we need a breathing tongue between
poetry book, 2024
“i am looking for
transport
from a part of
somebody
to far from
a part of
the morning
as early as
early as
early
as
possible”
(overbound)
“one day facebook translated all posts written in my mother tongue to English. One was from a stranger looking for a ride from Prijedor, a town in northern Bosnia, to Rogaška Slatina, a town in Slovenia. When translated, the Bosnian town became “a part of somebody” and the Slovenian “far from a part of the morning”. The urgency of the request was also exaggerated – in the original message, “as early as possible” only appears once. In the translation, however, it is repeated three times. Almost like a charm.”
(on “overbound”, from the interview with kith books)
we need a breathing tongue between is a book of many voices. Together, they sing of a family, a river, a border, loss, and a language. A then and further then. If I could liken a book to a setting, “a breathing tongue” would be reclining in my grandma’s backyard in a white metal chair with coiled armrests. We drink black coffee and dip sugar cubes into the overfoam. She begins a quick succession of big questions, listens carefully, then doesn’t: she interrupts, asks, interrupts again. When I leave, it’s like I never leave, for the answers remain, calling somewhere between our coffees and our mouths. When I leave, I leave knowing that there, in the corner, purple hydrangeas began blooming / her jars of compote taste like they always have / a cat has left a mouse in front of her window, and the lizards are out again, laying eggs in her tidy rock garden. I leave knowing she awaits the forecast every night, sitting through the big cities and far countries, she waits to know my weather and my brother’s weather. Berlin and Vienna. Who needs a unison?
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we need a breathing tongue between
kith books, 2024
Paperback
ISBN: 9798989769506