Stories of History- Interviews with Marius Gherovici.
Federico Perelmuter
"Stories that Live" Fall 2017
Federico Perelmuter
"Stories that Live" Fall 2017
Bienvenida
Sophie Lubelski
Eras brazos cabalgando y rodillas firmes temblorosas.
Eras caderas espásticas que cargaban una mochila simpática.
Eras hombros descontracturados, ansiosos por abrir sus coloridas alas.
Lo entiendo, yo estaba. El barullo no me permitía escucharte.
Eras la sonrisa chueca aplastada por cachetes.
Eras ojos vivos, con la vista puesta en la punta de nuestro monte favorito.
Me imagino. Recuerdo lo ensordecidos que estábamos, las lenguas no paraban.
Pero no entendiste. Y nunca ibas a hacerlo. Jamás ibas a comprender que el plato Kintsugi de la tía solo se consigue en Japón y tampoco ibas a entender el valor de los collares de caracoles trobriandeses.
Eras corazón latiendo… emocionado. Pero te robaron toda la luz que poseías y te metiste en la cama y yo sí entendí porque no querrías salir.
Porque no entendías. No podías entender.
_______________
Greeting
Translated by Federico Perelmuter and Sophie Lubelski.
You were riding elbows and firm quivering knees.
You were spastic hips carrying an adorable book bag.
You were loose shoulders, eager to open scintillating wings.
I get it, I was there. I couldn’t hear you in the mayhem.
You were crooked smile, squeezed between round cheeks.
You were vibrant eyes, set on our favorite hill.
I can imagine. I remember how deaf we were, how our tongues refused to stop.
But you didn’t understand. And you never would. You could never comprehend that Auntie’s Kintsugi plate can only be found in Japan or the value of Trobiander necklaces.
You were heart beating… ecstatic. Yet they took the light you had sequestered,
you crawled into bed and then I understood why
Because you didn’t. You couldn’t.
Sophie Lubelski
Eras brazos cabalgando y rodillas firmes temblorosas.
Eras caderas espásticas que cargaban una mochila simpática.
Eras hombros descontracturados, ansiosos por abrir sus coloridas alas.
Lo entiendo, yo estaba. El barullo no me permitía escucharte.
Eras la sonrisa chueca aplastada por cachetes.
Eras ojos vivos, con la vista puesta en la punta de nuestro monte favorito.
Me imagino. Recuerdo lo ensordecidos que estábamos, las lenguas no paraban.
Pero no entendiste. Y nunca ibas a hacerlo. Jamás ibas a comprender que el plato Kintsugi de la tía solo se consigue en Japón y tampoco ibas a entender el valor de los collares de caracoles trobriandeses.
Eras corazón latiendo… emocionado. Pero te robaron toda la luz que poseías y te metiste en la cama y yo sí entendí porque no querrías salir.
Porque no entendías. No podías entender.
_______________
Greeting
Translated by Federico Perelmuter and Sophie Lubelski.
You were riding elbows and firm quivering knees.
You were spastic hips carrying an adorable book bag.
You were loose shoulders, eager to open scintillating wings.
I get it, I was there. I couldn’t hear you in the mayhem.
You were crooked smile, squeezed between round cheeks.
You were vibrant eyes, set on our favorite hill.
I can imagine. I remember how deaf we were, how our tongues refused to stop.
But you didn’t understand. And you never would. You could never comprehend that Auntie’s Kintsugi plate can only be found in Japan or the value of Trobiander necklaces.
You were heart beating… ecstatic. Yet they took the light you had sequestered,
you crawled into bed and then I understood why
Because you didn’t. You couldn’t.
Loading...
UntitledAlice Hu
Loading...
Day by Day
Godelieve de Bree
We made a trip, to the last and newest home of my grandparents.
Slabs of stone, and stone, and stone.
We were not alone.
My life was small, a radio, a band, a home, a trumpet , a song.
Then it became a body, a body to protect and carry through.
They say they can prepare you, they say people can be prepared.
It isn’t true.
How long do I have to hold this pain for?
My own introduction.
Waiting for loss.
Where are the words?
The words of comfort, the words to say, the words to explain.
Home, an empty home and me alone with the war.
Sawyer asks me what the noise is.
It isn’t the radio any more.
Impending doom isn’t silent.
What was this new world?
A wave of leather and black.
Disaster came.
Where was acceptance?
Always an alien, waiting for the inevitable
Godelieve de Bree
We made a trip, to the last and newest home of my grandparents.
Slabs of stone, and stone, and stone.
We were not alone.
My life was small, a radio, a band, a home, a trumpet , a song.
Then it became a body, a body to protect and carry through.
They say they can prepare you, they say people can be prepared.
It isn’t true.
How long do I have to hold this pain for?
My own introduction.
Waiting for loss.
Where are the words?
The words of comfort, the words to say, the words to explain.
Home, an empty home and me alone with the war.
Sawyer asks me what the noise is.
It isn’t the radio any more.
Impending doom isn’t silent.
What was this new world?
A wave of leather and black.
Disaster came.
Where was acceptance?
Always an alien, waiting for the inevitable
Wall
Hayley Tubbs
Hayley Tubbs
