Parties

Parties
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Introduction

About Parties

When we started TWO LINES ten years ago, we could only dream of something as remote as the arrival of our tenth anniversary. And yet here it is. Not only has TWO LINES survived and thrived, but it has spawned its own parent organization, the Center for the Art of Translation, a bustling non-profit that promotes the craft of translation through several innovative programs. CAT's extensive Bilingual Readings Series and vibrant education program, Poetry Inside Out, together with its continued promotion and expansion of TWO LINES (watch for two issues next year) have touched thousands of lives and garnered great reviews in both the local and national press, giving our tenth anniversary festivities an added glow.

But anniversaries and parties don't always come along at the most opportune moments. It can be difficult to celebrate at a time in history when being a member of a party can mark you as a conspirator or accomplice, can condemn you to oppression and even death; when the happenstance of your place of birth can make you party to actions or policies you may deeply oppose--and yet may feel responsible for.

Still, the beauty of anniversaries is that they come along anyway, reminding us that even in dark moments we must take time to celebrate life. It is particularly appropriate that this tenth anniversary issue of TWO LINES should come along just now, because it both reminds us of the myriad ways in which we celebrate and congregate the world over, and cautions us that many parties--whether deliberately chosen, stumbled upon, or joined haphazardly--can be sources of anxiety and alienation, of destruction, and even death.

What amazes us about this issue is that the translations seem to interact with one another like strangers thrown together at a party, some managing to find common ground, others breaking into heated argument. Thus we find the Uruguayan poet of one translation (a joyful reverie written from a dugout canoe) paddling the same rivers as the Colombian novelist who has trapped his characters in a drug-infused nightmare straight from the heart of darkness. We see two Chinese poets reflecting on traditional festivals--the 12th-century poet looking longingly to the past, the 20th-century poet looking ahead with cautious optimism, even in the shadow of Tiananmen Square. We watch three Polish workers in Vienna using pastries as bribes to ensure their survival, while in another piece an Armenian in a Russian prison survives by transforming a little moldy bread into a party. We follow both a poor Chinese girl as she runs around her city preparing for New Year's Eve, becoming enchanted by cheap paper greetings, and a sensitive boy strolling through his Polish town finding magic in every shop, in the fragrances of spices and the workings of clocks. We see parties twist and turn upon themselves--two Russian poets show parties becoming dangerous, a Norwegian poet watches American TV with dread for the new year. We encounter a poet in London writing in German about a slain American hero and the shadow of the Holocaust; a Senegalese girl painfully coming of age; the residents of an Argentine town on an unforgettable journey.

And, of course, we find parties and celebrations:

among Uzbek women poets of the 19th century, the Berbers of Morocco, the irreverent attendees of a Baja California wake, guests at a Swedish ball, an Italian poet in the dead of winter and another in the trenches of World War I, a troubadour at court in Provence, a Bulgarian man who spends his life trying to buy some cheese, a Finnish poet visiting Bosnia, a Spanish painter writing in France.

And now we welcome you here: please, join the party.