| [Read first down each column, then again row by row across columns.] |
||
| Stars Fade |
Translated from the English
Spots Appear |
|
| In grade school | I was young | |
| the sky in my backyard | and the skin on the back of my hand | |
| was filled with familiar stars, | was | |
| memorized by heart | taken for granted. | |
| Then, diurnal demands, | Many decades | |
| a driving schedule, | gripping the steering wheel | |
| allowed seeing at night only the waiting alarm clock |
with hands at 10 & 2 | |
| in the caves of anxiety | in the sun of parenting and career. | |
| Retired now, | Finally pausing | |
| still insomniac, | at a rest stop in the evening, | |
| I look through a narrow window at the night sky, |
I am startled by | |
| stars unrecognizable, | the back of my hand full of | |
| constellations forgotten, | freckles, spots, blemishes, | |
| random, disorienting, surreal, | foreign membrane, | |
| awake on an unearthly planet | body-swapped to an alien husk. | |
John K. KruschkeFirst published in
Breakwater
Review, Issue 39, 13 February 2026.
Notes: When reading a poetry journal that presented English translations beside originals in languages I don’t know, I realized that the translator could write anything, and I’d have no way of knowing whether it matched the source. I was also piqued by the heading that appeared above them: “Translated from the Chinese” (or whatever the language). So I imagined a genre of poems called “Translated from the English” in which the translation is a free-association based on the original, such that each enriches the other. I added one essential rule: the pieces must be contrapuntal, reading coherently and generating emergent meaning when scanned row by row across columns; otherwise they’d just be two parts of a single poem.
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