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TRANSLATION 1 A.E. Peterson Nickel’s room never fell
more than half dark, even after Mother turned out the lamp beside the bed.
Perhaps because the house sat high atop a hill, or perhaps night simply got
lazy, but the darkness refused to settle completely. The Nickel room never fell
half darker, even after the Mother was the lamp beside the bed. The room of
Nickel never fell more than half gloomily, even, after mother from the lamp
beside the bed. Maybe because the house sat down high above a hill, or maybe
night became lazy simply, but the darkness refused to settle down completely. She turned on her back,
closed her eyes upon the gray shadows, and listened. Maybe because the house
sat on a hill above highly, or maybe night became simply lazy, but the dark
refused to decide completely. You turned on his back,
closed his eyes on the gray shades, and he listened. She turned on her back,
closed her eyes on the gray shadow, and listened. From downstairs came the
hum of chattering lips, the creaking of floors beneath feet, the slap of
hands against the kitchen tabletop. Of of
below the buzzing came from talking lips, the low crack of floors, the feet, the clap of hands against the summit of kitchen table.
From down from the staircases it came the muttering to chat lips, squeaking
of floors under of feet the slap of hands against the kitchen proposes top. She lit her back, closed
her eyes on the gray shades, and listened. From below that came you
buzz lips, the creak of grounds under feet, the
spank of hands against the kitchen table-top, from quacking. A man began
laughing a hoarse, deep laugh, and her parents’ voices rose, fluttering like
moths, quick and light, singing into nighttime. Of in stocking rose the
deaf noise of the lips chat, the that cracks soils
in low feet, the slap of hands against the top of the kitchen table. One men started to laugh a hoarse laughter, deep, and the
voices of its parents rose, fluttering as moths, quickly and illuminates,
singing in the night. A man began laughing a hoarse
one, deeply laugh, and the voices of their parents ascended, trembling as the
moths, quick and he lights, singing in the night. Soon the train would sweep
past and add its whistle. A man began laughing a
hoarse, laugh deeply, and voice of her parents increased, to beat wings of
same butterflies of night, fast and light, to sing in night. Soon the train would sweep
past and add its hiss. This is a series of “translations”
from A.E. Peterson’s novel in
progress. |
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Publishing Genius | copyright 2007 |