Photo by Germain Droogenbroodt Geographies . . . as if love were a landscape —Ornella Mariani Let me move, push me, let me join far away

In the Summer Sparsely populated, the land. Despite huge fields and machines, The villages lie sleepy In boxwood gardens; rarely hit A stone’s thrown at the cats. In

           Painting by Natalia Fernández Díaz-Cabal Heterodoxies at the Aegean Sea II All these heroes have been reduced to ashes, to stones that no longer support the step-by-step

I PLUCKED THE ROSE When I plucked the rose, the fragrance and the thorns came with the blossom. I was in love with the fragrance and the thorns:

Geen verlangen om mijn mond te openen Geen verlangen om mijn mond te openen, waar moet ik van zingen. . . ?  Ik, die gehaat wordt door het

Footprints in the Sand, by Jodi Trujillo Art, Hawaii EVOLUTION We were naked and then we saw the apple with the worm inside like an embryo of sorrow.

Dear friends, dear readers, As several of our translators are having holidays in August, we will not mail ITHACA poems in August, but start again the usual mailing

Poetry Poetry crosses the earth alone, gives its voice to the pain of the world and asks for nothing not even words. It comes from far away, unexpected,

                                          Picture by Germain Droogenbroodt A LIGHT IN

Illustration by Zhao Lihong Once Once I was wandering on the road, my lone silhouette like a dry tree in the desert. Once I was gazing with fear