I think that memory is a form of translation. What motivates the artistic expression of poets and fiction writers, essayists and painters is memory. … - Marjorie Agosín

She lay hidden, as if she were the very darkness of night. (first line of "Rivers")

Books unite people and books in translation are the thresholds of other cultures, invitations to travel and to know others.

And we prepared quickly for sleep. The mist crackled in the deep heart of the travelling night. We, too, were of a cross-roads, wounded by the pleasure of watching. We were in Austria and I thought of the wounds of my grandfather and of the music of Mozart, like a stream, like a litany, like a fragrance. Then I learned perhaps to be happy in those hospitable, desolate meadows, because the war had erased every trace of scars and only in certain looks were hollow aches and the calamity of dead children still preserved. (beginning of "The Eiderdown")