We need a beer, he said, to recover from the shock.

She understood that the key to building herself a future was to decipher, not to decide.

Out of that incurable sorrow was born the strange melody called the tango.

The noise of the city was reduced to a murmur, and in the distance they could glimpse the sea and ships, a nebulous promise each of them interpreted as they saw fit.

“Literary fanaticism, in any of its forms, whether from the point of view of master or disciple, has always been incompatible with the intelligence and free spirit of Saer.”—José Saramago

Irreversible is the riveron whose backdead leaves swirl.Irreversible are words-the dust of roadsmingled with breath, warm breaththat sticks to our trembling lipslike fog to a boat.Irreversible is this…

living on an islandfar from cities with traffic lights and people.Outside we hear the rustlingsof a bed of reedswhere the wind with its toothless mouth blowsluring in tides.A boat is moored on the shorea…

Large, gray, sprawledlike an old elephant.Winter is ending.Low, sloping roofs are overturned boatsslumbering along the shores of drowsiness.Twenty years of an oak tree’s lifeis burned instantly…

He comes to me every day with a cruel bounce in his stepwith eyes darting like little green flames—the town postman in a heavy, damp coatjovially announcing he has nothing for me.I see his blue uniform…

Without failSundays at the cinemawere always rainy daysbig black umbrellasclashing against the ticket booth.The doorman among the torn stubslooked like a watercolorhung crookedly on a kitchen wall.We…

It’s not time for a change.As long as I can rememberit’s never been time for a change.Like cars that screech to a halthouses standpoised in their old breeding groundof rotten acacia leaves.From…

Set first in the village of Saint-Martin in southeast France, then in the refugee camp of Nour Chams, Étoile Errante (Wandering Star) tells the story of two teenage girls on the threshold and in the aftermath…

1Here I am you aloneIn this mad, gapingHellHere I am you alone and death altogetherWith its predators and its seers and the informersPerhaps I am arriving atThe limit of my possibilitiesFor you to arrive…

They just disappeared one day without fuss or explanation.

My parents, who had been so inept as to be Jews, were already under arrest by then.

Stand up! The greatest man of the nation is being buried!

Croatian writer Miroslav Krleza portrays a distinctly Balkan Everywhere of blended places and events in this surreal novel excerpt.

She carefully opened her backpack and even more carefully pulled out a box displaying the logo of a well-known brand of cognac.

The villa in Acibadem left a clear mark on every stage of my life. It isn’t just that it touched my tender years like all those miracles of childhood are bound to do. It influenced my way of thinking,…

The snow comes late this year. Violet shadowsdoze like shepherds rounda white fire.The swaying shadow of a fence looks like a woman’s clavicle—a woman who dreams of her lover’s snowy journey…

Crossing the Serbian Republic’s BorderMost of the Republika Srpska border is made of garbage—it seems the whole town of Stolac brings its trash here. I meet three oncoming cars in fifty kilometers.…

Alif You’re not beginning . . .It’s an eternity, you know . . .I mean, the ever-after, you knowNo matter, then.Raise your cavalryBut don’t set out for the horizon,Or the sea . .…

It is not fated that, in this world,The strong join the strong.Thus, Siegfried parted from Brunhild,A sword stroke instead of a marriage.In the allied brotherly hatred–Like buffalos!–rock…

what is watchingalways comes to an end: and the day! and the world! . . it is the uniquethe unceasing – is it over its featuresthat the soul glides: like dust! – and…

to N. A.in your presence even the toesare as if they remembered! and the mind more stronglypierces our headin your presence! and together perhaps you are thatwhenceseparatingthey drew out: of…

(after the “Grasshoppers” of VelimirKhlebnikov and e.e. cummings) to my son Andreygrasshopper-sign flickersover field under heaven! – (sign to Reason – be on guard!be…

in dust is no vowel. . . death is a sound: a shout – to God?he – in the surface of dust: is what then – a gleam?oh not treasures of sacrifice: nor representation! . .…

to W. Woroczylskibehind my back – it seemed – were islands: of the terror-idea! – as if a certain chillwas spread – for a year of this life: were they places –…

oh clearlywith gathered forceeverywhere it shows itself: skyglow of the yearlike features of the land: drawing:from everywhere: any: fire: for incandescence! – and this is no shout!but…

to V. S. but you are not the surrounding of such a onebut a stair in yourself where poverty is like skyglow: oh ice-holes of illness! as if by someonethey were always directed: with meaning!…