Open Letters Monthly has put chapstick on the sow with a newly remade version of themselves. On their front page right now is a new translation of a Transtromer poem and a revisit with W.S. Merwin’s nastiest, blackened book The Lice.
And once more I remember that the beginning
No wonder the addresses are torn
To which I make my way eating the silence of animals
Offering snow to the darkness
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