Some Stones Are So Heavy

There's A Moment When Love Makes You Believe In Death For The First Time. You Recognize The One Whose Loss, Even Contemplated, You'll Carry Forever, Like A Sleeping Child. All Grief, Anyone's Grief...is The Weight Of A Sleeping Child.

Though The Contradictions Of War Seem Sudden And Simultaneous, History Stalks Before It Strikes. Something Tolerated Soon Becomes Something Good.

The Shadow Past Is Shaped By Everything That Never Happened. Invisible, It Melts The Present Like Rain Through Karst.

To Share A Hiding Place, Physical Or Psychological, Is As Intimate As Love.

Translation Is A Kind Of Transubstantiation; One Poem Becomes Another. You Can Choose Your Philosophy Of Translation Just As You Choose How To Live: The Free Adaptation That Sacrifices Detail To Meaning, The Strict Crib That Sacrifices Meaning To Exactitude. The Poet Moves From Life To Language, The Translator Moves From Language To Life; Both, Like The Immigrant, Try To Identify The Invisible, What's Between The Lines, The Mysterious Implications.