The unlonesome dove flies again!

The vivaciously illustrated journal Paper Darts favored me with two great opportunities: first, a blogpost to wax thoughtful about translation, which starts like this:

For years I have been waiting for a happy throng to corner me in the street demanding my translation secrets. That hasn't happened yet, so I'll share them here uncoerced. 

If you want to hear those secrets, go read.

The other opportunity: a corner for the continuation of Avrom Sutzkever's Ode to the Dove in my English translation, with Part IV (here are parts I, II, and III).

Dancer of mine, who are you? Were you given birth by a fiddle?

Under your dance my gardenish body's dug up with a shovel.

She's sick, the little one, lunatic in silvery nightshirt. Not rarely

Swimming away in cold plashing worlds while she's waving.

This is alongside a translation of one of Sutzkever's Diary Poems from 1974. 

Far is getting closer. After voyages, adventures,

freestyle on a sheet of paper underneath hawk's shadow,

leave a twin—like day and night—of rhyming lines together

and let them be divided among all your young inheritors.

Enjoy!