Tag Archives: sea

Baia Inglese, di Evelyn Lau

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Di nuovo ci troviamo sulla battigia,
tra resti di conchiglia e plastica,
garza di alghe che mi intrappola i piedi come rete.
Fregate rosse e la grigia nebbia Onley delle isole.
Il luccicare a conchiglia del sole sull’acqua, cielo a lisca di pesce.
Pensavo ad un film in cui un uomo affogava
in mezzo all’oceano, onde enormi si ergevano
intorno a lui come dune nel deserto, e a come una volta ho detto,
è così che funziona, il dolore –
anni fa, prima che morisse qualcuno.
Chi sapeva quanto si sarebbe espanso l’oceano,
quanto sarebbero cresciute quelle onde.
Poi sono entrata in acqua, in quel mondo marino
di laminaria e plankton. Il verde che mi lambiva le gambe
ha viaggiato per miglia per arrivare in questa baia.
Un cappio di nuvole appeso all’orizzonte.
Spore, sabbia nell’aria ruvida. Non c’era nessuno a cui tengo.

[Originale in inglese di Evelyn Lau, ‘English Bay’]

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i want to be friends but i’ve touched your boobs (and other things): a (prose) poem on how to be aggressively platonic

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i) in spite of your perfect hair and the shy dimple under your left cheek i wonder if i should have put my arm around you that night because when i think of you i only want to see the way your mouth goes bright as you tell me the names of the fish skipping across the water and the way your fingers make knots in rope so easy like every simple piece of string could coil into complexity but then i remember your bright mouth on mine and the ocean roaring inside me and how you knotted our fingers together so tight so close so we wouldn’t drift apart

ii) my stride is small my voice is smaller would you hear me if i shouted across the fields over the mountains through bamboo forests clicking in the wind would you see me running with thread and needle trying to stitch our islands together

iii) these things take time i tell myself i need space you say when i breathe my lungs inflate with salt and sky there is endless seaglass inside me rolled smooth but sometimes i must dive to cold depths to see even a glimmer of a sunken star i am breaking my hands on time and space and maybe this was a mistake

iv) the thread is red i see it out the corner of my eyes but when i look too hard it vanishes and it isn’t joy i feel but i tell myself it will be

v) most people grew vocabularies for this much younger than i, learned to put out fires, learned the language of storms, learned to suture open wounds tenderly as not to leave scars and now i flounder in the shallows, water kissing the backs of my knees but drowning would be simpler than this oh drowning would be simpler

vi) so i drown. i let the you the me the us the shallow the deep the wave after wave after waving you away at the station that one afternoon drown me. i drown in remembering limbs and fingers and hands and eyes and how you said what you did in tongues i did not know tongues i got to know tongues i have come to miss and down, deep down, i start to forget.

vii) i breathe again, coming up to the surface, knots in my hair – no matter, they’ll be gone with the next haircut, drastic measures for drastic issues – and look around. the sky is gone, fallen into the ground somewhere somewhen, as i looked for you through the sheen the surf the direction of the current swirling around my thighs my knees my ankles as I step out, slowly, back to land back to safety back to me. but i look back, just once just one more time, one more look

viii) (one day i will look and there will be nothing in the way of a different you)

ix) I look up from the screen. Have I been gone that long? I mean, no one is an island, but I seem to be running on my own timezone sometimes. That long? I look up to the clock above the screen. That long. I look back down. You have replied a number of times, I’m the one ignoring you this time. I do need space. We both did. Time is not the issue, of course. Space, strangely enough, is. Even confined within the green and blue walls of a text, space is an issue. We keep pushing at each other, waiting for something to give, again, despite what we said. Afraid to be pulled in again. I know I am.

x) Define. Synonyms. Thesaurus.com. Rhymezone. How to. How to find the words. How to lose weight in a week! How to tell someone they’re adopted. How to tell someone that it’s complicated but you want to see them but not in that way but also you do. How to tell someone you’re pregnant. How to video exclusive. How to go about starting the conversation. How to lose friends and alienate people and befriend aliens. How to tell you.

Collaboration with Emily Chou

140story – Summer continued

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This is almost a companion piece to Angles.

Angles

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Yes. Come on! It does, actually. If you just. Try sitting closer. No, not like that. Here, let me show you. There. Yes. Look at it from here. There. Right? It’s almost like home. Almost.

I never thought I’d miss it either. It’s not how I imagined it would be, none of the expected trodden feelings of sweet sorrow or heart clenching or the sickness or the longing. No. Nothing like any of those, is it? It’s more of active motion towards an image I seem to have. I think I have. You know the one I mean? Yeah, something of the sea, something of Greece, something of Italy, the South, something Mediterranean about it. What? Why are you smiling? (Summer looks good on you.)

Yes. Active motion, as in. It’s as if I’m trying to. Attempting to create an image, a feeling, a whole context for this type of moment. I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen been in this type of moment. I think. I think I’m trying to reach something that I want to think I belong to without really. Yeah, I know. No. I’m not making it up. I don’t know. I’m sorry. Why are you smiling again? Just. Look, try thinking of it this try imagining that the wind is the sea as well as the wind. I can describe the smells if you want if it helps the salt

Okay. Close. Look at it from here. Close your eyes. Breathe it. It closes in.

NaPoWriMo Day 23 – Writing a Picture

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Here I trace the first line
as straight as I can go,
a moat between grains and glass
separating what comes now,
what came then and what comes later.

Here I move inside the first contour
as light as I can go.
A face, hands immovable moving
timed reactions framed in
blank spaces, words will come later.

Here I draw the second scene
as quiet as I can go
the sequence scuttling along
fed by salt and sand and more.
Another scene will come later.

Here I stand back for a second
as the story before me
sits, crashing and roaring
washing into another page and another
after that. More will come later.

NaPoWriMo Day 29 – The Mother I (Benni)

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Where I live now looks like
an abandoned beach
with dunes and wild herbs
the waves, without horizon
change light and colour
at the clouds’ will.
We, the dead, do not have
night, or day, or days.

Often from here I see you
on the other side of the sea
in a trembling heat
I know your every thought
I spy on your words and letters
like a candle, or a cat
with a breath I show you the lines
about me.

But this is my new land
and I am never allowed a touch
to send you healing.
Only that light breath
like a loving voice
a call from behind the wall
or a hedge of roses
a mysterious birdsong.
You never saw me
waiting outside the bar
you spoke with force and anger
of battles and justice
the you found me laughing.
I was late, they don’t understand.
It doesn’t matter. Take me to the hill
to breathe. To fuck. To see
where we live from up there.
Down there, crucified in your kitchen
you are still the one I loved
never beaten, proud, my man
I shout it, but you can’t hear me.