I write for one and only one purpose, to overcome the invincible ignorance of the traduced heart. ~Kenneth Rexroth Advertisements

My Tribe

by Alberto Blanco a translation From lake to lake, from forest to forest: “Which is my tribe?” —I wonder— “What is my place?” Perhaps I belong to the tribe of those who have no tribe; or to the tribe of black sheep; or to a tribe whose ancestors come from the future: a tribe about … More My Tribe

Wheel Change

I sit at the roadside; The driver changes the wheel. I don’t like where I’m coming from. I don’t like where I’m going. Why do I watch this wheel-change Impatiently? Translated from the German of Bertolt Brecht


Where I live the snow melts late and leaves gloves and earmuffs drying in the sun like so many carcasses. I can’t bring myself to say, “Hello, furry friend,” to a one of them as they grow, grey and twisted wrecks, in the new and foreign warmth.