Red Thread

The Red Thread 

A worldthreading compilation of poetry. 

1


A compilation of poetry in celebration of 

the first gathering to begin threading the 

waters amongst our networks. 

First Edition,2022 

Red Press, Copenhagen, DK 

ISBN: 978-87-94003-06-3 

Printed in Tranås, SE 

Cover art: Elemental Strife 

by Pablo Saborio. 

Illustrations by Danjazzia. 

www.reddoormagazine.com 

All rights reserved by the corresponding authors. 


A worldthreading compilation of poetry. 

2

POETRY IS US. 

Magnus Grehn 

Elena Ilkova 

Morten Ranum 

Emma Leppo 

Daniel Malpica 

Colm Kiernan 

Pablo Saborio 

Elizabeth Torres 

Dominic Williams 

4 5

THE 

RED 

Worldthreading 

in times of 

THREAD 

uncertainty... 

but then again, 

what of time 

is certain? 

This compilation is that moment 

that occurs in the liminal space 

between the dream world and the 

waking world. A fleeting vision that 

somehow has seeped through 

from the space where ideas occur, 

and begins to manifest within our 

reality. 

Apart from this selection of 

multilingual poetry you hold in 

your hands, these pages celebrate 

the first gathering of a series of 

elements, whose role is pivotal for 

our current Nordic and European 

cultural landscape, for each in 

their corner have been holding 

their doors open to literature, 

multimedia art and performance, 

poetry and the connections 

between artistic expressions 

necessary to document the stories 

and events of our communities. 

6 7

To bring each one of these 

organizations together for an exercise 

in worldthreading is something that 

in its own deserves to be celebrated, 

because its potential is powerful, but 

just the fact it is happening, is already 

a great achievement, especially in 

the current times of darkness, after a 

pandemic and now with war having 

returned to Europe. It is a clear sign 

that art and culture are essential and 

prevail in times of uncertainty. 

This is when Nordisk Kulturfond 

comes into play, for providing the 

Opstart funds that allow us to meet 

in Copenhagen this Spring of 2022 

to showcase our ideas, projects, 

previous publications and individual 

work, in a series of networking 

events that will ideally bring forth 

new connections and projects. 

What we envision is a threaded 

network of publishers, translators, 

cultural organizers and performers, 

who together can provide a Nordic 

platform (with international affiliates 

and collaborators) for the promotion 

of local and international literature, 

the visibilization of migrant languages 

in the Nordic countries, and the 

documentation of the cultural wealth 

we are all a part of, which becomes 

more tangible once we work together. 

The network we are each a part of 

is fundamental and can serve as a 

powerful base for new activities, 

workshops, translations of migrant 

languages to Nordic ones and 

viceversa, multilingual publications, 

multimedia hybrid projects and 

other activities, that hopefully not 

just document our steps and bring 

us closer, but also sustainably and 

responsibly provide a path forward 

for our siblings in conflict areas, our 

silenced siblings, our creators fleeing 

from war and uncertainty, and all who 

within the structure of our work can 

find comfort, light, and hope. 

In addition to welcoming you to 

wander in the unknown territory 

these pages contain, I encourage 

you to learn more about our current 

collaborators and participants, their 

websites, portfolios, projects and 

open calls. My gratitude extends 

to Kirjan Talo, Runoviikko, Ós 

Pressan, Write4Word, PEN Finland, 

Cappelens Forslag, Kultivera and 

Litteraturcentrum KVU for answering 

this call, as well as to each and 

everyone of the poets appearing 

here. Worldthreading is us! 

Elizabeth Torres 

Red Thread Instigator 

and worldthreader. 

8 9

Sweden 

MAGNUS GREHN 

Photo by Karl Larsson - Translation by Frank Bergsten. 

Magnus Grehn was born in 

1965. He played in several 

punk and hardcore bands and 

sang in 16 BUH. Since 2015 he 

is one of the members of the 

industrial noise duo Två män 

i en dambob that play old 

Swedish 1920s to 1950s songs. 

He work as a librarian and run 

the small press Magnus Grehn 

förlag. “Gubbar med vagn och 

andra dikter“ and in english 

translation “Punk’s Dead and 

other Poems“ was a split 

chapbook with Mikael Ekström. 

Gubbar med vagn 


– veckohandlar 


– har kepsen på 


– ser lätt förvirrade ut 


– undrar över middagen 


– ser sorgsna ut 


– vad tänker de på? 


– kör hårt och bestämt, 

likt en bil på E4an. 


– vill ha öl och chips 


– tänker på döden 


– hängande blasé på vagnen 


– erövrar affären 


– har trötta ben 


– undrar vart livet tog vägen? 


– har kvinnor som cirkulerar 

som satelliter runt dem. 

Aul’ Fellows with a Trolley 

Aul’ fellows with a trolley - 

weekley shopping 


wearing flat caps 


looking slightly disoriented 


wondering about dinner 


looking sorrow 


what do they think about? 


driving hard and decidedly 

like a car on the M4. 


want beer and crisps 


thinking about death 

Aul’ fellows with a trolley 

- blasé, hanging on the 

trolley 


- conquering the Supermarket 


are tired in the legs 


- wondering where life has 

gone 

Aul ‘ fellows with a trolley - 

have women that circulate 

around them like satellites. 

10 11

Jeanne d’Arc bor i Malmö 

Jeanne d’Arc bor i Malmö, 

på pastorsexpeditionen. 

Säger en skäggig man 

med vilda blå ögon. 

Hon färdas genom tid och 

rymd, 

har tröttnat på 

fjortonhundratalet. 

Handlar på ICA Maxi, 

köper blommor 

på Gustav Adolfs torg. 

Hon vill inte längre vara 

ett franskt nationalhelgon, 

vill hänga på 

Mikes bar, spela biljard 

och slänga bort 

sin jungfrudom till första 

bästa. 

Jeanne d’Arc lives in Malmö 

Jeanne d’Arc lives in Malmö, 

at the parish office. 

Says a bearded man 

with wild blue eyes. 

She travels through time and 

space, 

got tired of the 15th century. 

Shops at ICA Maxi, 

buys flowers 

at Gustav Adolfs square. 

She doesn’t want to be a 

French patron saint anymore, 

wants to hang out 

in Mikes bar, play pool 

and give away 

her virginity to whoever. 

Pastoral Mondriangraffiti 

på en lantlig elstation 

Urban 

pastoral 

graffiti 

Mondrian 

topografisk 

elstation 

Krösatåget 

skramlar 

Något abstrakt 

med stil 

syns vid horisonten 

Pastoral Mondrian graffiti 

on a rural power station 

Urban 

pastoral 

graffiti 

Mondrian 

topographic 

power station 

The Krösa train rattles 

Something abstract 

with style 

seen on the horizon 

12 13

Iceland 

Безвремена 

Timeless Song 

ELENA ILKOVA 

Elena Ilkova is a multilingual 

writer and lecturer in Second 

language Acquisition based in 

Iceland. She holds a position 

at the editorial board of 

multicultural writing collective 

Ós Pressan. Has published 

short stories, poems, and 

flesh fiction in various literary 

magazines, and currently works 

on a novel. Born and raised in 

Macedonia, and living in Israel 

and Iceland had sparked her 

interest in multilingualism and 

translingual expression. Hence, 

she uses it in her creative 

writing as well as in the MA 

research at the University of 

Iceland. 

А ти песна имаш ли, 

на поколението да им 

ја оставиш? 

Со вистини 

набреkната, 

и со неа да им 

покажеш 

дека времето е нешто 

што не постои? 

And what about you? 

Have you ever written a 

poem 

ladened with truths 

to pass on to your descendants, 

to tell them that time 

is something that does 

not exist? 

14 15

Коси Прегратки 

Нејзината бордо, 

А нејзината строубери 

блонд. 

Си играат во парче поплочен 

океан на врвот на градот. 

Едната ја носи другата во 

прегратка и ја плови во 

водата 

ко да им ја предава на 

најдоброљубивите Богови, 

за да биде родна годината. 

Ко доенче и мајка доилка да 

се. 

Ко да се, а не се. 

Две се жени вљубени, 

Во своите црвенила: 

Нејзината бордо 

А нејзината строубери 

блонд. 

Едната разлеана ко да 

отпловува некаде на средба 

со алгите што ќе се излеат 

на некој Егејски брег. 

На остров каде секој може 

да биде тоа што е, егејски 

сéВерен. 

Посребрени и наводенети 

а постојат така нежни ко 

два расцветани суви 

пердуви, 

пловат, 

прегрнати. 

Детски му се смеат на 

новото откривање на 

светот. 

Можат да се носат со сé, 

Лесно е. 

Во водата владее законот 

на Архимед 

во кој Афродитите можат 

да бидат Две. 

Едната строубери блонд, 

другата бордо цвет. 

Hair They Hug 

One is burgundy, 

one is strawberry blonde, 

swimming in a playful bond. 

Up in the hill where the top 

of Thessaloniki lies, 

in a cemented and tiled cube 

filled with water that 

belonged to the ocean once. 

Hugged, 

one carries the other in 

embrace, 

floating her ceremonially 

as though she will sacrifice 

her 

to the most merciful deity of 

them all, 

for the rains to come and 

impregnate the soil. 

In a shape of a mother 

nursing her child, 

they exist in the water 

appearing as building a bond 

through motherhood, 

but the bond really is a bond 

of childhood, 

as they are two women in 

love 

in their redness. 

One is floating in the 

water 

like algae that are about 

to be drifted on some 

Aegean shore 

preferably on the north, 

where they could be 

allowed to be faithful to 

whom they love. 

Soaked, silver lined with 

water, 

two nymphs they are, 

two dry feathers 

bloomed in the water, 

somehow. 

They hold tight to each 

other 

and giggle in the name 

of the rules of their latest 

discovery 

because it allows them 

to handle with an ease 

everything. 

Here in the waters, where 

Archimedes rules, 

Aphrodites could be two. 

One burgundy. 

And one strawberry 

blonde 

in their red love. 

One´s hair is burgundy. 

One´s hair is strawberry 

16 blonde. 

17

MORTEN RANUM 

Denmark 

Morten Ranum (Denmark) is a poet and 

sound producer, who also works as an 

art critic, columnist and editor. Ranum is 

the author of five collections of poetry 

and one book of short stories, with an 

upcoming novel in Danish. Additionally, 

Morten Ranum is the host of the 

Tremella Radio show “Foreignness and 

Friendship”, which aims to document 

events and conversations with artists and 

activists, from the Nordic storytelling, 

crossing the multicultural Mediterranean 

Sea, heading towards the Northeastern 

Shores of Victoria Lake and preparing 

for a long walk through Bantu heritage 

all the way to Transkei Region in The 

Eastern Cape, South Africa, a land which 

has filled Ranum’s heart with reasons to 

write and connect. 

Jeg ved ikke, hvor 

virkeligheden begynder 

vi fortsætter ind i drømmene 

her skinner solen hver dag 

jeg suger mig fast 

i dit kød, slår skud 

og flyver som en fugl. 

Fuglenes vinger 

simulerer 

vores indre svingninger. 

Om aftenen 

forgylder solen dit smukke 

hoved 

du skinner op mod himlen 

jeg befinder mig i en 

skattekiste 

på bunden af havet 

den åbner sig 

og fuldbyrder livet. 

Vi begynder 

i virkeligheden 

her. 

(”fortsættelse”, 2011, p.34) 

No sé donde empieza la 

realidad 

Nos adentramos más en los 

sueños 

Acá brilla el sol cada día 

me adhiero a tu carne 

echo raíces 

y vuelo como un ave. 

Las alas de los pájaros 

simulan 

nuestro meneo interno. 

En la tarde 

dora el sol tu hermosa 

cabeza 

resplandeces en el cielo 

me hallo en el fondo del mar 

en un cofre 

que se abre 

y consuma la vida. 

En realidad 

empezamos 

acá. 

(”continuación”, 2011, p.34) 

18 19

Din varme og min varme 

skaber temperaturer 

uden for enhver fornuft. 

Vi står i vejen for alt 

det er vores kys 

som finder modet 

til fremtiden. 

Jeg må være inde i dig 

altid 

for ikke at dø af sult 

du næsten kvæler mig 

i dine forsøg 

på at tilfredsstille 

min appetit. 

Vi spiser, skider og ler 

råber og knepper. 

Hud mod hud 

tænder gnistrer 

i saften bader vi 

der er sukker og salt 

vi flyder 

i have af sperm og varm 

mælk 

vi er skruppelløse 

dyriske 

i verden forbliver vi døde 

men vi kæmper for livet. 

Det er døden 

som er vores egentlige 

mål. 

Din krop gør mig levende 

og vores hænder følger 

alle tænkelige 

forbindelser 

mellem os. 

(”fortsættelse”, 2011, 

p.46-47) 

Græsset 

Jeg ligger i græsset 

inden berører mit ansigt 

solen kærtegner min krop 

hænder begynder 

velvilligt at følge mig dag 

og nat 

det prikker på huden med 

de forsigtige skridt 

som skal opfylde mine 

dybeste længsler 

her midt i evigheden 

vokser min fornemmelse 

for mit eget begær 

tørsten stiger 

min hals drikker saft af 

uanet oprindelse 

jeg leder ikke efter 

begrundelser 

men lader mig indhylle 

af dufte som fordamper 

i solen glider rundt i 

væsker 

de maler min hud 

skinnende blank 

himlen bestråler mig med 

opmærksomhed 

jeg ligner ikke noget der 

er set før 

(”Saftig lørdag”, 2015, 

p.38) 

Hierba 

Estoy echado en la hierba 

el viento roza mi rostro 

el sol acaricia mi cuerpo 

ahora me siguen manos 

complacientes día y noche 

siento en la piel el paso 

cauteloso 

que deberá cumplir mis 

mas profundos anhelos 

acá en medio de la 

eternidad 

crece mi sensación de mi 

propio deseo 

aumenta la sed 

mi garganta bebe jugo de 

origen inesperado 

no busco motivos 

me dejo envolver en 

aromas que evaporan al 

sol 

se deslizan en los líquidos 

pintan brillante mi piel 

el cielo me ilumina con 

miramiento 

no me parezco a nada que 

se haya visto antes 

(“Sábado jugoso”, 2015, 

p.38) 

Oversat af Antonietta 

Medeiros. 

20 21

Finland 

Olen piirtänyt maan 

I Have Pictured A Land 

Emma Leppo is a Finnish spoken word 

poet, student and activist, born and 

raised in Helsinki, currently living in 

Turku. Emma recently started as the 

vice-president of the Turku Poetry 

Week Association (Runoviikko) as 

well as the co-producer of the annual 

Poetry Week Festival. Emma is also 

And so the weathered blocks 

representing The Book’s House 

dissolved, 

(Kirjan talo – Bokens hus) in the Turun 

Niin sulivat uneni rannoiksi the ones I remember by heart, 

Lavatauti collective, hence one of the 

kiviset korttelit, 

becoming the shores that I knew 

from that stubborn dream. 

producers and hosts of the monthly 

joista muistan ulkoa jokaisen 

Just like a long time ago, that 

open mic in Turku. 

eleen ja maun 

rebellious May 

Emma also has a background as a 

kuin vallankumousten toukokuu 

kerran, 

I pictured a land, breathing, a 

under the asphalt, a beach! 

dancer, which has greatly influenced 

asvaltin alla hiekka! 

her spoken word. She aspires to 

blazing haze 

Haaveilin maan joka hengittää, 

strangers are known by their names, 

a land where the spring and 

create poems with powerful rhythms 

that people can feel traveling through 

jossa kevät ja sivulliset tunnetaan 

nimeltä 

its cracks and trenches filled to the 

I have painted a land, 

their bodies while, hopefully, finding 

a fleeting moment of comfort in her 

olen maalannut maan, 

brim 

words. 

with water to drink 

sen murtumat ja rotkot 

and I know: that land will be. 

täyteen juomavettä 

22 ja aion nähdä sen maan. 

23 

EMMA LEPPO 

Olen piirtänyt mieleni 

huoneessa maan. 

Olen todistanut sen unessa, 

nähnyt silmät näkemässä 

sen. 

Todellisuus vain unta ja uneni 

todempaa totta, 

sen utopia hopeinen peili, 

reunoilla. Kujilla. 

Osasin kuvitella maan! 

Ja se olikin haavaisten katujen 

kääntöpuoli, 

näiden päivien pehmeä 

sisäpinta. 

Olin kuvitellut maan jonka 

tekivät mahdottomaksi 

vain kuluneet sanat ja kuvat 

joihin lahoissa koulujen saleissa 

opimme uskomaan… 

Inside the room of my mind, I have 

pictured a land. 

In my dream I’ve witnessed it, 

I have looked at the eyes that can 

see it. 

The world around a delusion, my 

dream as real as it gets 

a utopia, a silvery mirror. By the 

margins, the alleys, the edge 

I had managed to picture a land! 

And it turned out to be the reverse 

side of these battered streets, 

the soft and silky lining of our dreary 

days. 

I had thought of a land, once turned 

unthinkable 

by the worn-out words and pictures 

that we learned, in the crumbling 

classrooms, to swallow as whole…

Minulle (2020) 

Annan anteeksi niille 

jotka jättivät minut 

pientareelle keskipäivän 

aurinkoon, lähtivät etsimään 

vettä, eivätkä 

palanneet. Annan anteeksi 

niille jotka rakasti kuria 

koska pelkäsi itseään, ja 

niille, jotka 

vannoi karkaavansa 

eikä ikinä karanneet. 

Annan anteeksi niille jotka 

miehitti kasvoni ja rakensi 

niistä näyttämön itselleen, 

annan 

anteeksi miehelle joka ei 

tuntenut minua vaikka menin 

ja synnyin sen käsiin. Annan 

anteeksi 

sen että kukaan ei auttanut 

kun puristuin päivien väliin. 


vaanivat 

käytävällä ja hoki mun nimeä 

kunnes se luiskahti niiden 

käsistä ja halkesi kahtia. 

Annan anteeksi niille joiden 

sängystä 

karkasin yöllä ja kaduilla 

odotin aamua, pesin 

hampaat kahvilan vessassa, 

Annan anteeksi kaiken sen 

mitä en vielä tiedä. Annan 

anteeksi sen etten 

tarkoita tätä vielä. Annan 

anteeksi niille jotka jättivät 

saapumatta annan anteeksi 

minulle 

kaikesta huolimatta. 

Annan anteeksi sille joka 

sanoi mun selän takana että 

oon liian 

samanlainen kuin yks toinen 

runoilija! Annan anteeksi 

niille joiden suussa soi sisällissota, 

annan anteeksi niillekin jotka 

ei ota 

annan anteeksi niille, joille 

salaa kaikilta koitan kostaa. 

Joiden likaiset nielut yritän 

sulattaa umpeen kun kaadan 

sitä myrkkyä seitsemättä 

vuotta mun 

omaan suuhun, 

annan anteeksi päivät, jotka 

tuhlasin: 

sirotin tuhkana mereen ja 

menetin, ikuisiksi ajoiksi, 

pyydän sitä kaikkea anteeksi, 

annan 

anteeksi niille jotka kuolevat 

ennen minua. 

Annan anteeksi niille joille en 

pysty antamaan anteeksi 

sen, etten pysty antamaan 

anteeksi, 

annan sen niille anteeksi, 

annan 

sen kaiken lahjaksi 

minulle. 


koittivat kirjoittaa minut 

uudestaan, jotka kirjoitti 

minut, ja söi 

sitten sanansa! Jotka lähtivät 

ilmoittamatta etsimään 

isäänsä, eivät katsoneet 

taakseen ja 

vaihtoivat nimensä. Jotka 

tuijotti ikkunasta ja esitti 

etsivänsä oikeita sanoja. 

Joille lainasin 

vuokraan vaikka tiesin etten 

koskaan enää näe niitä 

rahoja. 

Jotka polttivat todisteet, 

jotka hukkasi avaimet, jotka 

määräsi väärät lääkkeet ja 

hakkasi 

suonista rytmin. Etten 

muuttanut totuutta, etten 

ehtinyt ajoissa, että jätin 

24 

laskin rahat ja 

kaivon kannen auki, 

lähdin ekalla bussilla. 

etten jäänyt sairaalaan yöksi. 

25

Mexico / Finland 

DANIEL MALPICA 

Daniel Malpica is a Helsinki 

based writer, graphic designer 

and producer. He is author of 

the books Paréntesis (RDLPS, 

2017), Marduk: Senectus 

Signum (Bakcheia,2009) and 

Ex-Aether (Molinos de, 2012). 

His latest books ‘Se escribe 

con X’ and ‘Manuke Libre’ have 

received some grants from the 

Arts Promotion Centre Finland 

and the Kone Foundation but 

they remain unpublished. In 

2016, Malpica was granted by 

the Finnish Literature Exchange 

to translate and publish into 

Spanish the work of Sámi poet 

Niillas Holmberg. 

As multimedia artist Malpica 

has curated and designed more 

than a dozen of experimental lit 

events on a European, Nordic 

and Mexican scale for places 

such as Kiasma Contemporary 

Art Museum (FI), Helsinki 

Book Fair (FI), Lettrétage Lit 

House Berlin (DE), Nordisk 

Sprogfest (DK), among others. 

Between 2011 and 2014, he 

was co-founder, editor-in-chief 

and designer of [Radiador] 

Magazine. In 2017, one of 

Malpica’s cooperative projects 

received Nuori Voima’s literary 

prize. He is currently a board 

member of the Finnish PEN. 

Spatial Sampler / Future 

We feel a more powerful 

presence 

like a fish bowl for our 

poems that are fish 

How many times 

did we want to grab the 

stars 

in the simplest of ways 

without any thunder at all 

to string the poem 

between the two stars 

as if it was just about 

“indicating” with words 

but these days only love 

defeats us 

and numerical poems 

shatter one by one 

You’ve known about this 

for so long 

realities superposed on 

realities 

Per aspera ad astra 

folding in the most 

rigorous way 

origami of time 

brotherhood and mimesis 

among stars 

for in the universe one 

single mother 

Vocoder / Rupestre 

Tuhansia vuosia pohjattoman 

tyhjyyden jälkeen 

yhdessä niistä luolista, 

missä kirjoitettu runous 

syntyi, me tarkastelimme 

villiintyneitä karikatyyrejä 

jotka viestivät filosofiaansa 

äänimaailmallaan, joka 

reaktivoi hiukkasiaan yhä 

uudestaan 

”ihmiset pitävät täydellisyyttä 

liian suuressa 

arvossa, teit viisaasti valitessasi 

rakkauden” 

– toistui kaikuna 

26 www.danielmalpica.com 

27

Intangible future 

History, the past we know, is 

the narration of the possible. 

It makes us glimpse the world 

and the theater as they could 

be. From this dense dialogue 

with what was different, our 

discontent is nourished by the 

present. 

A discontent that we call 

‘spiritual life’ 

Cosmos for repetition / 

Chaos for dystopia / 

There is an unmeasurable 

difference 

between a thought and its 

articulation. 

We might be far away for the 

understanding 

of a real future, if consciousness 

is the only form of an 

effective present. 

How many times 

did we want to grab the stars 

in the simplest ways 

like a fish bowl for our poems 

that are fish 

Future tense. Present 

time. Past tense 





Ei tulevaisuutta 

kirjoitettu runous syntyi 









Futuuri. Nykyhetki. Imperfekti. 

Miles de años posteriores 

al abismo, 

en una de las cuevas 

donde se originó la poesía 

escrita, 

nosotros observamos las 

caricaturas que loquitas 

revelaban su filosofía, 

en una acústica, que 

reactivaría sus partículas 

incontables veces 

“la gente sobreestima el 

valor de la perfección, 

considero sabio que hayas 

optado el amor” 

- retumbaba en el eco 

Tiempo futuro. Tiempo 

presente. Pasado 





No hay futuro 

El origen de la poesía 

escrita 


escrita 


escrita 







As if it was 

a form tell the time, without it 

present past and future might 

be there 

28 29

Ireland / Sweden 

COLM KIERNAN 

Colm Kiernan is a cultural 

worker originally from Ireland 

but now living in Sweden. He 

likes to use his emotions to 

paint pictures with words. He 

realised early in life that no 

matter how much he talked 

around a subject words didn’t 

have the power to convey his 

feelings, being hampered by 

logical structures. 

He finds though that words 

when used in poetry for him 

paint between the lines. 

Flowing beyond the confines 

of realism and logic to bare 

self. A nudity of the soul 

inconceivable except in the 

hope of a poem. 

His poetry defines his inner 

self. 

Free 

I didn’t die at Easter 

I died in April 

rejecting the spring 

hearing thoughts 

through sentences in 

contradiction 

that between is clarity 

no one thing of deep 

meaning 

when all is painted into 

one picture 

without memory 

is truly to be free 

Fri 

Jag dog inte vid påsk 

jag dog i april 

vägrar våren 

hör tankar 

i motstridiga meningar 

som mellan raderna 

talar klarspråk 

inte en enda sak av 

betydelse 

när allt är målat till en 

enda bild 

utan minne 

är att verkligen vara fri 

30 31

Cellar in Kadiköy 

Källare i Kadiköy 

Hands up and wave 

Music for a cellar of youth 

A room filled with 

Kurdish music 

A cellar in Istanbul 

smoke filled with tobacos 

and hormones, 

Performances more than 

on stage. 

Group videos to die for 

Another cig singing 

along 

Posts to read 

Hands in the air 

Videos to make music 

Stuff to text 

Clicks to read 

Time with poetry 

Relaxed in the excitement 

of the constant speed. 

Sceets all ‘round lovers 

kissing 

Listening to good music 

Chargers fuel enthusiasm 

excitement lust ‘n desire 

Cables making meaning 

That mirrors purpose and 

beautiful feeling 

Girls with tights or hijabs 

n’boots or low cut tops 

Boys ‘n levis shits slicked 

cute cut hair tight jeans 

This one has us all gleeing 

Beer bottles waving 

shouts claps whistles 

heavy cords singing 

with smiles tears voice 

and body 

Its all got meaning! 

A fella sits by the door 

twiddling a poem 

Upp med händerna och 

vifta 

Musik för en källare med 

ungdomar 

Ett rum fylld med kurdisk 

musik 

En källare i Istanbul 

Rök full av tobak och 

hormoner 

Uppträdanden inte bara 

på scenen 

Grupp videos att dö för 

En cigg till sjunger med 

mess att läsa 

Händer i luften 

Videos att göra musik 

Grejer att texta 

Klicks att läsa 

Tid med poesi 

Avspänd i det konstanta 

tempots 

upphetsning 

Skönheter överallt 

älskare kysser 

Lyssnar på bra musik 

Laddare driver entusiasm 

upphetsning begär och 

åtrå 

Kablar skapar betydelse 

Som speglar avsikt och 

skön känsla 

Flickor i tajts eller hijabs 

och boots eller lågt skurna 

toppar 

Pojkar i levis skjortor slickat 

smart klippt hår tajta 

jeans 

Den här får oss alla 

glada 

Ölflaskor svingas 

rop klappande visslingar 

tunga ackord 

sjunger med leenden tårar 

röst och kropp 

Allt har en mening 

En snubbe sitter vid dörren 

klurar på en dikt 

En katt spatserar mot 

scenen 

A cat saunters towards 

32 

the stage 

När vi går... 

As we’re leaving… 

33

Costa Rica / Denmark 

WHAT IS LIFE 

PABLO SABORIO 

Born in Costa Rica, Pablo 

Saborío is a visual artist and poet 

based in Copenhagen, Denmark. 

His recent publications include 

Columbia Journal, Conduit, 

Rigorous, West Trade Review, 

DASH, among other literary 

journals. Pablo is the poetry 

editor of Red Door Magazine. 

www.pablosaborio.com 

www.beyondlanguagepoetry.com 

They said that life was in the nerve, in the violence of 

vibration that traveled like a series of waves up through a 

network of neurons exploding in the dark. That life, this 

treasure of words, was a chemical sculpture intertwining 

with the void in order to shelter a socket of emotion. That 

matter deep and self-bound was made of strings and 

enlarged into a dream nobody could understand. They 

said life was a single white cloud in the dark sky of death 

– that life could be transmitted, like a ripple through time, 

on a vessel that was as fragile as its contents. That once 

alive all the galaxies would be dewdrops on the skin of 

a god. That the earth could harbor, among its shadows, 

the monstrosity of a pure capsule of silence. They said 

that in the cold habitat of their technology they could 

rebuild the sadness that travels between the moon and 

our hearts. That life was a response, an act shimmering at 

the edge of a machine. 

34 35

Nadie lee un poema 

Nobody reads a poem 

How to read a poem 

Nadie 

lee un poema 

para calcular 

cuantos minutos 

le quedan por 

vivir. 

Nadie 

agarra una estrofa 

y se la amarra 

como una corbata 

para ir a casarse 

con la luna. 

Nadie 

entiende que la metáfora 

es un puente, sino ya 

habríamos cruzado 

la noche con sus mil 

peces de luz. 

Nadie 

le abre los ojos 

al verso, 

para no quedarse 

ciego con el fulgor 

de su dolor. 

Nadie 

lee un poema 

para no morir 

sabiendo que no 

sabía nada. 

Nobody 

reads a poem 

to assess 

how many minutes 

they have left 

to live. 

Nobody 

grabs a stanza 

and ties it like a tie 

to go out & get married 

with the moon. 

Nobody 

understands a metaphor 

is a bridge, otherwise 

we’d already crossed 

the night & its thousand 

fish of light. 

Nobody 

pries open the eyes 

of verse, 

for fear of going 

blind from the blaze 

of its pain. 

Nobody 

reads poetry 

in order not to die 

knowing 

that they knew 

nothing at all. 

The trick is to close the eyes. 

To look for the thing 

crawling below the carpet of darkness of 

your lids. 

Remain still like a hunter. Do not stir 

even if a sliver of light echoes through the 

emptiness. 

You’re looking for a boom. 

It starts with a swirl of symbols 

curling around each other 

in wild experiments of mutation. 

You’re looking for a spark, an isolated 

hazardous word that will scale 

up the fence of perception, to consume 

the whole plantation of thoughts. 

Venture into this plague of accidents, 

advance as a whirlwind upon the dunes of 

ash. 

Soon the darkness begins to burn bright, 

you are a sun leaping into a single atom 

witnessing a birth to the naked eye. 

36 37

Colombia / Denmark 

ELIZABETH TORRES 

Photo by Maja de Silva - Translation by Malene Boeck Thorborg. 

Elizabeth Torres. Colombia, 

(1987) Poet, multimedia 

artist, translator and cultural 

organizer. 

Author of over 20 books of 

poetry translated released 

in English, Spanish, Danish 

and German. Torres studied 

Media & Film and Fine Arts 

at Kean University in the US 

and now pursues an MFA 

in Performing Arts at Den 

Danske Scenekunst Skole. 

She is the founder of Red 

Door Magazine, host of the 

Red Transmissions Podcast, 

and initiator of the Poetic 

Phonotheque and Tremella 

Radio, often involved in 

cultural projects in the Nordic 

Countries, the US and Latin 

America. 

www.madamneverstop.com 

38 39 

Vision 

I see an Amazonic river, 

it is boiling. 

On its waves 

a multitude of bodies 

dancing 

they raise fires, sing 

their boats filled with 

incense and flowers. 

The river is red and I look 

at it from the bridge. 

Next to me a witch 

half of her face is that of 

an old woman 

the other half a child’s. 

I tell her 

do you want to see how 

much it hurts? 

this much, I scream, pointing 

towards the water. 

the red tsunami elevates 

itself towards infinity 

all the bodies disappear in 

its fangs 

like an explosion from the 

center 

of the earth. 

that’s how much it hurts, 

it burns. 

it burns. 

Vision 

Jeg ser en kæmpemæssig 

flod og på dens kogende 

hvirvler 

et mylder af kroppe der 

danser 

brænder bål, synger 

med kanoer fulde 

af blomster og røgelse 

floden er rød og jeg ser til 

fra broen. 

Ved min side en troldkvinde 

den ene halvdel af hendes 

ansigt er en oldings den 

anden halvdel en piges 

jeg siger til hende: 

vil du se hvor ondt det gør? 

- Så ondt gør det – råber 

jeg højt og peger på vandet: 

Den røde tsunami rejser sig 

i det uendelige kroppene 

forsvinder 

i dens kæber 

som et udbrud fra jordens 

midte. 

Så ondt gør det, det 

brænder 

det brænder.

Conversacion 

Samtale 

Save Yourself 

Save Yourself 

Hablo de mí, 

conmigo 

digo cosas que antes 

no sabía que sabía 

recorro los mismos 

laberintos 

con paleta limpia. 

Defino mi selva 

dividiéndola 

de la dimensión conocida 

mi punto de partida son 

sus brazos 

(orfandad de faro 

que se apaga) 

me siento en cualquier 

sílaba y miro la punta 

de mis pies 

pero ellos tampoco saben 

para dónde vamos. 

Intento no preguntar 

demasiado. 

Cualquier secreto 

duele menos 

que mirar atrás. 

Jeg taler om mig selv, 

med mig selv 

jeg siger ting som jeg ikke 

før vidste at jeg vidste jeg 

løber gennem de samme 

labyrinter 

med tavlen visket ren. 

Jeg definerer min egen 

urskov 

skiller den ud fra den 

kendte dimension mit 

udgangspunkt er dens 

arme 

(et slukket fyrtårns 

ubeskyttethed) 

jeg mærker mig selv i 

hver stavelse og ser på 

mine tåspidser 

men de ved heller ikke 

hvor vi går hen. 

Jeg forsøger ikke at 

spørge for meget. 

Enhver hemmelighed 

smerter mindre 

end at se sig tilbage. 

Market crash - car crash 

Heart Attack - Nuclear 

Attack 

Save yourself. 

Love of mine, 

we’re in times 

of recession. 

The time arrives to hide 

the moon under our arms 

fragile garlic clove 

in case 

someone in despair 

wears it out 

once the cold arrives. 

You and I, are no longer 

yellow lightbulbs blinking 

within our ribs. 

Off we go, two by two 

towards the abyss. 

My love, 

I’ve run out of excuses. 

I no longer 

believe in God. 

What’s worrying, 

is the Devil 

has also lost their faith 

in me. 

Market crash - car crash 

Heart Attack - Nuclear 

Attack 

Save yourself. 

Min elskede, 

vi befinder os 

i tilbagegangstider 

Timen kommer 

hvor vi må have månen 

under armen, 

et skrøbeligt hvidløgsfed 

for ikke at nogen forøder 

den i fortvivlelse når 

kulden kommer. 

Du og jeg, 

vi er her ikke mere 

gult lysende lygter blinker 

os i ryggen. 

Vi går, to og to, mod afgrundens 

dyb. 

Min elskede, jeg er tom 

for undskyldninger. Jeg 

tror ikke længere på Gud. 

Det foruroligende er at 

Djævelen heller ikke tror 

på mig.” 

40 41

Wales 

Calon y bore 

Calon y Bore 

DOMINIC WILLIAMS 

Translation by Klara Hsin. 

Dominic Williams lectures at the 

Institute of Education and Humanities 

at the University of Wales Trinity Saint 

David. He has also taught creative 

writing at other institutions in Ireland 

and Sweden. A poet, a performer 

and creative mentor, Dominic is one 

half of the improvised spoken-word 

and movement act Your Strangest 

Friend with contemporary dancer Stina 

Nilsson and part of the FYD collective, 

an international group of contemporary 

artists from Serbia, Sweden, Croatia 

and Wales. In 2016 he collaborated on 

a poetry performance piece with Jonas 

Bengt Svensson and has worked with 

American film-maker Georg Koszulinski 

with film and poetry. Dominic is a 

poetry editor and has worked with 

poets translating work from Bengali, 

Turkish, Serbian and Swedish. 

The mid morning 

January sun casts long 

shadows and tips 

a wink at this mirror of a 

summer’s evening 

At dawn he skinny dipped 

in 

the icy Tywi and now 

basks on her naked belly 

calm, full of charm and 

confidence 

emboldened by his daring 

deed 

The year is so very young 

there are many tides to 

come 

but for now clean air and 

brightness bless this 

estuary flirtation and the 

easy sharing of secrets 

A lost mooring loops like 

a navel 

piercing chilled spring 

water carves ancient 

canyons in the blink of an 

eye 

A playful hoopla installation 

teased from 

beneath the surface 

great machines pause 

blue sky so barnacled 

easy to reach 

Solen kastar långa skuggor över 

januariförmiddagen och blinkar 

skälmskt 

mot denna sommarkvälls avbild. 

Vid gryningen badade han naken i 

den kylslagna floden Tywi 

och nu solar han sig 

på hennes nakna mage; lugn, full 

av charm 

och självförtroende, 

skänkt mod av sin egen djärva 

handling. Året är så väldigt ungt; 

många tidvatten ska ännu 

kommamen för stunden är denna 

flodmynningsflirt, 

detta lättsamma utbyte av 

hemligheter 

välsignat 

av ren luft och klart ljus. 

En lossad förtöjning gör en ögla; 

likt en navel 

Genomborrande iskallt Källvatten 

karvar uråldriga dalar på ett 

ögonblick 

en lekfull ringkastningsinstallation 

lockad från under ytan 

Stora maskiner stannar till och 

himlen, beklädd av havstulpaner, 

är inom räckhåll, 

jag svänger av för att lämna, 

klättrar upp i den mjölkvita skyn 

42 43

Mr Jones 

The poet and his friend 

walked 

so very close to each 

other 

they were cut from the 

same cloth 

they shared poetry and 

art and 

disagreed about music 

they stared at the 

beautiful women 

loved to pass the bottle 

They walked so close they 

almost held hands 

fingertips all but touching 

separated 

by the slightest shimmer 

of a mirror 

On his side of the glass 

his friend followed one 

path reason 

In the poet’s face there 

were two 

reflected roads 

one brightly lit and yellow 

bricked 

one bitter dark and hell 

thought dimmed 

Paralleled into the flow 

On occasion his friend 

would join the poet 

in the sun 

They would dance and 

sing 

divine and document 

Oh how they loved and 

lived 

then his friend could step 

back 

into reason 

scorched but uninjured 

cooled 

the poet found himself 

burned cold 

alone on the low road 

His friend could skip 

through curtains 

Janus in the court of 

Bacchus 

power to protect himself 

but never the strength for 

one shard shattering 

osculation 

poet’s salvation 

Herr Jones 

(translated into Swedish 

by Peter Nyberg) 

Poeten och hans vän gick 

så nära varandra 

de var stöpta i samma 

form de delade poesi och 

konst och var oense om 

musik 

de stirrade på de vackra 

kvinnorna älskade att 

skicka flaskan 

De gick så nära att de 

nästan höll varandras 

händer fingertopparna 

var endast separerade av 

spegelbildens skumma 

skimmer 

På sin sida av glaset 

följde hans vän en bana 

förståndet 

I poetens ansikte fanns 

två reflekterande vägar 

en upplyst och 

guldkantad 

en bittert mörk och 

helvetiskt dämpad 

Paralleller in i flödet 

Ibland brukade vännen 

förena sig med poeten i 

solen 

De brukade dansa och 

sjunga en gudomligt akt 

Åh så de älskade och 

levde 

Sedan kunde hans 

vän stiga tillbaka in i 

förståndet 

svedd men oskadd 

avsvalnad 

poeten fann sig bränd 

isande ensam på den 

nedre vägen 

Hans vän kunde se ut 

genom förhänget Janus i 

Bacchus tribunal 

med kraft att försvara sig 

men inte tillräckligt stark 

för 

en skärva av den 

skakande oscillation som 

var poetens frälsning 

44 45

PARTICIPATING 

ORGANIZATIONS

RED 

TREMELLA 

DOOR 

Denmark 

Red Door is an Arts & Culture 

quarterly publication, founded in 

New York in 2009 and based in 

Copenhagen, where it is also a 

gallery and cultural space. 

The projects under Red Door 

include the arts & culture 

podcast Red Transmissions, 

the multimedia archive Poetic 

Phonotheque, and the publishing 

project Red Press. 

Red Door focuses on multilingual 

publications,multimedia 

performances and projects, and 

multicultural expressions of art in 

our community. 

reddoorcph@gmail.com 

RADIO 

Denmark / Europe 

We are a community online 

station based in Copenhagen 

and Tranås, independently and 

democratically self-run, and 

playing your DJ sets, podcasts, 

experimental sound projects, 

poems, talk shows and other earworms. 

Tremella welcomes literary shows, 

multimedia poetry, short plays, 

talk shows, experimental music, 

and hosts a variety of programs 

about playwriting, publishing, 

mental health, community, and 

the subjects that connect us. 

tremellaradio@gmail.com 

www.reddoormagazine.com 

www.tremellaradio.eu 

48 49

KULTIVERA 

LITTERATURCENTRUM 

KVU 

Sweden 

Kultivera operates international 

cultural programs that are 

physical or hybrid, social and 

creative; which stimulate and 

inspire both the artists and the 

local community. 

We create cross-border meetings 

between artists, community 

and industry that allow different 

areas to fertilize each other in 

mutual interaction. Kultivera’s 

idea is to connect several 

European cultures, and promote 

democracy, diversity, quality, 

innovation, diversity and cultural 

development. 

Sweden 

Litteraturcentrum kvu wants to show the 

entrances to literature and reading, and thus 

to more advanced thinking. In educational 

literature, conversations around books and 

visits to authors are the most effective way 

to stimulate interest in reading. That is 

why we focus on authors, giving them the 

opportunity to talk about their books and 

have conversations with their readers. We 

also want to give adults and young people 

the opportunity to express their thoughts in 

writing and to take on the author’s role as a 

mediator of the text. This is done through 

a series of events at local, regional, national 

and international level. 

www.kultivera.nu 

www.litteraturcentrum.nu 

50 51

ÓS 

Cappelens 

Pressan 

Iceland 

Ós Pressan is a non-profit initiative 

designed to support and promote 

authors and to create an inclusive 

writing community in Iceland. 

We publish a yearly magazine 

titled Ós — The Journal, which 

features works of fiction, poetry, 

creative nonfiction and artworks 

in multiple languages. In a bid 

to help create a community 

for exchanging ideas and 

connecting, with both emerging 

and established writers, Ós 

Pressan organizes several events, 

such as writing workshops and 

readings. 

www.ospressan.com 

Forslag 

Norway 

Cappelens Forslag is an independent bookstore located in 

the center of Oslo. They sell interesting books; new, second 

hand or antiquarian titles, mainly in English and Norwegian. 

Their stock is carefully curated and omits most current 

bestsellers, chick lit, crime and self help. Unless they are 

extremely well written, out there weird, contrarian or from 

a different epoch – then they’re interesting again, though 

not always for the reasons they were published, and they’re 

back on their shelves. And boy, do they have a lot of weird 

ones. Modern and post modern classics no longer carried by 

chain stores, the cult lit they never stocked in the first place, 

chapbooks from micropublishers, centuries old editions, 

signed first eds and other rarities. A few years into the book 

trade the owners decided to start publishing books as well 

as selling them. That turned out to be an enormous amount 

of fun, and it has kept the door open in lean years. Running 

a book store is , as they say, a rollercoaster ride between 

tedium and great bits of commerce and discovery. Also, 

the store hosts A LOT of concerts along with readings, 

launches, parties, debate nights, a regular death café etc. 

There have been two weddings in the shop so far, and one 

fistfight. 

www.cappelensforslag.no 

52 53

Kirjan Talo 

Runoviikko 

Bokens Hus 

Finland 

Finland 

Kirjan talo – Bokens hus ry., later Book’s house, is a non-profit 

organization situated in Turku, Finland. Book’s house has purposely 

chosen a bilingual name to emphasize it’s multilingual work. The 

association’s aim has since it’s start been to gather the local authors, 

writers and word artists under the same roof at Book’s house. The 

association strives for opening doors to multilingual literary-projects. 

Book’s house operations have consisted of literary events, workshops, 

writing courses and longer educational courses since 2008. 

Everything from open mic for only one night, to year long writing 

academies and long projects of cultural well-being and artist 

employment are Book’s house ways to meet its purpose; to support 

and develop the literary field, to better the situation of the artist and 

inquisitive approach to language as shared and individual realm of 

being. 

Book’s house collaborates with individuals in the culture field, 

associations, organizations and the municipality of Turku. Target 

groups range from experts in the literary field to the average individual 

interested in culture. 

The Poetry Week Festival is a 10-day long 

poetry festival organized annually in Turku, 

Finland. It is one of the oldest ongoing poetry 

festivals in Finland, the first Poetry Week being 

organized in 2001. The festival is known for 

its high quality, international and multilingual 

repertoire, all happening in the November 

darkness. 

The Poetry Week Festival is organized by the 

Poetry Week Association. The Poetry Week 

Association also organizes open mic events in 

Turku throughout the year, as well as maintains 

a local poetry map website called ’Turun 

runokartta’. 

www.kirjantalo.org 

www.vsrunoviikko.net 

54 55

Worldthreading 

is us. 

WORLDTHREADING: \ ˈwər(-ə)ldˈthrediŋ 

1 : a continuing process of interconnection 

amongst elements of similar behavior / function 

2 : a line of artistic research and artistic practice 

that documents and connects the parts in a 

sequence (as of ideas, projects or events). 

3 : a way of moving through the world with an 

awareness of community and unity. 

56 57

This publication is made thanks to the support of 

Nordisk Kulturfond, which provided Opstart funds for 

our first Networking meeting, held under the name 

of “Red Thread”, to learn of each others’ projects, 

work, and the possibilities of building a network 

together in support of multimedia arts, publishing 

and translation from and to Nordic languages. 

Additional thanks to Wales Arts International for 

the support provided which facilitates a groundbreaking 

international aspect to the research and 

development work being done with the hybrid 

model of arts delivery through the Press Speak Not 

Delete project of Write4Word, as well as to the 

promotion of Nordic Arts in Wales and Welsh artists 

in our territories. 

58 59

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