Mailing List


Kevin Brazil
Kevin Brazil teaches English at the University of Southampton. He lives in London.

Articles Available Online


Alvaro Barrington, Garvey: Sex Love Nurturing Famalay

Art Review

October 2019

Kevin Brazil

Art Review

October 2019

The unofficial anthem of this year’s London Carnival was ‘Famalay’, a bouyon-influenced soca song that won the Road March in Trinidad & Tobago’s Carnival...

Essay

October 2018

The Uses of Queer Art

Kevin Brazil

Essay

October 2018

In June 2018 a crowd assembled in Tate Britain to ask: ‘What does a queer museum look like?’ Surrounded...

WARM UP   Imagine that you are chewing a piece of gum Chew it Focus on the thought of it You might chew it on one side of your mouth, then the other Now the gum is expanding Really work on it The thought of it The gum of the thought Now the gum is made of an idea Focus on the thought of the gum of the thought The idea is heavy, it’s scratching at the roof of your mouth It’s as if there are feathers in the gum Crows feathers Chew it Now the gum is made of crow You might feel a beak complaining against one side of your mouth, then the other Now the gum is a crow Focus on the thought of it There might be blood The crow might want to screech, and you can let it, just keep chewing Really work on it Now the crow is expanding Your jaw muscles should be good and warm now Spit out the crow Think about what you’ve done     THE ROEBUCK INN   to take the edge off we say, like an excuse or an incantation,   across the bar at each other or to no one in particular   drinking in rounds until all our edges are piled up on the carpet   like how girls put their bags in the middle of the dancefloor of Lloyds Bar at the weekend   until we’re standing there with no edges at all all colour and warmth   bleeding into the night like petrol skirting the surface of the water in the gutter     ODE TO ASH   sometimes a while after I’ve flicked you off the end of my fag part of you will land on the crook of skin that joins my thumb and index finger having been carried by the breeze up in little spirals and down again to land on me and I want to jump up like our dog Libby when she was just a puppy seeing her first snowfall trying to catch each slow-falling flake in her mouth   sometimes part of you will land in my coffee and I will drink it anyway yes  sometimes it’s raining and you fall quickly encased in a drop of water and make a small mud pie on the brick of the front yard sometimes you collect in little piles at the foot of Grandma’s chair or else bruise her small patch of sky above Bramcote Crematorium   other times

Contributor

July 2018

Kevin Brazil

Contributor

July 2018

Kevin Brazil teaches English at the University of Southampton. He lives in London.

Nora Ikstena's ‘Soviet Milk’

Book Review

August 2018

Kevin Brazil

Book Review

August 2018

Soviet Milk by Nora Ikstena opens with two women who cannot remember. ‘I don’t remember 15 October 1969,’ says the first. ‘I don’t remember...

READ NEXT

fiction

April 2013

The Final Journals of Dr Peter Lurneman

Luke Neima

fiction

April 2013

Editors’ note: After several months of debate we have decided to publish the succeeding text, a reproduction of the...

poetry

September 2015

She-dog & Wrong

Natalia Litvinova

TR. Daniela Camozzi

poetry

September 2015

She-dog   He wrote to tell me his dog had died. I wanted to be her, I wanted him...

fiction

September 2016

STILL MOVING

Lynne Tillman

fiction

September 2016

 I am bound more to my sentences the more you batter at me to follow you. – William Carlos...

 

Get our newsletter

 

* indicates required