The dual-nature of Don Cellini’s book–with poems in Spanish and English and mirror-image photos–is reinforced by its twin vertices of people and nature, humor and melancholy, solitude and solidarity. The language is so crisp and clean and polished that the poems simply beg to be read out loud. ¡Bravo!
–Sandra Kingery, translator Of My Real Life I Know Nothing by Ana María Moix
| Listen | Escucha |
| Because I dwell between whispers, | Porque habito entre susurros, |
| like snow, like swallowed | como nieve, y secretos |
| secrets, I hear you without words, | sigilosos, te escucho sin palabras, |
| verbs of pause, voice of marble, | verbos pausados, voes de mármol, |
| the sound of e in mute, elegant, | el sonido de la h, en hueco, eco |
| invisible in the miracle of light, | invisible en el milagro de luz, |
| in the sound of this page | en el sonido de esta página |
| remembering pulp remembering wood | recordando la pulpa en la madera |
| remembering trunk and leaves | recordando tronco y hojas |
| and breeze through its branches. | y brisa por sus ramas. |