Elizabeth Medina

Spanish-English translator/interpreter. Lives and works in Santiago, Chile, since 1983

Moved

POEM     …without knowing why by the sound of the gondolas knocking against their mooring poles in Piazza San Marco the old houses with names in cold misty London lit balconies in the evenings in the stately neighborhoods of…

Sojourner

POEM     Truth: yours is a stark strange and terrible beauty   I love you above all things You’re always there at labyrinth’s end like the Minotaur like Death   You point me to what I truly have: no…

Adelina Gurrea’s book: Cuentos de Juana

Fil-Hispanic Literature     Hola Karinita, I finished an article in Spanish for Revista Filipina—a digital journal on Hispanic Filipino literature, culture with an academic bent. It’s on Adelina Gurrea’s book of short stories that are marvelous, Cuentos de Juana. …

To A Lover

POEM     The sun will rise and set this day The sap will flow unseen to clothe the coffee bark of stark and wintry trees anew a primorous virgin green And I shall flow with morning, afternoon and twilight…

Of An Evening

POEM       Wax and wane days weeks whoosh by I am seasons a door ajar   last year’s grass cut soon overgrown my young cats here a decade old   birdsong evening blooms   incense wafts Oropel by…

Tea House

POEM I love your poetry he said and poured his soul into my teacup   I was as usual afire with thirst It was still winter   No end in sight   Being a geisha of words an angel stunned…

I’ll take care of it

POEM         If you don’t want to love I’ll take care of it I will love.   If you don’t want to smile I’ll take care of it I will smile.   If you don’t want to…

The Time of No Change

LITERARY         The family group stood in the jungle clearing. The rosy dawn was just beginning to filter through the trees. The grandfather and grandmother, their numerous grown children, the wives and husbands and grandchildren old enough…

Hic sunt leones

POEM         Love (Life)’s an open corridor to Future suspended in space pitching like a drunken boat It’s transparent walled no ceiling, no floor with floating signs in strange languages fading in and fading out It’s fun…

Forgiven

POEM           For growing old For filling –rather spilling—out For the karma of going unnoticed For a rate of success with men since age 48 of: record negative double digits …and still falling (oh my god)…

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