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Mark Cawson Lives
Mark Cawson & Iain Sinclair
‘In Smiler’s confrontational images, the dead outnumber the living.’
Iain Sinclair introduces Mark Cawson’s photography.
Nowhere
Yasmina Reza
‘I have no house, from time to time I dream of having one, not a holiday home but a house to bury myself in.’
Memoir by Yasmina Reza, translated by Alison L. Strayer.
When Rhinestones Star the Night and You Find Yourself Thinking Fondly of Dave Hickey
Anne Carson
‘Look, the / blessings should surprise you, not / the pain.’
Poetry by Anne Carson.
Watching, Content & Colombia
Audun Mortensen
‘I make a certain effort / to give my sister in Korea / the impression / that I am interested’
Poetry by Audun Mortensen.
The Conservation of Mass: On Resomation
William Atkins
‘If it has ever fallen to you to scatter someone’s ashes, especially those of someone you loved, you might share my sense of the process as tantamount to fly tipping, the stuff resembling nothing so much as cat litter.’
William Atkins on disposing of the dead.
Unruly Light
Ming Smith & Tobi Haslett
‘Some restless, formless element thrums deep within the portraits and stalks through every streetscape.’
Photography by Ming Smith, introduced by Tobi Haslett.
Note to Self & Gentle Rain
Robert Walser
‘Note to self: Take a walk / to go see Hermann Hesse’
Two poems by Robert Walser, translated by Damion Searls.
Killing Stella
Marlen Haushofer
‘I read somewhere that you can get used to anything, and habit is the strongest force in our lives.’
Fiction by Marlen Haushofer, translated by Shaun Whiteside.
Benoît
Michel Houellebecq
‘I’ll never be able to order an œuf mayonnaise in a restaurant without thinking of him – literature can do that, when the description is perfect.’
Michel Houellebecq on his friend Benoît Duteurtre.
Cell Phone
Krystyna Dąbrowska
‘Each time I’m in her country, my translator / lends me the phone of her dead husband.’
A poem by Krystyna Dąbrowska, translated from the Polish by Karen Kovacik.
This Very Complicated Cast of Mind
Renata Adler
‘I thought of her more as a sort of parental figure in the beginning. There was scolding.’
Renata Adler on her friendship with Hannah Arendt.
