Resident of the Sun
Augusto Lunel
Translated from the Spanish by Michael Martin Shea
To my Country you come abandoning every path.

When I think of my Country, my pockets fill.
Cyclopes whose only eye is the sea,
our gaze creates the new day.

When trees think of my Country, spring awakens.

To my Country you come forcing the stars to follow,
opening a hole in the wall, where Saturn passes,
sticking its hand in the depths of the moon.

Loss drives you to my Country.

When you are the sea, my Country arrives on every wave.



El Habitante del Sol

A mi País se llega dejando todos los caminos.

Cuando pienso en mi País, se llenan mis bolsillos.
Cíclopes cuyo único ojo es el mar,
nuestra mirada provoca el nuevo día.

Cuando los árboles piensan en mi País, nace la primavera.

A mi País se llega haciendo que nos sigan las estrellas,
abriendo un agujero en la pared, que atraviese a Saturno,
metiendo la mano en el fondo de la luna.

A mi País conduce el extravío.

Cuando se es el mar, a mi País se llega en cada ola.
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"The 2024 National Book Award Longlists"

"Nine of the ten poets on this year’s longlist are being honored by the National Book Awards for the first time. Some of their works seek the remarkable in the mundane (Anne Carson’s “Wrong Norma”; Dorianne Laux’s “Life on Earth”). Others meditate on the atrocity of war (Fady Joudah’s “[...]”) or interrogate the history of the United States (Elizabeth Willis’s “Liontaming in America”). Still others reflect on the role of poets in making sense of the world (Diane Seuss’s “Modern Poetry”)."

via THE NEW YORKER
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Cover of Dior Stephens book, CRUEL /CRUEL
What Sparks Poetry: Dior J. Stephens on "UYP 7"

“The plum and the plum tree, then, became a philosophical center for me. Or, if not center, a lily pad of poetic thought, leading me to reflect on what exactly it meant for such fruition, such overabundance, to result in death, rot, and souring. And how, in a number of ways, these stages of growth remarked upon the trends of capitalism, (over)production and exploitation in Western society. I couldn’t help but wonder, day after day, if this cycle—that of bud to bloom to death and decay—was inevitable in all arenas of life.”

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