‘The Rwandan town of Nyamata is thirty kilometres south of Kigali, the capital'.
The Rwandan town of Nyamata is thirty kilometres south of Kigali, the capital. When I went there, the church was still filled with hundreds of bodies. Dogs had torn apart some of the remains, and I had to tread carefully for fear of stepping on a skull or a femur. Journalists had written of vomiting…
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‘We meet at various points in the great swathes of the past that neither of us were alive to witness.’
Allen Bratton on a daytrip to a castle with his older boyfriend.
‘Listening to three white poets, whom I suspect are academics, talk about the state of poetry.’
Oluwaseun Olayiwola eavesdrops on an older generation.
‘I’d been dubious about his company at first.’
Sarah Moss on watching Shakespeare with her twelve-year-old son.
‘She didn’t trust us because, to her, tenants were like children.’
Kate Zambreno on negotiating with her older landlady.
‘A moment now swallowed in embarrassment, I asked a question only a young person might ask an older one.’
Lynne Tillman on trying to understand what makes a generation.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
‘You are what you do, and you are what you write, to some extent, I believe that at least.’
Lauren Oyler on personality, intention and the collapse between private and authorial selves.
‘There is always a cat sitting on the kitchen windowsill, in the background of every ordinary and extraordinary event, a softly focused silhouette, a pair of piercing eyes.’
Sara Baume responds to twenty-nine photographs from Magnum Photos.
‘all the furs & bright feathers won’t beat / the sunlight on my face like I’m the one it came / all this way for’
Victoria Adukwei Bulley writes four poems in response to twenty-eight photographs from Magnum Photos.
‘Between the boy and the fox there were no names.’
Fiction by Derek Owusu, in response to twenty-nine photographs from Magnum Photos.
‘All that yearning spilling down amid the treetops and roof ridges, a shadow I’d never properly considered before.’
