Monthly Archives: February 2015

Anselm Kiefer and Paul Celan’s Death Fugue

Shirley Bell POETRY ART CREATIVITY

I was talking recently about the impact of this poem and these monumental pieces by Anselm Kiefer when I saw them at The Royal Academy

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shulamith

Paul Celan: Death Fugue (From German)

Death Fugue
By Paul Celan
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Black milk of daybreak we drink it come evening
we drink it come midday come morning we drink it come night
we drink it and drink it
we spade out a grave in the air there it won’t feel so tight
A man lives at home who plays with the vipers he writes
he writes in the German-born nightfall
the gold of your hair Margarete
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are aglitter he whistles his hounds out
he whistles his Jews off has them spade out a grave in the ground
he orders us play up for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we…

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Like a ton of Lego bricks by Myriam San Marco

I am not a silent poet

I carried my bed of roses home,
where they teach the children
not to be, how to kill chickens
before they hatch and where the slap
of a hand cuts deeper than the sharp
of a belt. Mother was busy, as always

cooking curtains into arguments,
Stirring the pot of radiator music.
Father’s chair smelled of damp
dinners, he, on his knees, picked up
the crumbs of you’ll be a man my son.
I came in from the yard, hid all the locks,

shook out the mildew, laughed myself
out of my shackles and flew.

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Our Parents by Dixie Rhodes

I am not a silent poet

Momma never kissed us
never hugged, and never praised us.
She just screamed!
My papa always kissed us
hugged and often pleased us…
but then he took that touching
and made it into fear at night–
for letting him too near–our fright!
We never learned … how to sleep.
Doesn’t matter how many sheep–that we try to count.
Someone, somewhere– should have got us out!

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Why do it?

Definitely!

Anthony Wilson

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because of the words

and because of the books

because of the woman in the anorak at the swimming baths

and the teaching of that paying of attention

because of the should I have heard of you

because of the friendship

to celebrate my gratitude

because once, the blackboard groaning with homework, a teacher stayed behind to say how pleased you had attended their lesson and had you considered reading Lawrence?

because of the influences

and because of the kindness

because once I was dying and now I am not dying

because of Jörn Cann swearing about Arsenal while giving me advice about dying

because of the car parks

because to be recognised first we have to become vulnerable 

because of the cost of all this

because of the blanket, which is the shadow and the safe space

because of the readers, known and not known

because of

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Fox Boy Poem V by Ruth Stacey

I am not a silent poet

diversity
the tick box
this is no dewey
decimal, no sense
to this, putting people
in boxes

bark like good dog

veer between refusing
and trying to be helpful

should be an easy task
pen on paper
down stroke and up
best describes: no no no
none of those
mixed is their phrase

mixed, other

Ruth Stacey studied English & Creative Writing at Bath Spa University and recently completed a distinction level MA in Literature: Politics and Identity at Worcester University. Her pamphlet Fox Boy was published by Dancing Girl Press, July 2014. Her full length debut collection, all the long gone queens, is being published by Eyewear, Summer 2015. She lives in Worcestershire. www.ruthstacey.com

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