Alta Ifland
LightIn Europe, light is as sad and weak as the old continent. But here, at the other end of the world, by the ocean, it seems almost material, ceaselessly renewing itself out of a sky of untouched enamel. Under the line separating sky and ocean, the waves are an iridescent blue-gray, and it is impossible to watch them without feeling wounded by their blinding clarity. The lightwaves stream through the trees, and arrive soaked in maternal tenderness on the wooden terrace. There, their rays like spread braids linger on the surface of things, and the wood seizes their heat, and gorges on it, and light suffuses the boards’ grain, burrowing deeper and deeper into silence.
Bio:
Alta Ifland lives in California. She left a career as a French teacher in order to devote herself entirely to writing. Her prose poems, written in French and translated by herself into English, are forthcoming in Prairie Schooner and Parthenon West Review.
