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Rebecca Tamás
REBECCA TAMÁS is a Lecturer in Creative Writing at York St John University. Her pamphlet Savage was published by Clinic, and was a LRB Bookshop pamphlet of the year, and a Poetry School book of the year. Rebecca’s first full-length poetry collection, WITCH, was published by Penned in the Margins in March 2019. She is editor, together with Sarah Shin, of Spells: 21st Century Occult Poetry, published by Ignota Books. Her collection Strangers: Essays on the Human and Nonhuman was published by Makina Books in October 2020.  

Articles Available Online


Interview with Ariana Reines

Interview

July 2019

Rebecca Tamás

Interview

July 2019

I first became aware of Ariana Reines’s work through her early poetry collection The Cow (2006), which went on to win the prestigious Alberta Prize. I...

Essay

Issue No. 24

The Songs of Hecate: Poetry and the Language of the Occult

Rebecca Tamás

Essay

Issue No. 24

  I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have...

Если у вас в мегаполисе ещё помнят обо мне, ссыльном, Знай, кто спросит: я умер, едва приговор огласили Мёртвый живу, хожу, тело донашиваю, Оно послушное – ссыхается на костях Я здесь чужак, варвар, языка не носитель, Неба коптитель, волосы стали белые, Мёртвыми губами учу гетскую грамоту, Мёртвыми ногами топчу твёрдую воду Что тебе рассказать, чтоб не скучала? Скачут Кони по гладкой реке, и стрелы летают, Рыбы торчат изо льда с открытыми ртами, Некому их вынимать Некому меня понимать Вино замёрзло, стоит само без кувшина, Кусок вина отломлю и сосу, как сиську Яблок не достать Ты бы меня не узнала Местные замотаны в шкуры, на тогу косятся, Только лица и видно, да и те в бороде Даже звёзды здесь не как у людей   If anyone in your global city still holds me, exile, in memory, Know that I died as soon as they read out the sentence I live dead, walk around dead, wear out the remains of my body, My agreeable body, flesh cracking on dry bones Here I am an alien, barbarian, non-native speaker, Idler with time on his hands but white in his hair, I don’t get their speech, I forget the words that I study, Just consonant clusters, no vowels for poetry What can I talk about so as not to bore you? Horses Slip on hard rivers, arrows hit targets, philosophy is stupid Fish stick out of the ice with mouths agape, Too much air for them, too little ear for me Wine frozen overnight, it stands by itself, the vessel in shards, I chop a piece off and suck on it like an infant The apples at the market are tawny and wrinkly like shrunken heads The locals, fir-tall, fur-clad, point at my toga, make shivering Gestures No human faces – just beards and hair over fur Even the stars look down on me     AFTERWORD   In 8 CE, the Roman poet Publius Ovidius Naso was exiled on the direct orders of Augustus to Tomis, a distant imperial outpost on the Black Sea in what is now Romania He died there a decade later, never receiving permission to come home despite his constant entreaties The exact cause of Ovid’s punishment is unknown; the poems he composed in Tomis appeared in two collections under the titles of Tristia, or ‘Laments’, and Epistulae ex

Contributor

July 2015

Rebecca Tamás

Contributor

July 2015

REBECCA TAMÁS is a Lecturer in Creative Writing at York St John University. Her pamphlet Savage was published by Clinic, and...

Interrogations

poetry

Issue No. 14

Rebecca Tamás

poetry

Issue No. 14

INTERROGATION (1)     Are you a witch?   Are you   Have you had relations with the devil?   Have you   Have...

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Interview

Issue No. 13

Interview with Michel Faber

Anna Aslanyan

Interview

Issue No. 13

MICHEL FABER’S RANGE OF SUBJECTS – from child abuse to drug abuse, from avant-garde music to leaking houses – is as...

feature

Issue No. 17

Editorial

The Editors

feature

Issue No. 17

An Englishman, a Frenchman and an Irishman set up a magazine in London in 2010. This sounds like the...

Interview

Issue No. 2

Interview with William Boyd

Jacques Testard

Tristan Summerscale

Interview

Issue No. 2

On a wet, grey morning in March, William Boyd invited us into a large terraced house, half-way between the...

 

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