It comforted me to breathe the same air and to be a part—albeit unnoticed—of their morning landscape, before they went their separate ways, probably until the next meal, which, on many days, would have been supper. The last day on which his wife and I saw him, they could not dine together. Or even haveContinue reading “nunca”
This review was originally published at Ploughshares on 7.14.17 Let’s romanticize purple. Let’s use it when something is so maudlin that it becomes gaudy, to describe a thing that contains copious amounts of weltschmerz. Let’s have this consensus: purple is not the way you (should) want your work to be described. But there are times forContinue reading “review: STOMACHS by luna miguel (tr. luis silva)”
because no one ever will read your work as closely as a translator does.
It would be ridiculous to say that going to museums makes you a better painter. It just doesn’t.
Grief, though, is neither defined by culture nor constrained by time.
“I didn’t use to care but it bothers me more and more, somehow, to read book after book never finding a woman in it that isn’t a glaring stereotype—the whore or the mother.”