We dream a woman on a steamboat parading in sunshine in a dress we
know
we made. She laughs off rumours of war. She turns and traps light on the
skirt.
It is, for that moment, beautiful.
ANURADHA MAHAPATRA
Crow
"There is no death in this promise"–
strangled in water hyacinth and moss.
Saying this today, desiring its own eye,
such water drifts far away. Some crazy bird knows
that even today, the blue of that monsoon month
and the ferryman's folksongs are linked
in their own hollows.
The moss doesn't wear off from
the body, even on the immersion day.
An unknown breathless patience floats
towards the north,
devours itself alive.
The foot of this tree silently agrees,
the crazy bird's wings
cast their shadows in the river.
Translated from the Bengali by Paramita Banerjee
and Carolyne Wright
DAVID BARBER
The Spirit Level
You kept your tools sequestered,
out of sight. And to this day, the logic
of the ratchet and the crescent wrench
evades me, I'm unable to brandish a saw
