CONTRIBUTORS

Kaitlin Rees

Kaitlin Rees is a translator, editor, and teacher based in New York City with reachings toward Hanoi whenever it’s possible. She translates from the Vietnamese of Nhã Thuyên, with whom she co-founded AJAR, the small bilingual journal-presse and occasional poetry festival. Select translations have appeared or are forthcoming in Gulf Coast (Issue 34.2 edited by Madu Kaza), Asymptote, The Margins, SAND, The Lifted Brow, Tongue, Words Without Borders. Her full length translated collections include moon fevers (Tilted Axis, 2019), words breathe, creatures of elsewhere (Vagabond Press, 2016), and the forthcoming book of poetry taste of waters.

2 Nhã Thuyên Translations by Kaitlin Rees

this room’s determined to not let in anyone more, someone rumbles, so should i just leave now then, is there still time, sham, someone grumbles, so should i leave and wait for someone to invite me

Posted in TRANSLATIONS | Tagged ,

dust of stars

you wake. your whole body thirsts yourskin is thirsty, the skin on your face thirsts, and it rains as if you are awindow and rain just bounces off your edges runs down your pane and you are holding it out …

Posted in 104: KIN | Tagged

Bravo

I There’s dust and black plastic instead of beach, the curled tongues of lizards washed up bubbles of air—the ticking shoreline. Some beads like scattered rosaries. There are diminutive shadows shaped as organs lying next to stars. Here, a heart …

Posted in 93: PEACH | Tagged

We make lemons.

after Allen Ginsberg You keep your dark light in jars of Vegemite, I keep my chest air in cans of lemonade and only breathe it / in super markets. Aisles of tinned goods, sugared cereal boxes wrapped in all the …

Posted in 86: NO THEME VII | Tagged

Etch A Sketch

I We found it. The house, down a jagged unpaved road the owner recently widowed coughed her warning: The peacock comes with the house lit the freshburn her next cigarette—floral nighty open to a tongue of breeze. We took it. …

Posted in 82: LAND | Tagged