no place: no publisher, no date. Unpaginated, about 28p. on grey construction paper and ditto wraps, staple bound, 8.5x7 inches, cover decorated with a mildly weird monochrome sketch. Was once folded vertically, mild creasing throughout, some edgewear, paper browned with a little external soil and some small stains within. "Translations," but they're not. These cynically wonderful poems only pretend; in several cases they are versions of each other. Most "translators'" names appear to be real; attributions in order of appearance of subscribed names are Clifford Hunt, Mort [sic], Barbara Mullen, John Ross, Luis Chabolla, a phoney attribution to Robert Graves and one to Spicer (which may itself be Spicer lampooned), Morris Herman, Jerry Martien, Janine S. Volkmar and Patricia McConnel. Tellingly at the foot of the very first leaf is a quote from Jack Spicer on Spicer's goofy "letter to Lorca." First leaf also resumes the incredibly various dictionary definitions of to translate, many of which fit this jape.
May have been perpetrated in the Bay Area, where the lot it is in came from, and where John Ross (SF's John Ross, anyway) had his home when not in Mexico. We know that there is a Jerry Martien, and the others google more or less satisfactorily. Over-the-hill, wish-I-had-sex, am-actually-different-sex, some sincerety and lots of baloney.