Maja Milojković was born in Zaječar and divides her life between Serbia and Denmark. In Serbia, she serves as the deputy editor-in-chief at the publishing house Sfairos in Belgrade.She is also the founder and vice president of the Rtanj and Mesečev Poets’ Circle, which counts 800 members, and the editor-in-chief of the international e-magazine Area Felix, a bilingual Serbian-English publication. She writes literary reviews, and as a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and international literary magazines, anthologies, and electronic media. Some of her poems are also available on the YouTube platform. Maja Milojković has won many international awards. She is an active member of various associations and organizations advocating for peace in the world, animal protection, and the fight against racism. She is the author of two books: Mesečev krug (Moon Circle) and Drveće Želje (Trees of Desire). She is one of the founders of the first mixed-gender club Area Felix from Zaječar, Serbia, and is currently a member of the same club. She is a member of the literary club Zlatno Pero from Knjaževac, and the association of writers and artists Gorski Vidici from Podgorica, Montenegro.
The older man was buried in thought. “Penny for your thoughts,” said the younger man, scratching an inflamed patch on his neck. “Oh, sorry, I was lost there. Could you repeat the question?” came a voice from the back of the plain white panel van. He moved out of the shadows. The younger man responded with revulsion which he attempted to disguise. There was something uncanny about the older man, who wore a thick uncombed beard and had pale blue eyes that seemed to be floating in a sea of glue.
“I just wanted to know what you were, I mean, w-what you were…” “What we’re doing here?” “Yeah.” “We have orders. Targeting, usual protocol.” He patted his laptop, which was attached to a 17 inch monitor that showed an infra-green 3D portrait of the subject’s body, tracked in real time, with a cross-section of their brain highlighting the parietal and temporal lobes.
“Soo basically what we’re doing…” the older man scratched his own neck, fished in his pocket for a cigarette, found a sole Marlboro Red and fired it up with a silver Deadhead Zippo. “We’re using the old Raven’s Claw to pulverize the subject’s brain. Slow cooking. We can fry them deep and they’ll never be able to track the beams back. The entire idea is to cause the subject to completely despair after incurring massive brain damage from no known source.”
The young man had heard all this information recounted countless times, but he asked every night nevertheless, like a child anxious to hear his favorite bedtime story. “This man must have done some fucked up shit to merit…extrajudicial punishment,” he managed, struggling to enunciate the syllables.
“Yeah, not really,” said the older man. “What do you mean, ‘not really?'” Again, the younger man had heard this too recounted countless times; it just amazed him that he was playing a vital role in the 24 hour government sponsored torture and mutilation of a U.S. citizen who, as far as he could tell, was really innocent of any crime whatsoever.
“He’s on the list, that’s all we need to know.” The audio feed clicked on. The two men simultaneously started as the target first groaned, then screamed into the void. “Jesus Christ, have mercy on me!” On the screen, a trickle of tears down his beautiful face. “He must have done SOMETHING wrong,” said the younger man again, seeking assurance.
“Not really,” said the older man, letting out a wet fart. “So, he’s been accused of crimes he didn’t commit, and our job is to ensure that he eventually succumbs to his injuries and attempts suicide?” “Yuppers.” “It’s so cruel, it’s almost…sublime.”
“Fucking A right, like some Marquis De Sade shit. Do you wanna do some crank?” The older man thumbed the volume on the speakers, muting the shrieks. “Yeah, ok, it’s the good shit you got from that chick in West Sac, right?”
“Fucking A right.” “So what’s going to happen to his mom and dad, in their 80s, with no one to take care of them after he finally commits?” “You know the answer.” “I do?”
“Yeah you do. Shit, his old man will have a heart attack, his mom will die of a broken heart. They’ll look at our dude’s Kaiser Permanente record and write him off as a head case. The man will be instantly forgotten, his memory erased like tears in the rain.”
“Ya know, this shit is really bumming me out.” “Then let’s talk about his bereft, super hot girlfriend who will be left vulnerable and in need of..comforting, shall we say.” “Yes, let’s.”‘
A tribute to the memory of a beloved dog, Taylor Dibbert’s London explores the many nuances and dimensions of grief. The collection shows how loss and the associated emotions are not linear, but more like waves that crash and recede (“Riding the Waves”).
The narrative begins with London’s death in “Today”, making the book’s focus clear. Like the narrator’s grieving process, the collection jumps between happy memories “This Sweetness” and “Packing Up” and poems on losing London “More Ink” and “Required Writing” and “Nine.” A continual theme, highlighted in “Unhelpful,” about friends giving advice too soon, is that no one, no matter how well-meaning, can rush healing after loss. Not even the poet himself, as he finds in “A Quiet Friday Evening.”
The main character, an ordinary man who was very close to his pet dog of many years, speaks in small free-verse segments that resemble haikus or haibuns. Words are simple and understandable, which highlights the universality of his experience. Unfortunately, grief is accessible to everyone. The common language and short pieces reflect how a heavily weighted mind processes thoughts and feelings more slowly.
As Dibbert’s poetic speaker says in “Learning to Live,” grief is not something we ever fully overcome. He realizes that we learn to live with our losses, and that he does not yet know how to exist without London. The final two poems express acute sorrow “London” and a determination to carry forth in hope inspired by her life “The Triumphs to Come,” illustrating that both states of feeling can exist together.
Taylor Dibbert’s London can be ordered here from publisher Alien Buddha Press.
first publication in Hellbender Magazine, Winter 2025 issue.
Who it was
To be honest, I don't know who it was. He just came out and said that he would live with us in the kitchen now. A small piece of a man inside a stone. We decided not to argue, and a small piece of a man inside a stone settled in our house.
Over time, he needed more space to live, so we moved to the basement (we imagined that it was a bomb shelter, and not a basement where we could be buried to death by rubble). The khaki-colored sea was burning with the sun, but we know that the sun doesn't care who it shines for, and the side and the gun don't care either about blood or sperm. An endless sea. Such a space.
If you repeat the same actions every day, time will not stop. Even if you die, time will not stop. The parents got tired of sitting in the basement and went outside into death and old age. Old age smells like a burden, like childhood.
The parents looked around: there were animal corpses and soldiers' guts lying around. I feel most sorry for animals because it is not their fault that they live on a human planet and are not capable of thinking so deeply that they can fall into the abyss. My parents went outside and disappeared like pigeons in a minefield of life (plants and flowers grow on the earth, but the bones of the violently killed lie underground).
The light bulb in my personal basement was constantly blinking, and I was stealing money from my health and talent to pay for artificial light. A friend of mine had a grandmother who was fed condensed milk from the Third Reich by Wehrmacht soldiers during the occupation.
My grandmother was not fed condensed milk at all for the first five years of her life. These years just happened to fall on the post-war hungry years. I am increasingly showing signs of diabetes. Perhaps I ate too much condensed milk as a child. And the flowers without graves continued to grow.
And the graves without flowers continued to grow. Graves without names: just remains dumped in a pile (this is called, according to Soviet tradition, the "tomb of the unknown soldier"). Another friend of mine didn't have a grandmother (how his mother was born remains a mystery).
It's very difficult to change light bulbs in the dark. My personal basement was damp, and bones were growing stickily under my bed (at night, the same bones were burning in the red prison sky). My grandmother, or as she called her babushka, will never see this again.
My grandmother didn't see much, for example, the northern lights or the southern Italian embankment. My friend's grandmother only saw endless concentration camps and the rails on which prisoners were transported from a German concentration camp. And straight to a Soviet concentration camp (it's something like an Indian ghetto or slave labor in Africa, only without any connection to nationality).
Sooner or later, they will kill everyone: even themselves. Sometimes, I let the cat out of the basement: it reflexively hunted mice, then played with the corpse for a long time, then gnawed. I could regularly see the mouse remains at the entrance to the basement. And my cat often vomited (usually grass).
I, too, often feel a sense of emptiness at the frozen snowy silence from what I have seen. My cat doesn't see anything and doesn't even know what war is. And I don't tell him about it anyway: what if he starts protecting our house from the blast wave and dies?
It’s funny, I still haven’t figured out the gender of my cat, but by default, I think he’s a boy. Actually, this isn't even my cat, and I don't understand how we ended up on the same ark together. When I first saw him, he was clean and skinny, like a Jew who found himself in the gas chamber of Auschwitz or a Polish prisoner about to be shot by the NKVD.
This all reminds me of a sad fact: someday my cat will die without ever knowing that a war has broken out. What’s more, my cat will never know why the war started. I will probably die, too, without ever finding out why people go to war.
I want to die without finding out that there is a war. my basement was gradually filling with the water of time, and I couldn't swim like a statue of a dead man. Something was bursting in my eardrums of memory.
Sometimes, the crow king would visit me like a picture and peck at my hair. Someone coughed blood into my eyes. Somewhere in the basement, the pipes of tired lungs hummed.
Some god soared up and did not kiss me like Hyacinth (I probably won't come back). Some day, i looked into the mirror of my own world history. The reflection did stirred. To be honest, I don't know who it was.
The Role of Translators in Intercultural Communication: Translators and AI
Abstract:
As the world is uniting to tackle global challenges and implement innovative plans, the culture of communication is becoming increasingly essential. In the process of international interaction, not only linguistic but also cultural understanding is necessary. This responsibility primarily falls upon translators. At the same time, Artificial Intelligence (AI), which is actively striving to compete with human translators, is viewed differently by various experts. This paper explores the vital role of professional human translators in cultural communication and highlights their advantages over AI in conveying context, emotion, and cultural nuance.
Keywords:
Globalization, translator ethics, cultural bridge, grammar, politics, impartial translation, context.
The 21st century is a significant era marked by globalization, which has fostered close cooperation between nations of different races, ethnicities, and cultures in political, scientific, economic, and social fields. In a time when global leaders are gathering around the same table to act collectively, when major industries and multinational corporations are expanding international partnerships, and when education and tourism are increasingly supported, the role of translators is more crucial than ever. As intercultural communication and mutual understanding through language become increasingly important, language and cultural barriers can lead to serious misunderstandings and conflicts. Translators bear the responsibility of accurately conveying not only words but also cultural meanings, historical contexts, and societal expressions.
The International Federation of Translators (FIT) unites over 100 professional associations from 55 countries, representing more than 80,000 translators, translation editors, and language professionals. This is a clear indication of the institutionalization and global recognition of translation as a vital social profession. In the 21st century, translators are no longer mere converters of words from one language to another — they are cultural ambassadors, diplomatic intermediaries, and facilitators of humanitarian dialogue. Translators must accurately convey meaning, style, and cultural layers. Their roles vary across different fields: in diplomacy, precise translation can prevent political conflict; in literature, it reveals the spirit of a work, the author’s voice, and the cultural atmosphere of the time; in cinema, art, and tourism, translators adapt content to the national culture and public mentality.
However, this demanding profession comes with challenges and potential errors. Stereotypes in translation can lead to misrepresentation, and misinterpretation of humor, idioms, or proverbs may cause awkward or even offensive situations. For example, the English phrase “break a leg” has nothing to do with breaking bones — it actually means “good luck”. Translators must recognize such idioms and convey their meaning appropriately.
In today’s digital era, where programming, automation, and AI are rapidly evolving, translation is also undergoing transformation. Many people prefer using AI-powered tools such as Google Translate, DeepL, or ChatGPT for their speed and accessibility. Indeed, AI offers many valuable features: it allows users to learn languages with mobile apps, engage in real-time dialogues with AI assistants, and instantly translate texts. While AI systems are highly advanced in grammatical accuracy, they still fall short in understanding cultural values, emotional depth, and nuanced context. Every word often carries specific cultural concepts. Translating them literally can lead to distortion. For instance, the English word “privacy” has deeper legal and cultural implications than the Uzbek equivalent “shaxsiy hayot”. The Japanese term “wa” reflects societal harmony and cannot be fully captured in translation without detailed explanation. Similarly, the phrase “hit the sack” simply means “to go to bed”, and “it’s raining cats and dogs” means “it’s raining heavily” — their literal translation is nonsensical without understanding the cultural context.
Unlike AI, human translators are sensitive to cultural thought, tone of speech, and context. They also possess emotional intelligence, ethical responsibility, and professional intuition — traits that AI lacks. As AI ethics specialist Luciano Floridi aptly stated: “AI can translate words, but only humans can translate emotions.”
Conclusion:
In processes involving migration, international education, diplomatic negotiations, and digital technology, accurate communication through translators is crucial. No matter how advanced AI becomes, it cannot fully replace human translators, because the depths of human intellect and the power of emotions remain unmatched. However, a translator who thinks critically and collaborates effectively with AI can significantly improve work efficiency and save time. A translator equipped not only with linguistic knowledge but also with cultural sensitivity, communicative creativity, and modern technological skills can become a true cultural bridge. In addressing global challenges of the 21st century, culturally aware and impartial translation is not only a translator’s duty — it is a priceless contribution to humanity’s progress and international friendship.
References:
1. Baker, M. (2001). In other words: A coursebook on translation (2nd ed.). Routledge.
2. Bassnett, S. (2002). Translation studies (3rd ed.). Routledge.
3. Nida, E. A. (1964). Toward a science of translating: With special reference to principles and procedures involved in Bible translating. Brill.
4. Crystal, D. (2003). English as a global language (2nd ed.). Cambridge University Press.
Shahnoza Ochildiyeva first-year student of the Faculty of International Relations and Social-Humanitarian Sciences, Uzbekistan University of Journalism and Mass Communications, specializing in English Philology and Language Teaching (English).
