Claire McQuerry
and said, "Oh," and what I meant was dead baby seal, ribboned trees. What I meant was the till is empty— I have no more dollars left to give.
from the journal The Cincinnati Review

What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems. 

In our series focused on Translation, we invite poet-translators to share seminal experiences in their practices, bringing poems from one language into another. How does the work of translating feel essential to the writing of one’s own poetry? Our contributors reflect on inspiring moments as intricate as a grammatical quirk and as wide-ranging as the history or politics of another place. 

Daniel Borzutzky on Paula Ilabaca Núñez's <em>The Loose Pearl</em>
Photo: Daniel Borzutzky
Kimberly Quiogue Andrews

Frustrated and in up to my waist, somehow I know that the donkey has died. But now I am alone. There is no one listening, but then again, in the dream, this was always the case.

Jorie Graham
Shade one more time under the tree you love. Shadow then shade. Its body like a speech the tree was finally allowed to make, coming free of night.
Sequoia Maner
Some girls dream of sunsets & of other girls Some girls dream of bursting beneath darkening sky Some girls dream of her body as book while Tasting the bitter of their own skins...

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