In Translation

By William Zheng-Kang Hassett

In translation there is a choice: should an author elect to capture the object of translation, or rather aim to conjure that same feeling or image that that object’s reference evoked from its original form; in translation it is this choice that leads to two sets of failures in making the untranslatable—uncaptured or unconjured—for the ancient Greeks’ “sophrosyne;” some say temperance, some say moderation, but all say we cannot and do not know for sure, those who do know no longer live, and as such there can be no final hunt, no grand trap lain—uncaptured or unconjured—for the Portuguese “saudade;” melancholy, nostalgic, these are close; they evoke a similar feeling; but the gap lies in the fact that the word is said to be inherent to the people, an identity—uncaptured or unconjured or however—through study of Plato, Aristotle, Homer, the olden, it is said that some have been able to see this “sophrosyne,” via an embedding in the texts, and begin to grasp and ultimately capture meaning, and in learning Portuguese and living and conversing, it is said that some have had that “saudade” bloom within, unwittingly or otherwise, so we find that in search of the untranslatable, in an airless chase or a desperate dying expression, some lucky few find themselves translated, unable to return to that object they were previously; or, lost in translation.

William Zheng-Kang Hassett is a Washington, D.C.-based writer whose work has appeared in undergraduate philosophy journals Meditations and Aperto Amino.

Art by Anika Chatterjee.

Edison's Oyster

By John Waddy Bullion

Thomas Edison was not fond of allowing his work to cross over into his domestic life, except for the time he beckoned his second wife, Mina, to come sit beside him at his workbench, where he helped her hook electrodes up to an oyster and deliver low-voltage shocks into the creature until its shell opened, disgorging a gleaming, white, opaque pearl the same size and circumference of the ball bearings the perennially sleep-deprived Edison was fond of cupping in his hands whenever he felt himself succumbing to exhaustion, so that he could instead drift into the twilight state of consciousness where he believed genius and inspiration were the most accessible, the same ball bearings that would would drop from his palms as he teetered on the precipice of deep, dumbfounded sleep, clatter noisily to the floor, and shock him awake.

John Waddy Bullion’s writing has appeared in BULL, HAD, X-R-A-Y, the Texas Review, Hunger Mountain, and Vol 1. Brooklyn, among other fine places, and his debut collection of short stories, This World Will Never Run Out of Strangers, is forthcoming from Cowboy Jamboree Press in November 2025.

Art by Lisa McLemore, an artist, poet, and photographer living in Washington DC.

Before We Even Light the Candles

By Andrew Cothren

Panic grips the birthday magician's face as the rope of scarves coming from his mouth shows no sign of stopping; the children scream.

Andrew Cothren is a Chicago-based writer whose work has appeared in Redivider, Bright Wall/Dark Room, Yalobusha Review, fields, and The Atlas Review.

Art by Andrew Cothren.