The Oracles of the Virgin Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory.--Oscar Wilde Buried inside us were the sounds of the words our parents managed to utter in the moment of intercourse before they fell silent at the wonder of budding life. Buried inside us were the sounds of the songs we heard in the cradle before our mothers had forgotten the oracles of the Virgin. Buried inside us were the sounds of the grinding of...

Two brothers, the first two brothers. Conceived on the threshold of paradise, so to speak, when Adam and Eve, driven out by the cherubim with the flaming sword that turned every way, took up residence in this our world. Such an origin undoubtedly represents a great mark of distinction compared to subsequent generations. Nevertheless, it carries a side effect, a certain inexperience, a naïve ignorance of what would later become the most common human sentiments. Thus Eve coupled with...

Snoopy Goes to Kasimov I used to torture myself over the question, I was baffled by it: to what could I attribute the incontrovertible fact of my total lack of literary talent? A fluke of nature? Blind chance? Genetic aberration? And this in a family tree, mind you, that's produced five writers minimum, two of which, in the opinion of their contemporaries, made a sizable contribution to the treasurehouse of Russian belles-lettres. My grandfather, who during his lifetime was honored...

I learn things by myself, which is why it takes so long. I'm asking you to be patient. That's not asking much. I learn by myself, learn to cross the village, it's not every day I recognize you in the timberwork of the roof, the builders' sweat alight in the air even now. The river is sluggish here, the lake is asleep, one's step less heavy, but I'm no longer convinced I've read it right: instructions for painting a woodpecker's wings in red and...

My dear friend* nowhere in sight, this Han River keeps flowing east. Now, if I look for old masters here, I find empty rivers and mountains. *Meng Hao-jan was another of China's great poets and Wang Wei's immediate poetic predecessor. From Mountain Home: The Wilderness Poetry of Ancient China, forthcoming from New Directions.

For the English translation, please click here.   Mae duwiau ym Mod Iwan, duwiau'r gair, brodyr y gân, yn dduwiau traed ar ddaear, duwiau gwyllt, eneidiau gwâr: Gerallt, sydd yn dallt y daith yn ôl i Fadryn eilwaith; ac Edmwnd, Edmwnd a âyr fod twrw'n sân a synnwyr; y dâr mawr, yr adar mân - maen nhw yng nghwmni Ieuan: Bu dau wrth fwrdd Bod Iwan, dau a'u hiaith yn llwch ar dân, mwg o iaith ar y paith...

Two Romany boys were sent, sent across the great sea. Plato for brawling, Lasho for stealing the purse of a great lady. And when they came to the other land, The land that's over the sea, Plato was quickly hung, but Lasho became husband to a great lady. Do you want to know who the lady was? It was the lady from whom he'd stolen the purse: The boy had a black witching eye, And she had followed him across the great sea.

I lift't the harnesh fae ahint the oul doar, whur it haes hug fae iver I mine, The cullar an' hames maybe ouler than me, an' a bit o' a ravell't oul' rein, An' oul' bridle an' straps that sa' monies a crap, an' an oul snaffle that shines lak' a shillin', I hae cover't some grun, but mae best deys be's done, I'm wake but mae spirit is...

For the English translation, please click here. (ar achlysur Eisteddfod Genedlaethol Llanelwedd) Mae'r ffin yn y cyffiniau, pridd ei gwytnwch yn parhau i serio'i hanes ar wyneb erwau ein hiaith, ein tir neb. Isel anadl Llywelyn yw'n hiaith uwch y meini hyn, yn herio mwy i'w siarad a chyffroi uwch ei pharhad. Rwy'n ei dal, ei dyfalu yn law plwm, yn wely plu, ein henaid, ein cyfrinach, yn wrid byw, yn gariad bach: èn eiliad, yn...

In Death in the Afternoon, Hemingway says: "The only place where you could see life and death, i.e., violent death now that the wars were over, was in the bull ring and I wanted very much to go to Spain where I could study it. I was trying to learn to write, commencing with the simplest things, and one of the simplest things of all and the most fundamental is violent death." R. hadn't yet read Hemingway's book that exhausting afternoon when she'd lost her way and ended up at...

A spring breeze ruffled my hair; at the foot of the hills a thaw had set in. It is usually cold when the snow melts, but today the long-hidden sun finally made an appearance. I put on a coat and started down the hill, bathed in sunlight. Few people used that quiet path, though we were not far from the city and the hill was not high. People here kept to themselves; aside from a trip down for their shopping in the mornings, they had little contact with the outside world. I found life up...

What is Scots? Is it Gaelic? A dialect of English? English with a Gaelic brogue? A hodgepodge of English and Gaelic? In fact, none of the above. Scots is "ane o the wee leids o Europe, ane o the leids o Scotlan, alang wi Gaelic an Suddron." Linguists consider it an autonomous West Germanic language, with its own dialects-Glesca, Aberdonian, Doric, Shetlandic, Orcadian, Black-Isle-and its own standard literary language, Lallans (Lowlands). Its closest relatives are English and Frisian....

Camo-Gillie Pawnie birks My men-engni shall be; Yackors my dudes Like ruppeney shine: Atch meery chi! Ma jal away: Perhaps I may not dick tute Kek komi.   English translation Love Song The pond of your breasts My pillow shall be; Your eyes my moons Like silver shine. Wait, my girl! Don't go away: What if I will not see you, Ever again?

When the Olmedo family arrived at their new home a strong easterly wind, the Levanter, was blowing. It blew the house's canvas awnings so high it appeared they would come free of their aluminum frames, then let them drop for a moment before inflating them again, producing a monotonous sound, muffled and heavy, like the beating wings of a flock of monstrously large birds. A rhythmic sound, metallic, much sharper, conveying the roughness of rust, could be heard now and again when the wind...

--based on Yami myths 1 The island is by the sea, and the sea by the island Our island is a tiny, motionless ship Tsunami turned the ship into a cradle The waves dashed toward the mountaintop, splitting the giant rock Out of the rock I popped I am man, I am Tau I am a man Tsunami turned the ship into a cradle The waves tumbled over reefs, splitting bamboo woods Out of the bamboo I popped I am man, I am Tau I am a man We were the first two on board We were...

Sitting alone within a hidden bamboo grove plucking the qin repeating long howls in a deep forest no one knows bright moon illuminates the harmony "Nine Poems from Ancient China" are translated from one of China's most popular collections of traditional verse, the Qian Jia Shi ("Poems of a Thousand Masters") first compiled in the Song Dynasty (960-1279) by the poet Liu Kezhuang. Before he died in 1269 after some...

A strong desire to climb high No one comes to offer wine So forlorn for distant homeland chrysanthemums that must be in bloom near a field of war "Nine Poems from Ancient China" are translated from one of China's most popular collections of traditional verse, the Qian Jia Shi ("Poems of a Thousand Masters") first compiled in the Song Dynasty (960-1279) by the poet Liu Kezhuang....

At last at West Lake it's the sixth moon-month Wind light sights unlike any four seasons Sky-linked lotus leaves endless jade-blue Sun- light bright on water lily bloom reds of all hues "Nine Poems from Ancient China" are translated from one of China's most popular collections of traditional verse, the Qian Jia Shi ("Poems of a Thousand Masters") first compiled in the Song Dynasty...

A cloud is her dress       a flower her face             Spring wind through the threshold       stirs       deep peony-dew If unable to meet                       on a jade mountain peak we'll face at Jasper Terrace                 beneath the moon   "Nine Poems from...

Paper screen Rock pillow Square bamboo bed Hand tires book drops Long afternoon dreams Woke up smiling then laughed alone counting the notes of a fisherman's flute Waves billowing blue "Nine Poems from Ancient China" are translated from one of China's most popular collections of traditional verse, the Qian Jia Shi ("Poems of a Thousand Masters") first compiled in the Song...

Don't resent your exile Long ago I passed thru Min There are usually few wild geese in autumn but at night gibbons are common The road east becomes clouds mountains Skies south have mild miasmas One will naturally encounter the benevolonce of Dew-Rain tho travel with vigilance against...

Eighth moon-month Dongting autumn Xiao Xiang waters flow north To go home is a ten thousand li dream Traveler's sorrow through the fifth nightwatch No use opening a book when it's a matter of climbing a tower of wine Old friends all over Jing and Luo What day will wanderings...