They’re a stretch, / these contiguities between land and mind— / but consider the speed limit: / over a hundred the whole way back / to Hope
With mosques closing their doors, where do worshippers go to pray, be with friends, and seek solace?
In her debut collection Shahr-e-jaanaan, Adeeba Shahid Talukder asks: What would happen if we smashed the unjust barriers between profane and sacred, wretchedness and beauty, human and God?
The young author from West Timor who writes dark, deeply irreverent prose that reflects on Suharto-era violence speaks with Lara Norgaard about the figure of storyteller, the role of humor in discussing state violence, and Javanese hegemony in Indonesian historical narratives.
paperless people / of the earth say,
/ “this place is mine, / can you not see we birthed it?”
The lines from Audre Lorde’s poem “New Year’s Day” serve as an inspiration for a Poetry Coalition collaboration
no tiene otra ley que / su mismo cuerpo feliz || with no law other than / his own joyous body
The author of The Magical Language of Others, a heart-wrenching story of parent-child separation, speaks to the linguistic, historical, emotional surprises in writing her memoir.
One of the challenges in this novel was to figure out a way in which time can be manipulated the way it’s so interestingly manipulated in film.
sometimes a person’s happiness comes from not owing someone money
น้ำลายเฟ้อเต็มปากสำรากมนต์ / กลิ่นคละคลุ้งฝูงคนนะจังงัง || Spewing out its gibberish chants / Luring people into rhetorical trance
A continued Poetry Coalition collaboration inspired by the lines from Audre Lorde’s poem “New Year’s Day”
How small a man is after he’s come / The size of a pinpoint of blood on a strip of plastic
A headline buried deep inside the paper catches my eye. “They’re extending AFSPA for another six months in Assam,” I announce. She nods, and continues to massage the green beans in her bowl.
perhaps, every day is always a ‘perhaps’, a ‘maybe’, for queer people in Indonesia, since every day is a fight, a faith, a hope
我忽然屏息 / 是風吹開妳襯衫 / 一顆煙彈正微微露餡 || as if with prophecy / wind peels back your shirt / a teargas gives away its shape
Mishima’s Patriotism reveals the drives operating behind political movements and how ultranationalistic ideas become deeply entangled in the personal
We all want to be / remembered, either in stone or by name – / hence the oath / we swear to paper, hence the / incompleteness of life / with incomplete papers
사람들을 따라갈수록 나는 거짓말이 되어가. || The more I follow people the more I become a lie
When the streets are stained sea blue, they are graven in time
api tak sempat bertanya: apakah kata-kata bisa / terbakar? || fire didn’t have the chance to ask: can words / burn down?
With mosques closing their doors, where do worshippers go to pray, be with friends, and seek solace?
A continued Poetry Coalition collaboration inspired by the lines from Audre Lorde’s poem “New Year’s Day”
In her debut collection Shahr-e-jaanaan, Adeeba Shahid Talukder asks: What would happen if we smashed the unjust barriers between profane and sacred, wretchedness and beauty, human and God?
How small a man is after he’s come / The size of a pinpoint of blood on a strip of plastic
The young author from West Timor who writes dark, deeply irreverent prose that reflects on Suharto-era violence speaks with Lara Norgaard about the figure of storyteller, the role of humor in discussing state violence, and Javanese hegemony in Indonesian historical narratives.
A headline buried deep inside the paper catches my eye. “They’re extending AFSPA for another six months in Assam,” I announce. She nods, and continues to massage the green beans in her bowl.
paperless people / of the earth say,
/ “this place is mine, / can you not see we birthed it?”
perhaps, every day is always a ‘perhaps’, a ‘maybe’, for queer people in Indonesia, since every day is a fight, a faith, a hope
The lines from Audre Lorde’s poem “New Year’s Day” serve as an inspiration for a Poetry Coalition collaboration
我忽然屏息 / 是風吹開妳襯衫 / 一顆煙彈正微微露餡 || as if with prophecy / wind peels back your shirt / a teargas gives away its shape
no tiene otra ley que / su mismo cuerpo feliz || with no law other than / his own joyous body
Mishima’s Patriotism reveals the drives operating behind political movements and how ultranationalistic ideas become deeply entangled in the personal
The author of The Magical Language of Others, a heart-wrenching story of parent-child separation, speaks to the linguistic, historical, emotional surprises in writing her memoir.
We all want to be / remembered, either in stone or by name – / hence the oath / we swear to paper, hence the / incompleteness of life / with incomplete papers
One of the challenges in this novel was to figure out a way in which time can be manipulated the way it’s so interestingly manipulated in film.
사람들을 따라갈수록 나는 거짓말이 되어가. || The more I follow people the more I become a lie
sometimes a person’s happiness comes from not owing someone money
When the streets are stained sea blue, they are graven in time
น้ำลายเฟ้อเต็มปากสำรากมนต์ / กลิ่นคละคลุ้งฝูงคนนะจังงัง || Spewing out its gibberish chants / Luring people into rhetorical trance
api tak sempat bertanya: apakah kata-kata bisa / terbakar? || fire didn’t have the chance to ask: can words / burn down?