Mark Gevisser and Pwaangulongii Dauod In Conversation
Mark Gevisser and Pwaangulongii Dauod discuss Africa’s LGBTI communities, an experience of violent sexual repression, and Afro-Modernity.
My Last Day at Seventeen: Portraits from Russell Heights
Doug DuBois captures life at Russell Heights, a housing estate ‘of uncertain vintage that sits on Spy Hill above Cork harbour’.
New Tarzon Guided Bomb Hits Bull’s-Eye!
‘Watch this performance carefully, for you are witnessing a new concept of modern warfare.’
On Sonnet 50
‘I love Shakespeare’s slow insistence, which mirrors the action within the poem: there is nothing but grief to reach.’ Paula Bohince on Shakespeare’s sonnet 50.
Our Day Will Come: Loyalist, Republican
Stephen Dock explores a divided Belfast and reflects on the economic hardship that affects both side.
Our Last Guest
‘Maybe anyone becomes unbearable after enough time in the honeymoon suite.’ Rowan Hisayo Buchanan’s story of eternity á deux.
‘My cousin is an artist. He says, You draw some good knives but you still need to work on your stab wounds.’
Protest is an exhibition of historical and contemporary works by sixteen artists concerned with the sociopolitical issues of their day.
Reception and Openings
‘Because children suspect that objects conceal their powers and intentions, animators make an alarm clock run, screaming, in circles.’
‘Your dad told me to tell you / how good you look to him right now.’ Rae Armantrout revisits Shakespeare’s sonnet 3.
Sweet William: A Memoir of Old Horse, by John Hawkes | Best Book of 1993
‘Plunged inside the skin of the horse, I felt his sensory burdens, sufferings and fears: his keen sensitivity to sound, smell and touch (even the weight of a saddle)’
The Best Books of Any Year: Three Variations on Post-Truth
‘2016 is almost over but the impact of this year’s political events will reverberate around the globe for decades.’
The Birds of June
‘Her dreams were interrupted occasionally by the sound of the cow and her newborn calf from the outhouse sheds. A low bellow would crinkle the folds of her mind and then seconds later it would be answered from some other shed in the distance.’
The Decay of Politics
‘Britain has made the control of borders and the free movement of people its central obsession, its fundamental national anxiety.’ Philip Ó Ceallaigh on Brexit.
‘I have gone to the forest to lie among the moss and sleep under a canopy of trees. I have gone to the forest to root among the soil and listen to the birds.’
‘I do not do this work for the government, or the Taliban, or even the men who I collect from the battlefield and return to their loved ones. All these years I have done this for God.’
The Good Citizens
‘In the black fog of her grief, Anna Kraft received an invitation.’
The Politics of English Forgetfulness
‘Brexit demonstrates one of England’s most trusted strategies of power: deliberate forgetfulness.’
The Raingod’s Green, Dark as Passion
‘If cities are sexed, as Jan Morris believes, then Cork is a male place. Personified further, I would cast him as low-sized, disputatious and stoutly built, a hard-to-knock-over type.’
The Secret Afterlife of Boats
‘The sea is broken,’ they say. An empty net at night: a drooping lattice of shiny nothingness, a cold and worthless tinsel mesh.
‘In the not-too-distant future, all men would be on their feet, reduced to wearing out their soles on the streets.’
‘The dog was some sort of overbred weedling with a ribcage fine-boned as a chicken’s, a wizened rat’s face and a goony, perpetually bloodshot stare that made Dev Hendrick want to punt the thing over the garden gate.’
‘Lib didn’t like to bang harder in case of disturbing the family. Brightness leaked from the door of the byre, off to her right. Ah, the women had to be milking. A trail of melody; was one of them singing to the cows?’
‘Music needs silence / more than silence needs music.’ New poetry by Rae Armantrout.
Violence in Blue
‘One-third of all Americans killed by strangers are killed by police.’
‘Nathan: there’s something in the basement. In the locked rooms I was telling you about.’
Whatever Happened to Interracial Love?
‘It’s the year of “the human being”. The year of race-creed-color blindness. It’s 1963.’