Lost
in Translation: A Spaniard With English Ears
by
Vincent Cosaro
Language
is a shifty puta.
Play
around with it just right
and
you can build bridges between tongues.
Use
only the shape of ink
and
write on a thin strip of Spanish wood.
“The
sky
is a cello.
The
dog
is a pair
of boots.
Red
rivers urge me to row
home
as
wolves
chew on low
bones.”
Add
more filler
a
handful of black and white chords
some
música.
Abstract
thought is in style now.
The
gringos
will
think you’re an artist,
that
you have something special in your mind.
“Go
smoke
on food
mars.
Your
feet
are nothing but old pies,
lukewarm,
unmoving.
You
sleep
with a bad case of dorm
ears.
Your
shoes
hold zapped
out
toes.
You
can’t eat,
you comb
air
like
a photosynthesizing plant
a
large metal tree,
upside down
a
bowl.”
They’ll
have no clue you’re full of mierda
that
you have a small book,
a
pocket translator,
turning
your native tongue
into
some lengua
ludica.
Write
like a mala
traducción.
They’ll
think it’s art.
Just
don’t tell them
you’re
actually a linguist.
Vincent
Corsaro is
an MFA student at Butler University. He was born in raised in
Indianapolis, and is involved in both the musical and writing
communities in the city. He describes himself an avid rock climber,
reader, musician, and person. In the spring of 2018, he published his
first work of fiction in IU's Canvas Literary Arts Journal.