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Eleanor Rees
Eleanor Rees is the author of four collections of poetry. Her most recent is The Well at Winter Solstice (Salt, 2019) and her fifth collection Tam Lin of the Winter Park, in which these poems will appear, is forthcoming from Guillemot Press in May, 2022. Eleanor is senior lecturer in creative writing at Liverpool Hope University and lives in Liverpool.

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Three Poems

Poetry

April 2022

Eleanor Rees

Poetry

April 2022

ESCAPE AT RED ROCKS   I am the colour of the outside, a stillness moving like a winter tide, a new shoreline in formation,...

poetry

September 2012

Mainline Rail

Eleanor Rees

poetry

September 2012

Back-to-backs, some of the last, and always just below the view   a sunken tide of regular sound west...

I know the tiger is here If I listen carefully, I can sometimes hear it panting on the other side of the door Mr Samuels says I should mind myself and always be quiet so I don’t excite it He says if the tiger gets too excited, it might knock down the door to see what’s on the other side, and then I would be in real trouble He shows me pictures of tigers in a book, and reads out the text to me:    The tiger (Panthera tigris) is the largest member of the cat family (Felidae) Tigers have patterned fur that mimics shadows, so they are able (despite their large size) to be camouflaged when hunting prey   I nod, and think hidden in plain sight   Mr Samuels has been working with the tiger for years He knows all about tigers At least once a day, he says to me:    ‘It’s my job to work with the tiger, and it’s your job to make the bracelets’    But often, I feel sad and don’t want to make bracelets – I miss my sister She left a long time ago Sometimes I ask Mr Samuels how long ago she left But he doesn’t answer me, just shushes me and gives me an energy bar Mr Samuels makes the energy bars himself when he’s up in the lab with the tiger, and it’s funny – they make me feel relaxed, not full of energy Sometimes if I’m really sad he gives me two, and then I’m allowed to lie down for the rest of the day and not work I lie in my hammock and look at the patterns on the wallpaper and remember things I feel fuzzy and floaty   I remember when I was little and I wouldn’t eat my dinner and Mr Samuels put it on my head Smushed it in so the mashed potato and gravy covered my curls I locked myself in the bathroom that day and wouldn’t come out Obstinate That’s what he called me It’s my earliest memory I remember sitting looking at my reflection in

Contributor

August 2014

Eleanor Rees

Contributor

August 2014

Eleanor Rees is the author of four collections of poetry. Her most recent is The Well at Winter Solstice...

Crossing Over

poetry

September 2012

Eleanor Rees

poetry

September 2012

As he sails the coracle of willow and skins his bird eyes mirror the moon behind cloud. Spring tide drags west but he paddles...

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feature

Issue No. 13

Writers from the Old Days

Enrique Vila-Matas

TR. J. S. Tennant

feature

Issue No. 13

Augusto Monterroso wrote that sooner or later the Latin American writer faces three possible fates: exile, imprisonment or burial....

poetry

February 2013

Redacted, Redacted

Les Kay

poetry

February 2013

Here the censorship, which you’ve taught yourself, is self-inflicted (low sugar, low fat); it begins with the swinging shadow...

poetry

February 2015

In bed with the radio

Péter Závada

TR. Mark Baczoni

poetry

February 2015

IN BED WITH THE RADIO   You’d turned against me. There’s safety in knowing, I thought. Like lying in...

 

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