A cold star breeze,
you pass through my eyelashes.
Oh settlers of death’s continent
here in my body,
oh my ancestors.
Your hopes yellowed
as treasuries.
Like dusty lamps
in ruined temples
your faces silent.
And I
sit drowsing in your lonely desert,
like your wounded camel.
1995, Tartus, Syria
Image © Bergen Public Library
‘I think there should be a National Service of Hospitality. The best way to see the true face of humanity is to serve it a plate of chips.’
Camilla Grudova on bad-mannered customers.
‘Anyone who has ever worked night shifts will understand the vertiginous feeling that comes with staring down the day from the wrong end.’
A.K. Blakemore on working nights.
‘I was constantly reading job ads, trying to find my holy grail – a job I could stand to do, and someone foolish enough to hire me.’
Sandra Newman on learning how to play professional blackjack.
‘I loved being a receptionist. What I loved about it was playing the part of being a receptionist.’
Emily Berry on being a temporary office worker.
‘Every part of you would swell, including your eyeballs, and no matter how much water you drank, you were always dehydrated.’
Junot Díaz on working for a steel mill.
‘I might walk endlessly’
A poem by Tahir Hamut Izgil, translated by Joshua L. Freeman.
‘All I do is write in my sickbed diary. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything else.’ Two poems by Lee Young-ju translated by Jae Kim.
‘Anyway, I did not die. / I lined the sky, inside-out.’ Translated from the Georgian by Jean Sprackland and Natalia Bukia-Peters.
‘Heads of saints fell off and / smashed the glassy cages. My voice smashed them.’
‘Because I spent a large amount of time convincing people to buy clothing they would never actually wear, it was easy to convince myself the same.’
