Monday, January 14, 2019

Lost in Translation: A Spaniard With English Ears, a poem by Vincent Corsaro

Lost in Translation: A Spaniard With English Ears
by Vincent Cosaro

Language is a shifty puta.
Play around with it just right
and you can build bridges between tongues.
Use only the shape of ink
and write on a thin strip of Spanish wood.

The sky is a cello.
The dog is a pair of boots.
Red rivers urge me to row home
as wolves chew on low bones.”

Add more filler
a handful of black and white chords
some música.
Abstract thought is in style now.
The gringos will think you’re an artist,
that you have something special in your mind.

Go smoke on food mars.
Your feet are nothing but old pies,
lukewarm, unmoving.
You sleep with a bad case of dorm ears.
Your shoes hold zapped out toes.
You can’t eat, you comb air
like a photosynthesizing plant
a large metal tree, upside down
a bowl.”

They’ll have no clue you’re full of mierda
that you have a small book,
a pocket translator,
turning your native tongue
into some lengua ludica.

Write like a mala traducción.
They’ll think it’s art.
Just don’t tell them
you’re actually a linguist.

Vincent Corsaro is an MFA student at Butler University. He was born in raised in Indianapolis, and is involved in both the musical and writing communities in the city. He describes himself an avid rock climber, reader, musician, and person. In the spring of 2018, he published his first work of fiction in IU's Canvas Literary Arts Journal.

Monday, January 7, 2019

In the Poet's House, a poem by Terry Ofner

In the Poet’s House
by Terry Ofner
I saw wainscot of tin made to look like wood
and I traced my finger on it and followed her up
and heard notes as from a practice room
somewhere above—fingers on white keys

and black made to look like wood and the left
hand put down a limping bass line and the right
foot held the pedal and I felt the quiver and traced
a finger along it and wondered—can I be

like me? and the now answered with a mocking
tin-like song: “Can I be like me?” then I saw her skirt
disappear at a twist in the stairs—and the ghost
of piano forte made a sound like metal and wood

and I traced a finger to feel it and I saw her
follow herself up into the music

Bio: Terry Ofner has published poetry in World Order, 100 Words, Right Hand Pointing, Ghazal Page, Flying Island, San Pedro River Review, and forthcoming in I70 Review. Helives in Indianapolis and is an editor for an educational publishing company headquartered in Iowa, where he grew up—not far from the Mississippi River.