DAVID JAMES : Interview with an Unborn Baby
ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP : Excerpt, from GAIA
JAN OSKAR HANSEN : The Sole Survivor
POETRYREPAIRS v13.04:046
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Interview with an Unborn Baby Excerpt, from GAIA The Sole Survivor


DAVID JAMES
Interview with an Unborn Baby
Over time, I got used to the darkness. It was full of noises—mumbling, humming, clicks, whistles, grunts, something off in the distance. Floating in the warmth and water, I'd fall in a trance and sleep for days. Awake, I'd play with this thing coming out of my middle, spend hours trying to guess where I was, what I was. But my home was closing in. I couldn't turn as easily as before, or drift. I kicked and pushed. I tried to see beyond the walls but nothing would help. I couldn't stand and I couldn't fall, so I'd pass time by touching myself, lovesick for the soft voice surrounding me like skin.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04:046
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Interview with an Unborn Baby Excerpt, from GAIA The Sole Survivor



ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP
Excerpt, from GAIA
i. The leper. It's too, too late to remember the pale evening's after glow, leprosy blinds the albino now to the falling snow freezing the heart. Daily, rags in the ruined hut decay & with shadows fade. Now only the dead visit from the dark side of the moon tide hill, where stars like snow flakes fall. Day after day rags of the leper in the hut on the hill fade away. The hut of the blind albino, where only snow falls & the dead stay. ii. White Sombrero. Don't look up now, man in the white sombrero to the voice that calls from the top of the stairs. Don't turn on her those pale blue eyes, though she calls by name, so sweetly, so joyously, you, this summer's afternoon, the one in the hall below, in no sense of doom for him in the white sombrero. She only wants to see those pale blue eyes, only & but once more, before she bids goodbye. iii. The Destitute. Say, I have gambled my dice, pokered my final hand. My eyes are of the loneliest hue, Before me are the bridge erecting dawns, my banner for insurrection is a blanket under the arm. My peers are too old to judge. My children avoid me as the plague. From rags to rags & At the end of the road incineration, awaiting what was once flame to become ashes & dust. iv. The Potan. Vendetta through the maize & sugar cane, I pass between them walking away back to back, they had not met today face to face. Tonight, one with the face of a young moon & one gaunt & grey, will stay in ours & our neighbour's hut. We will burn the gule, sugar cane, sifting the brown toffee silt from the black pan in the corn cob burning hearth. The appointed time of their meeting is already known by everyone in town. Already the next Vendetta appears. They sit at tea on benches, bullet belts hung, in the café at the top of the hill. The wind is frosty in the brilliant sun flapping the chinked planks of its rackety wall. Shop shacks run down the muddy hill To the Masjid & café below, Where the other gunslingers hang out. I pass between to & fro, soon in the maize cane a shootout will begin at the exact place I passed the day before yesterday, when they meet face to face. Tomorrow will be the burial in the cemetery beside the Masjid, after evening prayer. On the following dawn another will depart, but only the police will profit, with a price on the head of the moon faced boy. v. The Beggar. No alms for the bereft, No praise for the sand, Only the storm, the blast In the eyes of the beast & the hollow haze Where footsteps of the wind Leave no trace nor Memory of tomorrow.
from Gaia. (Part 4. 2).copyright 2003 ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04: 046
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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poésie internationale contemporaine

Interview with an Unborn Baby Excerpt, from GAIA The Sole Survivor


JAN OSKAR HANSEN 
The Sole Survivor 
The Sole Survivor The little girl in the basement of a bombed out house, whispers a lullaby and asks God's forgiveness for hitting her smaller brother. Voices, someone's digging, a shaft of light and friendly hands lift her up. She cries and tells the man that she didn't mean to slap him so hard…'There, there, the man says, it wasn't your fault.' She asks:' Where is mum, dad and me brother?' The man doesn't answer but hands her over to a nurse who gives her water to drink and wraps her in a blanket.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04: 046
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DAVID JAMES : Interview with an Unborn Baby
ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP : Excerpt, from GAIA
JAN OSKAR HANSEN : The Sole Survivor

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