Journal

Two Lines Press
Print Archive
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Ulrike Almut Sandig
Translated from German By Bradley Schmidt

...we are lacking

material, no question, something cools out from below

placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Ulrike Almut Sandig
Translated from German By Bradley Schmidt

NOWHERE is there as much

laughter as here, nowhere smoked

worse.

placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Ulrike Almut Sandig
Translated from German By Bradley Schmidt

but always being there for someone and always

being cherished and be good to someone who scratches.

placeholder
Fiction | Dec 2016
By Graciliano Ramos
Translated from Portuguese By Annie McDermott
Twenty years. Everything was different now. The enormous room, the enormous desk. Dr. Silveira was on one side of it, and from the other, the puffy eyes were calmly observing him.
placeholder
Fiction | Dec 2016
By Ma’ayan Even
Translated from Hebrew By Tom C. Atkins
Names come and go in front of his eyes the way movie credits in the cinema do, while you make your way towards the subterranean exit amid empty popcorn boxes.
placeholder
Fiction | Dec 2016
By Enrique Vila-Matas
Translated from Spanish By Margaret Jull Costa
This man, called José Ferrato, with a somewhat unprepossessing physique, whom we can see waking up in his apartment in Plaza de San Lorenzo, has just been dreaming about a donkey that resembled a very cautious greyhound.
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Tong Wei
Translated from Chinese By Stephen Haven, Li Yongping
Its pearly eyes gaze through the window. It only hears the toothed sunlight grind leaves. They drift to the ground like the winds’ ears.
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Tong Wei
Translated from Chinese By Stephen Haven, Li Yongping
Whose penetrating fingers Manipulate her little heart? She speaks of an orphaned Homunculus perched On the tip of a flower.
placeholder
Fiction | Dec 2016
By Zsófia Bán
Translated from Hungarian By Erika Mihálycsa
Nobody could understand where it appeared from all of a sudden: where the roasting heck, where the cavernous tree’s hollow, where the sad-faced Santa’s pitchblack anus, where the treeshrew’s furrowed tail, where the Cinderella’s outgrown glass slippers’ skuzzy footbed, where my skanky backside, where the Jungfrau Joch’s crystal-glittering cliff slightly thawed by global warming, where the tsunami’s murderous crest, where the desert jumping mouse’s well-kept secret inner pocket, from.
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Uljana Wolf
Translated from German By Gred Nissan
you cannot only silence in the sluices sanitary purgatorrents nourishing you
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Uljana Wolf
Translated from German By Gred Nissan
how big is your pain?—and if there were no border in sight that might unlock us
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Uljana Wolf
Translated from German By Gred Nissan
how did you take me how in this valley how do you shoo me between oaks
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Uljana Wolf
Translated from German By Gred Nissan
no jot juts out that very sack if i in heat did twist myselk
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Shimon Adaf
Translated from Hebrew By Becka Mara McKay
In my life I aspire to be delivered into diminishing.
placeholder
Fiction | Dec 2016
By David Wagner
Translated from German By Gerald Chapple
She says her brother went to the garage three or four days before he died to pick up the towrope in the trunk of his car, it was in with engine trouble. He drove my mother’s car, his stepmother’s, she says, who’s never crocheted since and never worn silk scarves and never a scarf in winter, only loafers.
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Un Sio San
Translated from Chinese By Jeremy Tiang
Such a dazzling autumn day, the trees in shabby garments Someone’s gaze is frozen so he perspires grossly Only light can prance as freely as a horse
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Un Sio San
Translated from Chinese By Jeremy Tiang
I dreamt I was watching a disaster film. I bought popcorn and picked my seat—slightly left of center— No one had brought a kid along. Anyway, this wasn’t real.
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Linor Goralik
Translated from Russian By Ainsley Morse
— . . . my son’s a sniper, he was in Alamin at the time, when there was that whole business with the little boy getting shot. Well, he was wounded later, but they saved the leg.
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Athena Farrokhzad
Translated from Swedish By Jen Hayashida
My father said: To those who have more will be given and from those who lack even more will be taken My mother said: Take some more milk before it turns
placeholder
Essay | Dec 2016
By John Balaban
Translated from English By N/A
Hồ Xuân Hương is the woman who, around 1800, changed Vietnamese expectations about poetry . . .
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Amelia Rosselli
Translated from Italian By Deborah Woodard, Dario De Pasquale, Roberta Antognini
Intent upon describing the landscape I intruded; gushed from it restless the primary scene: spinning tops, caverns, demystifying scenes. It’s a scene this one that keeps me from thinking while with a machine gun I elegantly mow you all down.
placeholder
Fiction | Dec 2016
By Uršuľa Kovalyk
Translated from Slovak By Julia Sherwood, Peter Sherwood
I’ve kept them. Stowed them away on the top shelf. Where there’s no dust. Where nobody can see them. Few people can reach that high. I don’t know where they came from. I must have been born wearing them.
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Gabor Schein
Translated from Hungarian By Ottilie Mulzet
On her chest, where they operated a picture was tattooed. An angel turned to the sky, descending, outside it snowed.
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Gabor Schein
Translated from Hungarian By Ottilie Mulzet
Will nothing now ever break the evening’s cast weight?
placeholder
Poetry | Dec 2016
By Jorge Gimeno
Translated from Spanish By Curtis Bauer
They weren’t the ferruginous hands of palm trees scratching the sky crazily —the dates splattered with red.
  • Title
  • Author
  • Translator
  • Language