Author Archives: dianeosiris

Translated from the Norwegian by Robert Hedin & the author RETIRED PRIVATE DETECTIVE He could hear this sound deep inside himself, a munching sound, like someone gnawing on a leg bone. He suspects his ex-wife, then his neighbor. A few months later he begins to limp. Maybe the limp was planted there. He moves toContinue reading “Dag T. Straumsvåg”

A BEAUTIFUL OVAL My voice is quiet, with a single birdas its companion, somewhere in the tree, here in the wind, altogether lostin the forest with the dreams of oaksand beetles, bark and wounded cedars. And here one sees the silence the moon sinks into its caves and craters,its gouged-out skin with a reptile’s surfaceContinue reading “Leonard Cirino”

Winter Oasis It is snowing violently behind my eyes as I try to sleep, out there the dancing prairie falcon is pressed into the ground, the bright hawk flamboyant as a kite in the sun turns raven against the clouds and the solitaire, a grey ghost peers through the French windows to see me passContinue reading “Nathaniel Tarn”

Nous ne connaîtrons jamais leurs noms.

For the mind, the spirit, the soul of the world.

Il fait un rêve… Il fait un rêve d’olive noire.  Tombé au pied de l’arbre porteur, pressentant le désert  avant d’en effleurer le sable, sa peau se ride. L’absence  du regard de ses semblables le colore, et sa forme qui roule s’arrondit lorsqu’elle s’épuise. Cette nuit, la frayeur crée le noyau. Osiris 101, 2025

Translated from the German by Gerald Chapple INCIDENT The very momentI opened the bookthe letters buzzedup and away: leaving mewith beautifully bound oblivion Bending speechless over blankpages of history Ino longer knewwhat was what iswho I amcan be want to bewill be Agitated scribesleapt around with giant netsbrought me their catchthen shook the tired remnantsbackContinue reading “Günter Kunert”

THE BOOK OF IOWA When sleep is tinyas a petal on a flower of whiskey I climb out of bed, listento you digging a cold spaceunder the crows and cities of corn, apartment-fields out past the windy clothesline where my mother’s albinonightgown is lurking. Osiris 68, 2009