Three Poems


Venezuelan poet Margara Russotto.

Message from the realm without the o

Everything is very cmplicated here,
dearest friend.
The cffee and the sugar have disappeared.
And als the Spanish N 
in my typewriter
which has gtten htter
than biling syrup.
It wuld be easier t write t yu
n Egyptian papyrus.
Dn’t wrry. We can use quipus,
and the verses f Mistral
glwing embers
light up my table
withut electricity.
And when I tell yu, abut him,
yuth divine treasure
yu will have understd me.
n my desk
Is the French nvel yu sent me.
Thank yu, my friend! It is very interesting
that nausea,
it’s a little like my mther’s.
She als sends yu greetings.
I send yu this incmplete kiss.
Yur friend always,
María Dlres.


Returning with the horses

Returning with the horses
at the beginning of everything. Going to their meeting
along the route of restless sunflowers.
To be one with the horses
before the clouds
drop over
the end of the world.
in a glorious particle
of contemplation. Being
equestrianly on the lash
of the distracted eye
in the giant grass-pondering tooth.
Returning at a gallop on the crupper
beating the dry air.
In the divided or indomitable mane
as if in one’s own spasm.
returning with the horses
to cross the frontier
to graze
to trot
to elude false obstacles
and illusory gains
returning and bucking
tossing back the head, waiting
swatting flies with the tails
giving birth
to a pulsating foal
the night of a storm.



It’s short
the hibernation of the brown bear.

With the thaw and first running waters
he rouses himself,
yawns and stretches
trampling lavender sprouts.
He bellows and marks
his territory with a song
and dance.

The neighbors are upset:
Tame your bear, madame!

I don’t care.
I flip them the bird
that’s just how I treat them.

And so for the entire summer
I scratch my bear’s back
all summer long
with my slender fingernails just for this
because I have them for this
and for this I was born.
And though the sun is high
my head remains in the darkness of his jaws
for morning ablutions.

         Dangerous old profession!

And then we roll in the hay under the sun
         lords of the mountain
and dramatically sneeze
         so extremely sensitive to the pollen
and nibble each other till we bleed.

I know the winter will not bother me.
Under the weight of his fur
there will be no cold or loneliness
         even if the lavender flowers are crushed.

Come Autumn we’ll go north
         because to migrate is essential.
To the highlands of the Indians and the bison
where it is always spring.

All the river salmon will be expecting us.
They want to be completely devoured
anxious to leap from water to throat.

We’ll eat with delight.
Delightedly we’ll eat.

We’ll eat everything

         curious National Geographic photographers

We’ll eat the entire state of Montana.

Nothing will stop us.

We are legend.

Translated by Peter Kahn


Latin American Literature Today No. 10
Number 10

In our tenth issue, we question the values of literature and journalism in the post-truth age through the words of Mexican writer Juan Villoro and we explore new territories of digital literature in a dossier curated by Scott Weintraub. We also feature memories of the 1968 Tlatelolco Massacre told through graphic narrative, new perspectives on the translation of Shakespeare into Spanish with an essay from Braulio Fernández Biggs, and Wayuu literature from the Venezuelan side of the border than runs through their ancestral lands.

Table of Contents

Editor's Note

Featured Author: Juan Villoro

Dossier: Digital Literature


Indigenous Literature




Translation Previews and New Releases


On Translation: Seeking Publisher

Graphic Narrative

Nota Bene