I see you, perching on your favourite spot, same time, almost on the dot, daily. I don’t know you but I’ve come to know your habits – the way you flick your hair back and scroll through your apps with a great deal of annoyance, how you look upwards when there’s no view to be seen, your stroking the house plants on the balcony. Seeing you makes me kind of sad, I think you incorporate the feeling I sometimes get Continue reading
Look, today has been a Tuesday you couldn’t fix no matter what, and on Thursday I said I would make it a good one. I do this a lot. I plan things out in my mind and I will them to live up to expectations. Today was different, though, today I know where I went wrong and why Tuesday crumbled.
It started, I suppose, with the real mistake being the fact I spent the weekend packing for our journey, when I should have been reading Emilia Galotti, act 3, past its second scene. Continue reading
I just love artichokes, and found a poem this morning on the Paris Review about one. I couldn’t resist sharing it. The obsession knows no bounds.
The first time I saw it, I thought what an ugly specimen. It looked like Grandma’s bathing cap, grown green and small after all these years. I sliced it open and tasted the pale flesh. And gradually she offered herself up leaf by leaf. In her depth she held a tiny, faded star, a spark that fell in the meteor shower over Frank’s garden. I developed a taste for her expensive style: fancy restaurants, wines by candlelight. Continue reading
I have been you, you have borne me, and I have lived you, yet you tore me
still I have sought you on my knees… in the whooshing willows on the Thames Continue reading
It’s a century since Die Verwandlung , Kafka’s most famous novella detailing human angst and the pain that comes from impotence, narrated by a man turned into vermin, was published. I hear about Kafka constantly even having only read one of his works in this academic year – for he is in Oxford, in the research institute containing the first page of this work, that famous “Als Gregor Samsa sich eines Morgens aus unruhigen Träumen erwachte…” that we are not allowed to visit unless specialised in the life of this peculiar, fascinating man, Continue reading
Today, whilst packing up my room, a few Mr Sheen wipes and spraying shelves after I’d had lunch, I discovered a crumpled up copy of a submission I made a year ago to ISIS magazine, and had completely forgotten about. Given the ever-recurring theme of travel, roots, life changes, I thought I’d just leave it here. I’m still quite impressed at how long it sat on my shelves without ever making it to become scrap paper.
BA XXXX, Pisa, 2013