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poetry

Two Poems

Poetry

Issue No. 25

Charlotte Geater

Poetry

Issue No. 25

THREE DAYS   so it’s like, we shouldn’t press our cheeks together like we think / we know because say i saw pen on...

Poetry

June 2019

Three Poems

Deryn Rees-Jones

Poetry

June 2019

EYES TO THE RIGHT, NOSE TO THE LEFT     I had heard wrong. Someone was weeping.   *...

Poetry

April 2019

Three Poems

Kim Moore

Poetry

April 2019

ALL THE MEN I NEVER MARRIED No.4     Last year at primary school, our last Sports Day and...

Poetry

March 2019

Three Poems

Joshua Judson

Poetry

March 2019

WARM UP   Imagine that you are chewing a piece of gum. Chew it. Focus on the thought of...

Poetry

Issue No. 24

The Barbara Hepworth Blues

NJ Stallard

Poetry

Issue No. 24

At the bottom of the garden, my mother and a woman dressed like Barbara Hepworth argue over a sculpture...

Poetry

January 2019

Three Poems

Cole Swensen

Poetry

January 2019

THE KITE C. 1755   One doctor of lightning, floating on his back down a river held his kite...

On some level, I’m sure, every poem is a failure A lot of theory says as much, and I have always thought this was to do with our desire to reach out and touch the things that poems clamour to caress But failure is so easy to claim, it’s less a matter of Icarus falling into the sea than the boy canon-balling in the swimming pool Which is forbidden for a reason As a young boy, I was ashamed of my body, and I insert this detail just to personalise the dryness of the problem that I’m presenting, which is how to make a poem touch a person? How can you guarantee, with the only things you have to work with, what poets over-generally call form, that you can move someone? It can’t be by self-exposure, or maybe it can, but I can’t do that I looked over at you reading in the library before we really touched each other, and continued to think about the ways a poem might somehow not reproduce the logic of late capitalism So many years down the line, the distance is so much larger; I thought that everything was a love poem, provided that it collapsed I thought it was the single frozen moment of the splash that we apprehend after the fact and remember as beautiful It was you who made me feel the inadequacy of my justifications, that I had expected that failing to love you would be easy
From 'Head Sonnets'

Prize Entry

November 2018

Hugh Foley

1 Modotti, Adrienne Rich I am struck by the line If this is where I must look for you, then this is where I’ll find you I read it several times, scrawl it on a note and stick it to the wall In the seminar that week I mention the poem but no one else has read it, so the burden falls upon me to describe it, explain (unpack, as the tutor creatively says) why it is emotionally striking, and why in particular it was so significant to me Certainly I do not mention that we are, in fact, A It is the week of epitaphs and as the dead rise I am trying to put you to rest To call you a ghost is ungenerous, it is not your fault I am haunted I have been told I can trace your face through mine and so I have sought and found you, every now and again, in the fold of my eyelids, the curl of my lip and the bump of my nose December is the cruellest month, I whisper to my room, gazing at the mirror, fingertip on nose curve I have told no one that we are rapidly approaching the fifth anniversary of your death, or that this week is hell for   anyone who has experienced grief Instead I posit (tutor’s word, not mine) that reading it-self is an act of resurrection Should we abide by the notion that the text is the vi-brant and living space between reader and writer, then of course to read an epitaph, to engage in memorial, is to summon the ghost subject and renew its life Quick note in the corner of my sheet: Write about her We progress through assigned reading, onto Walter Benjamin: The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction We take it at face value initially, discuss our thoughts on art, then eventually begin to apply it to our epitaphs The word aura gains a spectral

Poetry

November 2018

Ways of Reading I

Aea Varfis-van Warmelo

Poetry

November 2018

rapidly approaching the fifth anniversary of your death, or that this week is hell for   this is the...

before, we were all girls then it changed then there was Eve then there was Madonna   heaven help me then there was shame, torn blue robes how old were you when you lost your body?   when you knew it was not your own to name? we tried Alice, Dorothy, Lolita we tried boy-child   some were thrown bare-chested some were thrown on a wheel we tried Catherine we tried manhood   do you remember running naked in the long grass? do you remember when it rained, thinking it rained   all over the world? kiss me baby when we were girls we were very small then we became bigger than ever   we became larger than life standing in the storm in a ripped tuxedo, standing on hot sand in cleaved gowns   can you remember which ribs are false? which ones are true?
Material Girl

Prize Entry

November 2018

Eloise Hendy


 

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