The Tourist

By Hugo Hamper-Potts

Pantomime in the soil

They cut me free from the past, that crowd of voices, and enticed me wonderfully into the warm present. Amid tall and unfurnished grassblades, I sensed a swirling resonance of the sanguine which day-to-day forgets me. A perfect interval between the movement of their lips (soft, scented) and their unfurling melodies:

- Come, lie here, so I can flatter and decide, placate and confide, twirl nothing in my fingers in the peripherals of your eyes. Free the jocundity from your belly and adopt the speech of someone ready; I have palms soft to the touch, pleasing stream-like arms, a woodland of a womb, and hair that dances in the wind.

O.Wilks

The Kingfisher

A kingfisher darts downward, fervently, across the twilight canvas. Smooth muscles and pure instinct cause few waves to be created as he poaches his third meal today. Whacked against the perch, the powerless minnow withers into non-existence - much like my dreams being descaled indoors by the weary fishwife at the dining table.


Adam Thomas

Introduction to the book 'If this is a man'

Voi che vivete sicuri You who live safe
Nelle vostre tiepide case In your warm houses,
voi che trovate tornando a sera You who find warm food
Il cibo caldo e visi amici And friendly faces when you return home.
Considerate se questo è un uomo Consider if this is a man
Che lavora nel fango Who works in mud,
Che non conosce pace Who knows no peace,
Che lotta per mezzo pane Who fights for a crust of bread,
Che muore per un sì o per un no. Who dies by a yes or a no.
Considerate se questa è una donna Consider if this is a woman
Senza capelli e senza nome Without hair, without name,
Senza più forza di ricordare Without the strength to remember,
Vuoti gli occhi e freddo il grembo Empty are her eyes, cold her womb,
Come una rana d'inverno. Like a frog in winter.
Meditate che questo è stato Never forget that this has happened.
Vi comando queste parole. Remember these words.
Scolpitele nel vostro cuore Engrave them in your hearts,
Stando in casa andando per via When at home or in the street,
Coricandovi alzandovi When lying down, when getting up.
Ripetetele ai vostri figli. Repeat them to your children.
O vi si sfaccia la casa Or may your houses be destroyed,
La malattia vi impedisca May illness strike you down,
I vostri nati torcano il viso da voi May your offspring turn their faces from you

VII.i. Florence (An Experiment in Parataxis)

VII.
i/iv

and though no delight is she to behold -
cold metal shackles shift below
          black velvet wrapping;
dynamos of African ivory and regal gold -
bright rings encircl'ng oblivion -
deep holes symmetric'ly punch'd on a slanted sheet -
tar trickl'ng behind a gaze beautiful enough to
melt my prickled lashes like chick'n spines in broth -
suh - suh - SUH - SUH - shh-ee creeps,
crippledly -
higgledy - piggledy
earthly -
unknowingly - towards that dry knoll
(with a point of a rustic thumb and forefinger; artlessly slim hands - hers, handguns) when the bell tolls and pilgrimage will cease and start and she will begin again -
a little dumber and half as dark.
---
and me?
emasculated - born still - castrated - circulation constipated by choked-up mule blood -
          I need only learn her silent dogma -
ancient Gamachean wisdom -
that black mama's creed -
theologian medicine to piss and bleed that colourless poison out -
osmosis on it's head through language and
paraphrased for ease.


D.B.B

For a Poet

I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold;
Where long will cling the lips of the moth,
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth;
I hide no hate; I am not even wroth
Who found earth's breath so keen and cold;
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold.



For A Lady

She even thinks that up in heaven
Her class lies late and snores
While poor black cherubs rise at seven
To do celestial chores.

by Countée Cullen (1903-1946)

Laurie (November 2009)

Genevieve Johnson

Sketches by Hugo Hamper-Potts