"É de Cultura como instrumento para a felicidade, como arma para o civismo, como via para o entendimento dos povos que vos quero falar"


Tobias Buck
I once comforted my girlfriend by telling her of a golden crocodile who whispered the word ‘Portugal’ over and over. The crocodile was gold like the metal, not just in colour, and it was...

Fresh and New

Donna Knipp
Men were singing. There was a group of them -- only men -- and they were singing in harmony. Woven together, their voices were buoyant and sturdy, like a raft I could hop on and ride down the current...

Sunset Over Estrela

Scott Laughlin
The clouds over one of Lisbon’s seven hills pulse with orange as the sun sets beyond.The marble dome of the basilica of Estrela in shadow. The sun sends its orange rays to fill the space...

Morsels on Being in Lisbon

Chyina Powell
Sometimes you just need a break from your own personal reality to see how beautiful the world can be. I’ll take a page from Pessoa when I say that these are my “Confessions, and if in...


Ruth Lacey
NINETEEN-NINETY. We were twenty-nine and about to be married and had taken a year to travel the world before we settled down. We had a house and a surname for our future kids picked out. We had been...

Written on a Rooftop in Lisboa

Marisol Lee Benter
Swallows in the sky like diamondsand I see in them, chasing tail againsta marbled sky,lovers necking in the wind.They scream at the sunbeating heat with velvet strokesof brown peppered wings,an...

What I Saw There

Patricia M. Bindert
I came to Portugal knowing nothing about Portugal except what Sister Fabian wrote on the board when I was in fourth grade in 1956. Of her beautifully handwritten notes that  we were to copy into...

Impressions of Portugal

Marianne Goldsmith
Lisbon in June at dusk. From an open window three floors up, a white-haired gentleman in shirtsleeves leans on the sill, elbows clasped, watching us, and other tourists winding around the narrow,...

The Bats at Faja Ovidivdor

Kathleen Willard
The ocean today is perfect for suicides said twice by the waiter and translated by a friend from the Portuguese and the water rages over the highest cliffs, the boats dry docked, and no one...

Whaling in Pico

Kathleen Willard
Now clouds dance above the dormant volcano embracing a mountain so tall it creates weather   and harpoons in the whaling museum no longer pierce the leviathan’s skin. In former...

On the Sex Lives of European Kings

Kathleen Willard
Darling, it’s complicated, these arranged royal marriages with the age and language barriers, her long vowels of Portuguese slapped into line by his guttural German. She barely...

Fado Tonight at the Table of Friars

Kathleen Willard
And she begins to sing at the Mesa de Frades. Candles illuminate altars of azulejos the blue annunciation and yellow unknown saints, and where do the songs originate - A young girl stands before...

At the Ruins of the Carmo Monastery, Lisbon

Kathleen Willard
Perhaps all churches should remain open to the heavens and unroofed embracing elements, the swifts flitting through transepts and naves, and all who enter regard an ocean of sky, the rain, an...

Theory of Flight, Circa 1704

Kathleen Willard
for Bartolomeu de Gusmão   There is something elegant about the early aviator’s theories of flight - airships fueled by alchemy of ether, an element extracted from the...


Kimberly Nunes
I am in my hotel room writing poetry and Antonieta comes in. It is Sunday and I wonder why we can’t skip today. I would make my own bed or leave it undone - yet I like how she stacks...

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