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Jonathan Gibbs

Jonathan Gibbs was shortlisted for the White Review Short Story Prize 2013. He has since published a novel, Randall or the Painted Grape (Galley Beggar Press).



Articles Available Online


Jessie Greengrass’s ‘Sight’

Book Review

February 2018

Jonathan Gibbs

Book Review

February 2018

Jessie Greengrass’s debut story collection caught my eye with its delightfully extravagant title, An Account of the Decline of the Great Auk, According to...

feature

May 2016

Cinema on the Page

Jonathan Gibbs

feature

May 2016

Film is a bully. It wants to make its viewers feel, and it has the tools to do so....

(this) black girl as shadow-boxer   Born soft, bulging, with sympathy & all manner of fruitful & barren laws, you cannot help but burst into prayer Always, till you wander into that invisible second of ecstasy, sweet communion with self   In silent moments, your little black girl smiles from inside you She smiles a Sunday morning, slept in on – a small sacrifice for the better of others She’s your reflection – a mirror from which you’re always backing away She stares at you long –   watches you wear pretend-earnest Pray that you pray for her joy, her days of abundance, of expansion Teach her to pray with precision for there are likely to be days when your breasts will search for ripeness   but black rot will come easier touch yourself – again & yet again till you wander into that hour of ecstasy, sweet communion with self, begging you to fulfil a wish, to no longer erase yourself       Small Inheritances   Your amai once was a girl too, adolescent, a curious young being, with skin like salted caramel, & a mouth full of salt, lemon, all things unsweet, your amai was once a girl too Who, like you, knew how to squander a full night’s sleep on fantasy, to swap it for full days of broad, deep slumber through heartbreak, through the last sliver of dim light, falling through the blinds soon after sunset She would tell you how hairless your head was, stuck between her thighs for hours How the midwife told her swallow, breathe,                  before asking if her father’s sisters hadn’t taught her that real, strong women birthed in silence, tongues tucked behind gritted teeth On days she used belts, switches & extension cords for broken cups, curfew slips, & other small things You cried for her, mostly for yourself You could never tell if it was that you looked like your father or because birthing you almost killed her     On Legalising MaryJane   You remember your grandfather’s imprecise smile Teeth a yellowing white like the sun’s glare at high noon; lips almost black like night on a full moon Mornings were spent tending to his fields before meeting afternoon, under the shade of the msasa, armed with a worn leather-bound bible; old newspapers &, a worn leather pouch Your assigned role: grab a piece of lit firewood from the kitchen hut for him to light what you thought to be newspaper-rolled cigarettes You remember your grandfather’s eyes; they had clouds

Contributor

August 2014

Jonathan Gibbs

Contributor

August 2014

Jonathan Gibbs was shortlisted for the White Review Short Story Prize 2013. He has since published a novel, Randall or...

The Story I'm Thinking Of

fiction

April 2013

Jonathan Gibbs

fiction

April 2013

There were seven of us sat around the table. Seven grown adults, sat around the table. It was late. We had eaten, and we had...

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Art

July 2015

Michaël Borremans

Ben Eastham

Art

July 2015

Michaël Borremans is among the most important painters at work in the world today. His practice combines a lifetime’s...

Interview

Issue No. 8

Interview with Deborah Levy

Jacques Testard

Interview

Issue No. 8

‘TO BECOME A WRITER, I had to learn to interrupt, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and...

feature

October 2013

The Good Soldier

Jess Cotton

feature

October 2013

Two hundred names are inscribed in a totemic list that opens Alice Oswald’s Memorial. The deaths of the Greek heroes,...

 

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