Rita Dove
You prefer me invisible, no more than a crisp salute far away from your silks and firewood and woolens. Out of sight, I'm merely an annoyance, one slim, obstinate wrinkle in night's deepening trance.
from the journal The Paris Review

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

In our current series, What Translation Sparks, we’ve asked a group of poet-translators to share a seminal experience in translation. How does the work of translating poetry 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 the history or politics of another place.

(Provisional) Sentences towards a New Manifesto of Translation Practice
Photo: Vivek Narayanan
Ruth Stone
It is another raw winter. Stray cats are suffering. Starlings crowd the edges of chimneys. It is a drab misery that urges me to remember you. I think about the subjugation of women and horses; brutal exposure; weather that forces, that strips.
Khaty Xiong
Summer oaks warring on the hills     A doe partaking of  a resurrecting tulip     Breakfast stray as my watery mind How late the cloud of my body born here     A year spent looking for the way      love claimed you     The moon lording from the overhang & into open fire
Valmiki (translated from the Sanskrit by Vivek Narayanan)
No one is poor in Ayodhya No one is unhappy in Ayodhya No one goes hungry in Ayodhya No one is robbed in Ayodhya No one is beaten in Ayodhya
Mark Leidner
The jeansed horse prances through heaven its big stupid meadow of empty beauty change shaking in its pockets like cosmic maracas.

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