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- Amerikaans schrijfster (nl)
- amerikansk författare och poet (sv)
- poetă americană (ro)
- ލިޔުންތެރިއެއް (dv)
- 미국 시인 (ko)
- americká spisovatelka (cs)
- poeta merikano (pap)
- amerikansk skribent og poet (nn)
- شاعر و نویسنده آمریکایی (fa)
- escritora estadounidense (es)
- משוררת וסופרת אמריקאית (iw)
- amerikansk skribent og poet (da)
- американска писателка (bg)
- americká spisovateľka (sk)
- американская поэтесса и писательница (ru)
- అమెరికాకు చెందిన రచయిత్రి (te)
- अमेरिकी लेखिका एवं कवयित्री (hi)
- அமெரிக்க கவிஞர் மற்றும் எழுத்தாளர் (1932-1963) (ta)
- American poet and writer (1932–1963) (en)
- American poet, novelist (sco)
- Amerikalı yazar (1932 – 1963) (tr)
- Amerikana mannaniw ken mannurat (ilo)
- Helbestvan (ku)
- Idazlea, poeta (eu)
- Onye edemede na onye edemede America (1932-1963) (ig)
- американська феміністська поетеса і письменниця (uk)
- امریکی شاعرہ، ناول نگار اور مختصر کہانی نویس (ur)
- amerikanische Schriftstellerin und Dichterin (de)
- ameriška pesnica in pisateljica (1932–1963) (sl)
- amerykańska poetka, pisarka i eseistka (pl)
- bardd ac awdur Americanaidd (1932-1963) (cy)
- अमेरिकी कवि, उपन्यासकार र छोटो कथा लेखिका (ne)
- poeta e novelista estadounidense (gl)
- poetessa e scrittrice statunitense (it)
- poetisa e escritora americana (pt)
- poétesse et romancière américaine (fr)
- yhdysvaltalainen kirjailija ja runoilija (fi)
- file, úrscéalaí, agus gearrscéalaí Meiriceánach (ga)
- মার্কিন কবি, ছোটগল্পকার ও ঔপন্যাসিক (bn)
- شاعرة وروائية أمريكية (ar)
- 美国女诗人、作家 (zh)
- アメリカの女性詩人、小説家、短編作家 (ja)
- amerikai költő, író, novellista, gyerekkönyvíró (hu)
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- I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked [...] as I sat there, unable to decide [which fig], the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet. (en)
- Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements. (en)
- Nights, I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind,
Counting the red stars and those of plum-color.
The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue.
My hours are married to shadow.
No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel
On the blank stones of the landing. (en)
- And I
Am the arrow,
The dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning. (en)
- And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses. (en)
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