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Index: Poetry & Fiction

Six poems.

Sophia Parnok: ‘Lead me further from my death,
You with your fresh, sun-coloured arms,
Who, striding by me, set me alight!’

A Spell to Lure Apollo.

Alex Wong: ‘The story has its setting in a small and moribund German grand-duchy, about to be absorbed into neighbouring territories, at the turn of the eighteenth century. Duke Carl is a bookish aesthete, seduced by the brighter, more humanistic culture of certain less gloomy and more cosmopolitan realms abroad.’

Thread.

Mikki Aronoff: ‘Ariadne’s Thread is a method for solving a problem with multiple apparent means of proceeding. Take our flowering stalkee. How can she evade that person? She could disguise herself, but for her scent. The stalker’s nostrils expand to take her in.’

Poems from ‘Existence Phenomena’.

Tom Lowenstein: ‘Serenity is the goal. And this requires acceptance.
And there is no reason for assuming that this bundle of selves
should be exempt from the natural process.’

Poems from ‘The Lesser Histories’.

Jan Zàbrana; ‘Grey waves that yawl and tack
about the sky, these float,
these pigeons coming back
to darkness in the dovecote.’

Travelling with the I Ching.

Lucy Hamilton: ‘The ancient oracle bone etching on the left of this ideograph
still means eye today| Within the whole symbol it represents

people’s distinct fields of vision| while the image on the right
of an arrow passing between the backs of a pair of hands’

Bagatelles.

Enomoto Saclaco: ‘Numberless camellias are cut down and flow to the fishing port, then soft silver seeds like paper plates are caught on the fasteners of the frozen bags on the eyes and ears of Umibozu, the legendary sea monster.’

Again, as if the wind bore you away…

Eduardo Moga: ‘My fingers take on the clumsiness instilled by fear; their breath is laboured, their nails pant in revolt. The silence solidifies, but floats upwards, light as air: propelled by the vast machinery of clouds and engines.’

Six prose poems.

Meg Pokraass: ‘There’s a good chance that eventually things will deteriorate to the point where you launch mopey tweets at one another, him tweeting coy pink hearts to your tweets and you regurgitating chartreuse hearts back to his.’

Torpedo Fair.

Antony Howell: ‘Wheels on poles there pledge
The broken to the crows.
All battle is for hearts and minds,
So make quite sure she knows
Her rape is being done
By one who murdered her son.’

Cambridge Market Place Calls to Action.

Andy Thompson: ‘Your way, our way, some history was made
Casual, determined, unstoppable
Apotheosis, metamorphosis,
The magic puff and reappear years later’

Old-Time Recipe.

Sandra Kolankiewicz: ‘Plant your feet as hard as you can. Climb and stomp
your efforts out in the sun, its light become
intravenous and making your calcium
as fixed as the ancient piles of oyster shells
on this recently claimed and gentrified coast.’

Three literary poems.

Nathaniel Tarn: ‘…perhaps a last hymn
can be sung to the mother of beauty:
she who is mother, daughter, bride
in the run of the earth’s ravines,
earth’s veins full of blood and water,
she who is earth, who can she be else?…’

Ice cream spoon in the office.

Fawzia Kane: ‘Mouse marks his Deafness with insouciance. He likes to play the bass. The low frequencies thump through his belly, and can penetrate brick walls. Mouse’s eyes are glacial blue, but will never see a glacier. He doesn’t like the idea of retreat.  Mouse saw his parents die though their bodies still moved.’

Some of her things.

John Matthias: ‘I WAS STANDING in the middle of a river. In waist high water and afraid that I would lose my footing and be swept downstream where the river is deep enough to drown in. What I had to do was difficult.’