Journal

Two Lines Press
Print Archive
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Marilú Mallet
Translated from Quebecois By J. T. Townley
Both of us refugees without a passport. Our coats salvaged from dumpsters. Trying to adapt. Casimir was taken in by a Jewish society looking for a tax write-off; me, by a group of old priests from Latin America. They gave him a TV and some black clothing, but all I got was an old mattress full of bugs. He talked about the synagogue, I talked about priests, both of us with a kind of skepticism, a bitter aftertaste in our mouths.
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Göran Rosenberg
Translated from Swedish By Sarah Death
I want to write about the Place as I see it just then. And just then in this story is the time when a young man and a young woman, who have just got off the train on the road from Auschwitz, are living, working and dreaming, just here. It’s also the time when I, their first child, see the world for the first time and so see the Place as it will forever appear to me.
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Cho Se-hui
Translated from Korean By Don Mee Choi
The women workers at Ungang Textile went on a hunger strike. Those who knew about it knew, and those who didn’t, didn’t.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Nima Yushji
Translated from Persian By Kaveh Bassiri
Night. A humid night, where the face of the land has lost its color.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Nima Yushji
Translated from Persian By Kaveh Bassiri
Phoenix, sweet singer, renowned bird, a refugee from the cold wind’s blast, sits apart on a bamboo stalk, surrounded by other birds on their branches.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Håkan Sandell
Translated from Swedish By Bill Coyle
I see you in this church without pews, stationed along the walls or at the iconostasis, in sparse bunches, and I describe you as though I were taking dictation:
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Tedi López Mills
Translated from Spanish By Cheryl Clark Vermeulen
What becomes of time or the error of time speculating with its moon suspended in air,
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Tedi López Mills
Translated from Spanish By Cheryl Clark Vermeulen
A time exists there Another air of gold Another skin bound to wind
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Rafael Courtoisie
Translated from Spanish By Anna Rosenwong
Think how I am not you, so that you won’t think about me. Look the other way look at the ocean, look inside.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Eunice Odio
Translated from Spanish By Keith Ekiss, Sonia P. Ticas
And the grain mixes with the drop of flesh, the high provider of touch and hearing
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Carlos Labbé
Translated from Spanish By Will Vanderhyden
I had to write about Nathaniel Hawthorne, whose birth or death, I don’t remember, some important anniversary, was being celebrated. My wife had recently read a frightening story by Hawthorne called “Ethan Brand, A Chapter From an Abortive Romance.” She said I should claim that the puritan writer was one of the forefathers of contemporary fiction’s current obsession, citing the phrase that ends the story: “the relics of Ethan Brand were crumbled into fragments.”
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Marcos Girait Torrente
Translated from Spanish By Natasha Wimmer
This is a story of two people, though I’m the only one telling it. My father wouldn’t tell it. My father kept almost everything to himself.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Pierre Chappuis
Translated from French By John Taylor
Unique, ultimate, an instant, a sound, dark gleam, whole, growing.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Pierre Chappuis
Translated from French By John Taylor

For the time being, breathtaking chilliness and transparency. To go, over random paths, like someone on the lookout for an echo, through the forest assailed by a thousand flame tips.

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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Bae Suah
Translated from Korean By Deborah Smith
Several times already now, I’ve had the idea of visiting the houses I’ve left behind. Grasshoppers spring up around my feet, transparent carapaces propelled into the air as I cross the dirt yard and approach the cement buildings, their desiccated structures hard and dry as stale bread, and riddled with holes.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Flávia Rocha
Translated from Portuguese By Idra Novey, Flávia Rocha
The rumpled black coat Hung on the door, ox skull in the bedroom—
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Flávia Rocha
Translated from Portuguese By Idra Novey, Flávia Rocha
In the garden, the click of cicadas: this is our last existence: as stream or weed without the recollection of someone else’s dream—
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Flávia Rocha
Translated from Portuguese By Idra Novey, Flávia Rocha
Plasticity around the little dark eyes
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Rana Werbin
Translated from Hebrew By Yardenne Greenspan
It’s the anniversary of Rabin’s assassination today. Even I can remember this date. Last night there was a big ceremony in the square.
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Giulio Mozzi
Translated from Italian By Elizabeth Harris
When the train slips away, Mario feels he’s leaving this world, the same sensation he has on sleepless nights, when he’s been tossing and turning, and then, exhausted, his thoughts turn away from wanting sleep, and he’s suddenly sleeping.
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Balla
Translated from Slovak By Julia Sherwood
One day, when I began to feel troubled by the furniture in the old house I inherited from my parents, I asked some people to help me clear out all the rooms, load the furniture onto a truck and drive it out to the outskirts of the city where we tossed all the trash into a ditch and covered it with big sheets of fabric.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Felix Philipp Ingold
Translated from German By Anatoly Kudryavitsky, Yulia Kudryavitskaya
In the beginning was the word for a berth.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Felix Philipp Ingold
Translated from German By Anatoly Kudryavitsky, Yulia Kudryavitskaya
Among countless reasons the best is the last.
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Fiction | Dec 2016
By Efraín Bartolomé
Translated from Spanish By Kevin Brown
7:41 People look out apprehensively at the street. The soldiers posted at the school signal that nobody should pass by, and begin rapid mobilizations. Some women run.
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Poetry | Dec 2016
By Dag Sundby
Translated from Norwegian By Joan Kunsch
Few things make me sadder than hilarity
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