June 2015
I am a student at the Vermont College of Fine Arts MFA Program, where I study poetry and translation. My work was selected in a contest hosted by Missouri State University Press to be included in the anthology Proud to Be: Writing by American Warriors,
(volume 3). My poetry and translations have appeared in Cardinal Sins, Boston Thought, Malpais Review and many other joutnals, both online and print.
(volume 3). My poetry and translations have appeared in Cardinal Sins, Boston Thought, Malpais Review and many other joutnals, both online and print.
Winter
These−
these−
these−
arms of the bawling
newborn carriage
driven−
drowning−
as they keep on snatching,
clutching at light and noises−
before her parents freeze
them−these minute,
withered arms,
their gestured pleas.
Oil Lamp
by Federico Garcia Lorca
tramslated by Domenic J. Scopa
Oh, how gravely the flame
of the oil lamp meditates.
Like an Indian fakir
it gazes at its golden entrails,
and goes into eclipse dreaming
atmospheres with no wind.
Incandescent stork
from its nest pecks
at massive shadows
and, trembling, approaches
the round eyes
of the dead gypsy boy.
©2015 Domenic J. Scopa