Featured Poem


hawthorn, a local
snow that never fails to fall,
then falls without end;

the way it begins
in may along the edges
of fields and meadows,

a fragrant blizzard
no mere weather satellite
could ever capture;

bushes, perfect globes,
like the ones they make from glass
and sell as knick-knacks,

where – when the flurry
of snowflakes ends – you can see
the newlyweds stood

in front of a church,
while a tiny train steams past
on the horizon.

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About the translation:
Jan Wagner
Iain Galbraith
Original language:
2016 Number 2 - One Thousand Suns

About the author

Original poet

Jan Wagner

JAN WAGNER is a poet, essayist and translator of British and American poetry. He has published six volumes of poetry and his S...

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Iain Galbraith


Iain Galbraith

Iain Galbraith, born in Glasgow in 1956, grew up in the west of Scotland and studied Modern Languages and Comparative Literatu...

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