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Essays, or the Opening and Closing of the Okra Flowers During the Eclipse
Alba Cid; Meg Berkobien & Jacob Rogers :: 21. In a certain slant of morning, some of the canna lily’s leaves, oblong and tropical, will begin to let the sunlight through. Read more here.
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“Carrying Ourselves Across” Self-Translation Workshop
“The task was, on the surface, a straightforward one: the student authors and translators, all English-language learners, would chronicle their experiences in one language and transpose them into another. They would carry their stories, as they had done their own bodies, into a context legible to their newly imagined audiences.” Read more here.
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Barings // Bearings: An Anthology of Women’s Writing in Catalan
Meg Berkobien & María Cristina Hall :: Over forty years ago, in the midst of the democratic transition following the death of dictator Francisco Franco, author and activist Montserrat Roig contemplated her duties as an “ésser civic” in a moment of intense cultural and political change: Escriure en català és una afirmació de supervivència, i […]
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“Letters”
Joan Todó; Meg Berkobien :: You’ll follow her into the unkempt garden with its overgrown grass and weeds, the weeping willow twisted into one big tangle, the palm trees drooping, the empty pool filled with brackish tree buds, and you’ll enter the house, the grand entrance hall, moving through hallways while the old woman mutters, […]
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From “Natural History”
Alba Cid; Meg Berkobien :: 4. be careful how you plant them, with their roots face-down, you say that’s how it went: the Dutch ate the bulbs brought from Turkey, convinced they were onions. they cut them, stewed them, imagine entire families chewing tiny codices of future colors around large tables made of alder wood. […]
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“Death by Dying”
Jenn Díaz; Meg Berkobien :: War happens to children, too, even though they don’t go off to fight. That’s what my brother knew because he’s older, but that’s not all, he’s also smarter, and I know that because it’s what my mother always says, and it seems like she hardly loves me at all, because […]
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“The Game”
Patricia Esteban Erlés; Megan Berkobien :: They’ll cut all my hair off in that creepy school for bad little girls, they’ll make me wear a sack, they’ll shut me up in a room filled with rats and cockroaches and all I’ll have to drink is the rainwater I can catch in my hands through the […]
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from “Arqueóloga de poca monta”
“Small-time Archaeologist,” Megan Berkobien :: artefacto ii. Se escurren los sentimientos. Esto sí es un intento de tenerme sentido. Qué raro el manantial en que fluimos: las cosas que te pasan con las piernas en paréntesis. Red de pesca. Huelo a ti y aún me queda un pelín de lengua. Lo hago para los dos. […]
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“The Translation Tango: On Being an Emerging Translator”
I’ve never liked traveling. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed living abroad or visiting the various countries that have welcomed my feet. Rather, it’s something in the physical movement from place to place that unsettles. The movement between cultures and languages is a bodily experience; it marks you, and it can be exhausting to learn […]
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“Ulva Lactuca”
Cristina Peri Rossi; Megan Berkobien :: Buy a mattress of… He had wanted to try out a new waterbed, but she had thought it an excessive investment. Investment, no, he corrected himself: an expense. Aboard that aquatic mattress, they could have paddled themselves through life, hardly swaying, rowing – arms crossed, excuse me, in cross, […]
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