A Memory Palace for Brothers Who Flew Just Close Enough to the Sun & Created the Storm
Ellah Wakatama Allfrey remembers Binyavanga Wainaina.
‘Just look at those nasty trees flaunt / their leaves, each one a tra-la-la.’
‘The Tanners are like mushrooms: born with every molecule / they’ll ever need.’
‘This had happened once before, / when my life first split / into comfort and pain.’
‘It murmurs beneath the crust of the ground, or a person who serves as the ground you stand on.’
‘The me that was then / follows, watching from the dark / theatre of my skull.’
The Politics of Feeling
‘Everything already is fraying at the edges if not completely gone.’
‘It was fake that your hugs were convulsive / and your furies unpredictable.’ Translated by Cassandra Gillig and Anne Boyer.
‘his balance / between person and / abstraction’s so stirring I want no other token for anything can happen’
Fyodor Denisovich Konstantinov
‘A piece of boxwood, gripped in a vise, / waits on the workbench for his knife.’ Poetry by Lev Ozerov, translated from the Russian by Boris Dralyuk, and introduced by Robert Chandler.
Turn the River
‘Backtrack / to the bones of the matter, which are the bones themselves.’
‘Tryptamine skies and the forehand backhand falter / in earth’s revolutions’
I Wrote a Poem About a Fucking River
‘though I’ve sat where torrents recall no slush / I’m drawn by your ceramic explosions’
Reflections on shame in sacred spaces
‘At sunset the light is both nasty and nice / in my robe.’
Cassiopeia (three back-to-front songs)
‘Anyway, I did not die. / I lined the sky, inside-out.’ Translated from the Georgian by Jean Sprackland and Natalia Bukia-Peters.
Every Day Was Ordinary
‘A life is an open thing / leaking out into / the air around it.’
‘I wore off my tongue / like candy’ Translated from the Catalan by Oscar Holloway.
Though I Have Never Been to Ostia, I Have Seen the Place Where Our Dreams Died
‘like pasolini’s dream of an african oresteia let us be ridiculous’