Han vände blicken mot de skulpterade gestalterna ovanför ingången, halva människokroppar, stympade och sönderbrutna men vart han än såg fanns drömmen ännu inom honom, han blev inte kvitt den, den var som en eftersmak eller ett skarpt ljus inbränt i ögat efterlämnande en skugga i synfältet.
A few years ago I was drawn into the world of translated speculative fiction, and all of that changed.
I was enthralled by the stories and books from around the world that I would never have heard about, or been able to read, without the work of excellent translators.
Bound onto a nickel disc, each one of us closes
the golden circle in our separate ways
to become part of an enduring fable.
He turned his gaze to the sculpted figures above the building’s entrance—mutilated and broken segments of human bodies—but no matter where he looked the dream was still inside him, he couldn’t get rid of it, it was like an aftertaste or a bright light burned into your eye, leaving behind a dark spot in your field of vision.
Όταν μπήκε στο μαγαζί, δούλευα στη γλώσσα μιας πελάτισσας. Της χτυπούσα έναν γαλάζιο ήλιο· σ’ εμένα, βέβαια, φαινόταν ανοιχτός γκρι. Ήθελε να λάμπει το στόμα της με το προσωπικό της χρώμα ακόμα κι όταν ήταν κλειστό. Άκου ιδέα!
She looked me in the eyes. "The colour I see, the colour of the flames that burn my skin. I saw it for the first time in his eyes."
