No. 2 - Year 11 - 06/2021
Literary Translation

6 Poems

DOI: 10.15291/sic/



misty tulips
a mist of tulips
of tulips
of tulips

a morning spread like a dream
over rivers...

don’t you wake up Atlas’s son

let him sleep
with his head resting
on a pillow of tulips


white tulips
son’s light

yellow tulips
son’s sun

red tulips

father’s sunset
like fire through backbone


a mist of purple
over rivers
over rivers

the dreamy migrates anew
from tulip to tulip

purple in a bed of mist

a sweet melody
of river
of fire

Assen, Netherlands
August 2018

That blue tulip!

That tulip hidden between two trunks
deep in the woods, deep in there,
dreams every instant
of sipping a little more dew.

Honey dew,
as the sun sets down at dusk...

That blazing-body tulip,
that blue tulip!

Amsterdam, August 2018

To You

This season, you lull under a sky superior to mine;
the thin hoarfrost on trees is fog respiration only,
which shreds our landscapes in crystals of lethargic winters...

Wake up, for the nature’s spirit is raving in feminine heat,
under guitar strums that grunt for love
and whisper no farewell to forget-me-not flowers...

Freeze like dusk in front of abrupt light,
in a land shivering of lonely tunes, under a sky
where the sun doesn’t shine to merely show-off!

Freeze in the flames
slumbering lustily in the blood of spring embers,
freeze, and still show up on doorsteps
shiny like this sky, my handsome one!

A Cat Like No Other...

Latest media news:
Billionaire Lagerfeld willed his whole estate to his cat, Choupette.”

There is now a cat
with her fur much more expensive
than all of the ladies’ fur coats in Broadway!

A royal cat, whimsical and pampered,
that has folks wonder of the eventual male suitor
she’ll drive mad to the point of committing suicide!

Our dearest little heiress, with her bluest eyes,
now outshines the enthusiastic ornithologist,
who lectures on and on about birds
to an audience of huge fans of stunning fowl photos,
feathers and chirps,
who claims absolute expertise on flying,
but knows nothing of children in Aleppo!


In the alpine Accursed Woodlands,
where time stands still,
breath stands no chance to breathe,
o traveler!

At the Blessed Bridge,
do not pin your hopes on the stone,
if waters first didn’t bless your trip,
o Man!

The Coolest Loser

Blind eyes, sleepy,
across worldly winters –
eyes sunk into blooming abysses, my loser.
Please take a quick look at the sun by dawn,
it’s a lamp brighter than an eye’s pupil...

O coolest loser, with three lanterns in hand,
no loony got enlightened under moonlight;
springtime wolves grow white-haired like men,
hunters, though, can hardly spot them out in snow!

Note About Contributor(s)

Alisa Velaj

Alisa Velaj was born in 1982 in the port town of Vlora, Albania. She was shortlisted for the 2014 Erbacce-Press Poetry Award. Her works have appeared in about a hundred print and online international magazines, including: FourW 25 Anthology, The Journal, The Dallas Review, The Linnet’s Wings, The Seventh Quarry, Envoi Magazine, etc. Her poems are forthcoming in The Curlew Magazine and Poetry, Life & Time. Velaj’s digital chapbook The Wind Foundations was published by Zany Zygote Review. Besides English, her poems have also been translated into Hebrew, Swedish, Romanian, French, and Portuguese. Her poetry collection With No Sweat At All is forthcoming with Cervena Barva Press.

Arben P. Latifi

Arben P. Latifi was born in 1961 in Kolonjë, Albania. He earned an MA in English and completed postgraduate studies in Diplomacy and International Trade at the State University of Tirana. Arben’s teaching career comprises a wide range of locations, from Albania, the US, Oman, to China, and age groups. Dedicated to the core principles of the art of translating and poetry specifics, his distinct style reflects maximum-level accuracy and faithfulness to the message of the original text, while flexibly and reasonably going the extra mile to add to original merits via enhancement of cohesive interlingual flow, imagery, vocabulary, musicality... His own simple translation motto is “Look not how far the poet stretches his arm; see how far he throws the stone!”