لكن المنـفى ينبت مرة أخرى كالحشائـش البرية تحت ظلال الزيتـون | Exile sprouts anew, like untamed grass beneath the shade of olive trees
لكن المنـفى ينبت مرة أخرى كالحشائـش البرية تحت ظلال الزيتـون | Exile sprouts anew, like untamed grass beneath the shade of olive trees
How learning a third language became a place of reconciliation for my mother tongues.
An examination of Malayan Emergency fiction’s depiction of Sinophone, Anglophone, and Indigenous points of view
Malaysian-born filmmaker Lau Kek Huat grapples with the difficulties of visually representing the Emergency
etc.books founder Akiko Matsuo on building a space for feminism and solidarity in Tokyo
A Truku writer on his relationship with his tribe’s traditional craft
A familial haunting returns a Palestinian writer to Arabic.
Hindi na ibinalik / ng mga dayo ang kinuhang / lupain | The settlers never returned / the land they grabbed
Mit Jai Inn’s sculptural paintings thrive in abstractions and calculated ambiguity
құсың түлкі алса бүркіт, алмаса лау мінген шүршіт |
If your bird gets a fox, then it is an eagle; if not, then it is lightning riding a lion
A young woman struggles to stay in a loving relationship while being haunted by a past abuser.
How translating the writings of a former Malayan Communist Party member changed me
但巡迴遊樂園並不害怕，只要再次拆卸自毀，它們換個地方就可以重新活過來。
| As long as the traveling carnival committed self-destruction, it could come alive once more in a different place.
Imagining the future through words and through kin
On the difficulties of continuing being a translator, and why we persist
우체국을 나서면 아직 태어나지 않은 음악처럼 | When I leave the post office, I’m like unborn music
ただ空気が得体の知れぬ巨大な獸の吐息のようにねっとりと重たかった。| Only the air was heavy and moist, like the breath of an enormous, mysterious beast.
Artist Efvan’s portraits and vignettes of Uyghur life
Аза бойым қаза болып осыған, / Балтаң маған тиердей-ақ шошынам. |
A sparrow if it sprouts, a stick if it falls, / my whole body is tingling.
لكن المنـفى ينبت مرة أخرى كالحشائـش البرية تحت ظلال الزيتـون | Exile sprouts anew, like untamed grass beneath the shade of olive trees
A young woman struggles to stay in a loving relationship while being haunted by a past abuser.
How learning a third language became a place of reconciliation for my mother tongues.
How translating the writings of a former Malayan Communist Party member changed me
An examination of Malayan Emergency fiction’s depiction of Sinophone, Anglophone, and Indigenous points of view
但巡迴遊樂園並不害怕，只要再次拆卸自毀，它們換個地方就可以重新活過來。
| As long as the traveling carnival committed self-destruction, it could come alive once more in a different place.
Malaysian-born filmmaker Lau Kek Huat grapples with the difficulties of visually representing the Emergency
Imagining the future through words and through kin
etc.books founder Akiko Matsuo on building a space for feminism and solidarity in Tokyo
On the difficulties of continuing being a translator, and why we persist
A Truku writer on his relationship with his tribe’s traditional craft
우체국을 나서면 아직 태어나지 않은 음악처럼 | When I leave the post office, I’m like unborn music
A familial haunting returns a Palestinian writer to Arabic.
ただ空気が得体の知れぬ巨大な獸の吐息のようにねっとりと重たかった。| Only the air was heavy and moist, like the breath of an enormous, mysterious beast.
Hindi na ibinalik / ng mga dayo ang kinuhang / lupain | The settlers never returned / the land they grabbed
Mit Jai Inn’s sculptural paintings thrive in abstractions and calculated ambiguity
Artist Efvan’s portraits and vignettes of Uyghur life
құсың түлкі алса бүркіт, алмаса лау мінген шүршіт |
If your bird gets a fox, then it is an eagle; if not, then it is lightning riding a lion
Аза бойым қаза болып осыған, / Балтаң маған тиердей-ақ шошынам. |
A sparrow if it sprouts, a stick if it falls, / my whole body is tingling.