ad1990.doc / ap1990.doc


Grayson Del Faro
︎ JAN 19, 2022


Position Summary:

Final Eye Specialists are key players in the final step  of a translation project, assisting the Project
Managers with ongoing jobs, assessing project specs and performing a thorough, non-language
final-eye review of documents before the conclusion of the project. A Final Eye Specialist’s main
duty
is to review a project in its final stage and approve it for release to the client. The successful
candidate is a team player who thrives in a fast-paced environment and has the ability to deliver
products with a
perfect quality while meeting different deadlines. This is a unique opportunity in
a
financially stable and rapidly growing international communications services company.
TransPerfect’s services include: translation, interpreting, voice-overs, subtitling, and cultural
marketing campaigns.

Description:


•    Understanding TransPerfect’s quality standards and making sure they are upheld
•    Understanding the client’s expectations and making sure they are upheld
•    A Final Eye Specialist must be familiar with the life-cycle of a normal job. They should
have a keen eye for detail, manage their time effectively, communicate information or
feedback clearly to the Production teams, and be able to
work comfortably in MS Office and
PDF formats

•    Consulting with the Project Managers to discuss the client’s expectations or specifications
•    Properly utilize all appropriate supplemental materials (refer to client style guides, reference
material, glossaries, etc.)

•    Proofreading of all documents with a strong focus on names, numbers, missing text,
punctuation/spelling, grammar, adherence to instructions, proper use of
glossaries/memory/reference materials or other
significant issues
•    Providing feedback to Project Managers or others who are involved in the project
•    File Corrective Action Forms as needed to document issues and drive improvement
•    The Final Eye Specialist might also deliver projects to the client on the client’s preferred
platform,
making sure that the delivery includes all the necessary files and follows the
client’s guidelines
•    Complete any other tasks that are
deemed appropriate for this role and assigned by the
manager/supervisor


Requirements:

•    Excellent verbal and written communication skills in English, other languages would be an
asset

•    Attention to detail, ability to learn new skills quickly and exceptional problem
solving/critical thinking skills

•    Ability to maintain professionalism, focus and result-orientation under pressure and tight
deadlines

•    Strong MS Office/computer skills and Adobe software products (as well as translation
memory software)
•    Minimum Bachelor’s degree or its equivalent
•    Prior copy-editing experience and experience in a translation company is desirable




this is a [                  ]

warning: this earth is warming / this is [                    ] toward a towering precipice i want to push
you off of / of course i can’t / this earth will melt and i will let it if i don’t get hired soon / i will
let it if you do / frozen peas on a black eye / drops on the path of a morning tear / eye to ear / to
hear this [       ] sound an alarm / to hear the phone ringing in the next cubicle / the jackhammer in
the parking lot scarring somebody’s mother / her day, her earth, her sweet baby boy / all grown
up / all employed / [           ] on paper / on another planet of thin ice / [       ] is [            ] this earth
sad / [                           ] as perfection / prime of life / primordial life such a distant [                   ]
coming together / ancestry speaking / apocalyptically nearing a scorching point / it’s too late now
to get to work on time

but i made it

•    [                         ] nothing / knowing nothing / not knowing about spreadsheets or
•    even the moon / managing [                      ] is a synonym for surviving or
•    even being survived / [         ] we keep trying to fix the wrong machine / whether odd or
even the numbers fall into their cells, pushed / cells like prisons like organisms
multiplying / how many are we / are we worth more than forty hours [         ] per week  /
forty-five years of life / are we
•    [                  ] the days on these calendars / are we managing [                      ] /
are we enough
•    to count down to payday / to doomsday / to its night / how many breaks left untaken /
how many breaks unfixed / how
•    many broken people / how many boxes unticked / talk to me [              ] don’t lie: i was
the fun one in the office / young by decades / they yanked the mundane
•    from monday morning by asking about my [                              ]
•    [               ] wakeful weekends / i would lie / it was no place for puke, porn festivals, point
•    eight grams of [           ] consequential / events in sequence [      ] a sob story: he invited
•    me to an island for our birthdays then said we should sleep in separate beds / some days
i was [                     ] this crushed me / at work i cried hard into xcel / refilling the ice tray
/  “Are you sick?”
•    a coworker asked / sadnesses [                                     ] only for free time / it was no place
for feeling time

any desire futile

•    [              ] work, they never said / they meant it / cupcakes in the breakroom / yellow
frosting
•    the only sun you’ll see today / sky gold in firesmoke / an [                 ] expense
spent dearly: pay yearly more
•    attention to our slow-falling aspen leaves [       ] push overlords under [                 ] alive /
leave time
•    left to dine / we must stop asking / start taking back time / make [ ] new currency of life /
stop the exchange:
•    [               ] wages not worth [   ] even willing
•    to feel the flood the office will not outlast / at last we agree on one death [              ]








































































































Grayson Del Faro is Puerto Rican-American poet and writer based in Barcelona. His work has appeared in The Evergreen Review, Ragazine, and Ellipsis, among others. He’s the author of The Sagas and Shit: Icelandic Literature Crudely Abridged (Forlagið 2019) and editor of Mutilations on a Theme: Best Innovative College Writing (Jaded Ibis Press 2015). These poems are from a series called O p e n i n g s : Poems for the Unemployed—each is comprised of an erasure of a job advertisement (to which he’s unfortunately applied) as well as its corresponding "application." @graykjavik


To claim


Adrienne Herr
︎ JAN 18, 2022


have drift space. Were that together another touch, audience or the mis-
placed further¹   We home, you they our Safely here. The one
generation.   As enter kitchen cannot scream
what room There is to leave²   We audience to house centuries, the what enters³ and remembers
The one misplace further alone because to been that they leave the what cannot claim
Safely father's kitchen paintings enter
Gravity already I⁴ scream mine out of centuries. As touch is of predicted for father’s
paintings two   to drift long predicted Today touch without the other Two⁵
will be there together on edge    to yet touch rope are one the On






¹ from already
² and claim her paintings.
³ room exits.
⁴ an audience
⁵ We have audience.


























Adrienne Herr
is an artist and cross-genre writer, currently working with sound and installation. Recent exhibitions include The flight of the clay pigeon thrown into the air where we shoot (2020) at EXILE, Vienna, and MUSEUM ISLAND (2019) at Shore Gallery, Vienna. Her writing has been published in German translation by Edit Literaturzeitschrift (2021), and a sound album is forthcoming from Primordial Void based in Athens, Georgia. Recent collaborations with Martin Kohout, Sanna Helena Berger, and Zoe Darsee. adriennes.site


LOWERCASE D


Rory Sinacola
︎ DEC 28, 2021


I.

First of all:
the ‘d’ doesn't stand for drugs.
It stands for a bald head crushed
between two pillars –
white and marble –
which have grown soft, returned to sediment.
They will freeze again,
brown and red and white,
crusting over
a paroxysm we don’t talk about.

All inputs are entwined within
a five-pointed conduit;
a locus deigning to explain.
Not only hearing, seeing, feeling –
not only tasting, but perceiving
its cycle of signifiers:
stalk, yellow, brown;
stick, twig, armature;
skeleton, bone, paper;
skin, decline, settle.
The kaleidoscope turns,
tunes, and takes
an electric step down red halls.

It loops,
drawing a forensic line to the source.
It lays
taut against the seizing fingers.
It effects
ignition from nothing.


II.

In the artificial morning,
a light diffused
through paper windows, and haloed
around the head of a dead scientist
who bade me fill my belly.
He enforced the edict with heavy accessories
on ring fingers, pinky fingers,
aids in fist fights with
voyeurs
whose cigarettes —
complete strangers —
quivered on a lip
above a bin of explosives.

Then a ligature snakes a white column –
no longer marble but sweet, vinegared rice –
pressing loops and spiraling out,
fracturing and molding over,
spurting ink from a minuscule nib.
Feathers tickle,
roots form,
ice lattices,
turning primary colors,
firing and expiring
into static black.
Then –
the telltale click and snap,
the metal whisper,
the shifting of a dead mother’s back.
Drooping, I spy a sliver of pale gold,
meeting it with ranks of pearls and silver,
hurling them against sheaves of silk
while I smother a silhouette
in corduroy, houndstooth, and tweed.
The crude skirmish ends –
but still measured are the weighty silver fruits
that brush my crown and offer faint praise.
I feel pacified;
I see a mouth agape, and teething, throatless –
I taste the breath of realization,
I hear vulgar, rapid noises.


III.

In the end,
I found a place where
tenderness and violence achieve
harmonic resonance.
They vibrate until they become
an intolerable mess of
ashes and cake,
given blunt form as fingers trailing
across a manifold,
wet and warm.
The simulation lingers, failing
even in stranglehold
to render its form:
a fleshy analogue turned inside out.
Instead it is smoke and artifice,
a poke at a ruddy orifice
at the beck of a humorless monolith
whose passion is stunted on a clumsy tongue;
whose flame is cherished and baring itself.
Why would this new player abash himself?
Perhaps he is still too young.








































































































Rory Sinacola
lives in the Northwest of America, where trees and rain keep her close to the ground. The two biggest questions on her mind are how to express love so that others accept it and if there is a singular consciousness. She believes trauma is a key that unlocks a path to revelation through great pain, and that we can learn much from the wounded.


morning clarity


Talina Meinheit
︎ DEC 27, 2021


dreamt I was pregnant
with stretch marks
expanding into
open wounds
             ( )
           ((  ))
         (((   )))
I was too small for you,
rushing with the calendula oil.

the mustachioed man
seated next to me
in the velvet theatre
intentionally spilled
his red soda on me
to soak my attention,
I awoke. every he
gone from me. braids
to low bun. cold water
splash. hot water
lemon, honey, salt.
a walk in the sun
surrounded by storm clouds

(wish I could share it with you,
but you deny my love, my love)




























Talina Meinheit
grew up on a farm in Lyon County, Iowa. She currently lives and writes in Minneapolis.

Also by Talina: let dry, Out


Oxymoron


Pitambar Naik
︎ DEC 21, 2021


Even a tired evening sings full circle  
                 a lotus’ breast shape is an abundant bliss  
to be framed in ninety degrees.
 
                       Let life forget the abrogation of time  
              for God’s sake, sometimes the
              century is a cloakroom of hullabaloos
                         maybe a side of moon’s lips stares  
              if you’re an artist, think of an exchangeable
              oxymoron. The herald of Christmas carol is
              the sign for exchanging our sins for life eternity.

Let’s desire for the blessings from the Eucharist;  
to merge in an atomic bond, the meaning of deep
spirituality means just love for the alienated.    




















Pitambar Naik
is an advertising professional. He’s a poetry editor for Minute Magazine and winner of the Spotlight Literary Festival Prize for Poetry, 2021. His work appears or is forthcoming in Packingtown Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Mason Street Review, Rigorous, New Contrast, Ghost City Review, Glass Poetry, Cha Journal, The Indian Quarterly, Vayavya, and The World Belongs To Us (HarperCollins India) among others. The Anatomy of Solitude (Hawakal) is his debut book of poetry. He grew up in Odisha, India.

Also by Pitambar: The Illicit Life of Others