After the New Year, we have a new neighbor, Baba Katya. She was a short, plump woman with glasses, rather intelligent-looking, always wrapped in several layers of clothing. When she stopped by, a few creepy-looking men probably dragged all sorts of things for two hours: chests, parcels, some furniture into her room, which was as big as a hall.
The check-in process attracted Alexey and me’s attention, and we sat in the hallway and silently watched what was happening. At some point, one of these thuggish-looking workers barked at my brother and me, and we, frightened, retreated to our room. Here, to fill up the feeling of confidence, we began to sprinkle these two and our neighbor with curses and all sorts of nicknames.
– These two are savages! – I said, waving my arms.
– And the neighbor? She’s no better! Bourgeois! – my brother answered.
One day after school, when my brother and I were walking down the hallway, the door to the new neighbor’s room was open. It has been several weeks since she moved in. Torn by curiosity, we decided to carefully look in to see the treasures she was hiding.
Through the slightly open door we could see several antique cabinets, statues, tapestries, paintings. Meanwhile, the hostess of the room came up to us along the corridor. My brother and I took a step back, expecting reproaches or threats, but something completely unexpected happened. Seeing our undisguised interest in the contents of the room, Baba Katya smiled slightly.
Come on in, guys, – she invited my brother and me.
Her brother was more talkative, as always, and asked her a lot of questions. He had a talent for talking to people, so later he became a famous journalist and traveled a lot around the country and the world.
So, we managed to find out that baba Katya, as the whole apartment called her, is actually Ekaterina Vasilyeva, a well-known restorer with experience. For several years now, she has been engaged in restorations for the state museums of Leningrad, and what struck me most of all, she even worked at home, in conditions when museums were closed or even mothballed. And all these “treasures” are her works that have been restored or are just waiting in the wings.
– Why did you move in with us? Has your house been bombed? Alexey continued his inquiries.
– No, it’s worse… This is not a childish story…” she tried to get away from this topic.
– We are already adults, please tell us! – my brother and I did not let up.
Baba Katya stopped talking, looked at the window, then back at us. She went to the stove in the corner of the room, put a scorcher in it, put the kettle on and slowly began her creepy story.
– About a month ago, a story happened that changed my life and disappointed people forever. I used to live in the central district, also in a communal apartment. I had two rooms there – one bedroom, the second, a larger one, a workshop for restoration. Our apartment has always been friendly, we all knew each other for many years and were almost like family. Only one neighbor was weird, I don’t even want to call her by her first name. After her divorce from her husband, something broke inside her… But even then she had not yet poisoned our way of life. With the onset of the blockade, our apartment began to change, many left. The corridors began to empty.
In the autumn, the famine began, then it became even worse, our neighbors began to disappear. The authorities came to us a couple of times, and then our neighbor began to show incredible diligence in finding and assisting the authorities. She told all sorts of stories, saying that they had gone to their relatives in the village, and those had died in the raid. Strangely enough, everyone believed her.
Then she stopped talking. I saw a tear creeping down the wrinkled cheek of an elderly woman. After a moment of silence, gathering her strength, she continued:
– One day, I worked late and, as it seemed to me, I was not sleeping alone in the apartment. Then a disheveled and scared neighbor flew into my workshop, saying that some strange man of terrible appearance was walking in our hallway. I calmed her down by suggesting that we look at this stranger together. She agreed, on the condition that we take a poker for protection. So we left my room, I went ahead and carried a lamp, and she followed me with a poker.
We walked along the dark corridor for a while until I felt a blow on the back of my head and lost consciousness. I came to my senses, probably after a quarter of an hour, I was lying on the floor in my neighbor’s room, next to her bed. The first thing that caught my eye was the partially butchered body of the girl, which was hidden under the bed. It hit me like an electric shock, I immediately understood everything and hid, the neighbor was standing with her back to me in the other corner and, leaning over the table, sorting knives. I got up quietly, and the poker was lying on the bed.
Grabbing her, I slapped my neighbor on the back without looking at her and ran out of the apartment and onto the street with the last of my strength. My head hurt terribly, and my heart was pounding so hard that it seemed like it was going to pop out of my chest. So I ran through several streets until I bumped into two young soldiers who turned out to be NKVD officers. Through tears, I told them everything. After taking me to some kind of duty station, they hurried to our apartment…
She paused again, sighed, and finished her story with confidence in her voice.
– The remains of five people were found in her room, as the investigation established, for several months she had not only killed and eaten acquaintances, but also sold or changed the meat of victims in markets in different areas. As far as I know, she was shot on the same day, and I could no longer stay in that apartment and moved in with you.
The kettle whistled, Baba Katya covered her face with her hands. There was horror and shame on my brother’s face, and we both regretted our persistence, curiosity and prejudice about this brave woman. I went up to her and hugged her a little, she calmed down, poured tea for us and gave us one candy, it was an incredible rarity, my brother and I had not seen any sweets anywhere for more than six months.
Go to your room in peace, – Baba Katya said to us at parting, – And be careful on the street, and in general with strangers.
When I discovered I suffered from depression and anxiety, I decided to make peace with them. They became my companions, teaching me to avoid people, though not strangers. I often found myself in bars, drinking recklessly. I kept telling myself that each night would be the last. But night after night, I met different women. I drank without care, to the point of forgetting my own name, but never could I forget my depression and anxiety.
Sometimes, as I undressed women who wanted to be with me—drawn to my humor, I suppose—my eyes would fill with tears. They would kiss them away, offering me comfort that felt foreign. I was lonely, and my parents didn’t understand my struggles. When I told my mother I felt guilty, her response was, “Maybe you hurt a friend.” But I had no friends, just the bullies who tormented me. I longed for someone to hear the silent screams of my heart.
In those bars, some women pulled me into their world of lust. I became a slave to their desires, some of them married. I had to stop drinking, but I found myself offering something else—my body—to appease my sadness. I remember one woman dancing, and when she turned around, she kissed me as I headed for the washroom. Seconds later, she apologized as her husband, sitting in a wheelchair, laughed tearfully, saying, “You chose him over me, after all these years.”
She didn’t care. She grabbed my hand, led me to her sports car, and drove us to her house. We continued drinking, undressing each other. She saw my tears, smiled, and passed me a cigarette. We sat there, naked, smoking in silence. She stared at me as I coughed, struggling with the cigarette.
“Is this your first time smoking?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “But drinking? I’m fine with that.”
“Are you trying to drink yourself to death, young man?” she pressed.
“Maybe. I’m always suffering alone, and no one at school wants to sit with me. My parents are too busy with their lottery winnings to notice.”
“Is that why you cry, like an orphan who learned the war was over only to discover his parents are gone?”
“I think I was adopted just so they could have someone to raise, a cover for their wealth.”
“Money doesn’t buy happiness, and you’re spending their fortune on your own slow death.”
“I feel like I was born with a lifetime of grief. Drinking numbs my sensitivity, my inner peace, and most of all, the masks I wear to hide the pain in my mind and heart.”
“Do your friends care about the person you are in these bars?” she asked.
“I think they’d prefer I sober up so I can decide whether to pull the trigger or keep cutting myself.”
“Are your friends alive?”
“I’m alone. Depression and anxiety gave me a second chance at life.”
“Are you happy to be alive now?”
“I’m not sure. I feel like I’ve been alive for too long.”
“Have you ever fallen in love?”
“I don’t think I’m capable. I’ve always felt unworthy of love, even from my family. The only person who loves me, though she doesn’t understand me, is my mother.”
“Can I help guide you toward healing? Toward confidence?”
“Thank you, but life has been wearing me down, slowly, like a candle melting its own wax.”
“Will you let me adopt you before I die?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I want to heal you because you’re young and deserve a better life.”
I was confused by her mention of death. As I dressed to leave, she screamed, “I love you! Please, let my remaining days be filled with the happiness of helping you become a better man.”
I turned back and hugged her. We both cried.
Because of her, I became sober and successful. She healed me in ways no one else could, and in return, I tried to help heal her. She overcame her illness, and we became the best of friends, forever grateful for that accidental kiss.
Now, I am happily married to a strong woman who chases away the shadows of depression and anxiety from my dreams. Together, we’ve built a life filled with love and understanding. I’ve learned that we must talk about our weaknesses and embrace the help offered by those we trust.
Critically examine close reading of W.B. Yeats’s postmodern poetry The Second Coming.
(Black and white image of an older white man seated at a table with books)
Twentieth-century heroically humanist W.B. Yeats’ The Second Coming is a symbolic incarnation” of the imagination of resurrection allegorically satirizing the pathogenic cycle of the historical First World War nationalistic spirit of the Irish independence movement and coterminous flu pandemic enmeshed within Christian imageries.
The Messianic Saviour of humanity’s salvation, Jesus Christ, although redeems as a prolific resurrectionist transfiguration of crucified atonement within Biblical tradition, nonetheless, which Yeats majestically inverts as mental apparitions of the eschatological apocalypse. This is starkly evident in the poetic lines by the allegorical personification of the beast’s rebirth in the dismal gloom of dystopian anarchic Jerusalem “And what rough beat, its hour come round at last, / Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?” Yeats’s envisioning of poetic voice and pictorial shroud heralds dramatic, visionary, aesthetic, elegiac, lyric and philosophic language in accord to macabre of ending the ceremony of innocence, the end of Christian dispensation and the desecration of the divine destination heritage site of Bethlehem.
Lion’s body and humans’ head Urizenic mythical beast is that ultimate sinisterish gothicism of “That twenty years of stony sleep/ Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,” as foreshadowed by revival of the sphinx’s second coming. Furthermore, the penchant of this demoniac spirited cherubim reincarnation illustrates the failure of the French Revolution and the failure of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice. The moral satire of the aristocratic elitist upper class sophistication with fascism implicates the death of spiritualism despite the advent of Christ’s resurrection in view of the redemptive quest for salvation.
“Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world./ The blood dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere/ The ceremony of innocence is drowned.” After all the heroic return of Jesus’s reincarnation of the resurrectionist spirit is replaced by the poet laureate with the advent of a grotesque beast, the Egyptian Sphinx. And this gossamery of the Christian revelation has drowned the ceremony of innocence by a bloody trench war over a community of civilization. Modernity has divided into the world with the sunken titanic and widespread disenchantment, violence and extremism, bloodshed of massacred lives have been mystically visualized by The Second Coming.
The quagmire of Second Coming is an apocalypse collapse of civilization into anarchy furthermore is heralded by the verbosity of “That twenty centuries of stony sleep /Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,” enmeshed by devastation of things falling apart and the center cannot hold. Twenty centuries had elapsed since the crucifixion and promised return of Jesus Christ. However, the sphinxlike creature in its stony sleep has been poised in the desert, awaiting the time when it will be unleashed upon the earth.
The Beast of Apocalypse is a slough of despond for these derailed and directionless everyman Christians personified falcons from their Christ figure in the personified abstraction of the Falconer. Thus the massacre of innocents by Herod and possibly the ceremony of baptism is evoked by the drowning of innocent provincial lives with the sea of a blood bath by the surreal demonic Anti Christ. Falcon is a manifestation of symbolic allegorical colonial Ireland harbouring the Irish nationalist rebels, reactionaries and revolutionaries as implied by the worst full of conviction.
On the contrary Falconer is a manifestation of symbolic allegorical British Isles and Britannic kingdom whilst their productivity and efficacy diminishes as implied in the poetic diction the best lack all conviction. Furthermore The Great World War I, The Russian Revolution, Ester Rising 1916 underscore the politico socioeconomic allegorical inferences permeated throughout the poem.
Further Reading
Kremen. R Kathryn, Yeats’s Secularization of Christian Events pp. 272-74, The Imagination of the Resurrection: The Continuity of Religious Motif in Donne, Blake and Yeats
Kremen. R Kathryn, Yeats’s Subjectification of Religious Language: Three Poetic Examples, pp. 281, 283, The Imagination of the Resurrection: The Continuity of Religious Motif in Donne, Blake and Yeats
Tabor College Library Hillsboro Kansas, Internet Archive, Yeats Harold Bloom, Michael Robartes and the Dancer, The Second Coming, pp. 317-325
Selected Poems W.B. Yeats, York Notes Advanced, A Norman Jeffares, pp. 43-44
“The Amazonian culture supports our life ” by Federico Wardal
Claudia M. Costa, with Latin and North American and Italian roots, through her travels, in the Amazon forest and indigenous populations of fundamental importance, has been combining for years deep spirituality, nature and health and visual and poetic art in a very strong and beneficial synergy.
Here are some comprehensive answers from Claudia Costa, which deeply tell her very interesting Amazonian experience from 2019 to August 2024, with my comments on the synergies between spirit, art and nature, lost for millennia in our world and which it is time to integrate, in the total interest of our health, culture and better quality of life.
Claudia Costa introduces for us: Yawanawa Dietas in the Brazilian Amazon
Acre is a state located in the North West region of Brazil where some of the most dense jungles of the Amazon forest are found. Along the Rio Gregorio lives an ancient Tribe known as the Yawanawa which means People of the wild boar. I’ve had the privilege of visiting them since fall of 2019 when I first went with a group during the inauguration of Sacred Village or Aldea Sagrada. This is where Chief Biraci Nixiwaka and his wife the first woman Paje Putanny reside along with their children and a few other members of their extended family. It’s a relatively smaller village with fewer than a hundred residents, all relatives of the Chief who carry the Shamanic lineage inherited by blood. They are descended from the best hunters, woodworkers, herbal foragers and healers and they take this work very seriously while still maintaining a playful nature. “
Here Claudia Costa, did her first Kambo diet or Kapü diet in Sacred Village where she asked Nixiwaka permission to work with his nephew who became her teacher and their frog medicine. She also had the honor more recently of doing her Mama dieta in Nova Esperança village which is an hour downstream from Aldea Sagrada.
An experience that Claudia says changed her life, regenerating it also from a spiritual point of view.
“The tribe’s signature phrase is “So Alegria” or “Only joy” which they yell at the peak of the effects of the medicine during their Ayahuasca or Uni ceremonies. When the “Força” or mind-altering peak gets very strong they yell, “Segura Firme” or “Hold on tight” a phrase coined by the chief of “Nova Esperança” or “New Hope” Village named Iskukua. He’s one of Nixiwaka’s thirty-six children, eighteen boys and eighteen girls. Putanny is the mother of four of his youngest children. Their youngest son Mukaveine is also known as Caçiquiño or Little Chief as he is next in succession for leadership. In addition to Sacred Village Nixiwaka is also the Main Caçique for all ten Villages though each also has their own leadership, such as Rasu in Mutum Village about two hours downstream and Shaneihu Chief of Yawarani Village. “
Mutum, Claudia says, is a popular place for celebrities and entrepreneurs to visit but she has found the sister villages of Nova Esperança and Aldea Sagrada to be exceptionally traditional and therefore more aligned with her needs.
In these two villages they place more emphasis on their ancestral language and herbal healing, both of which pique her interest.
And here the musical dimension joins the rest to enhance the healthy aspect.
Their wisdom is said to be handed down through music especially when these songs are learned during their ritual rites of passage known as Dietas or Samakei in their language. During this time one doesn’t drink water, have sex or sensual thoughts, there’s no eating salt, sweets, fruit or oil. There are exceptions with fruits that aren’t sweet such as Açai berry known here as Panaiça or a tart fleshy relative of the cacao called Cupuaçou. Lemon and lime are ok too along with Passion Fruit. Each dieta is different and they are considered a spiritual sacrifice allowing one time to self reflect in isolated introspection without the distractions of life’s carnal pleasures. When embarking on most of these one has to have some period of isolation with the exception of the Kambo dieta. The others vary and the teacher or teachers are always checking in on the student so it’s not really complete isolation, more a time for a concentrated one on one study.
Diets serve to purify the body and here are some:
Kambo or Kapü – is a frog medicine used for cleansing the body, mind and soul especially in preparation for other dietas. It can range anywhere from two weeks to a month long depending on how many applications were received during a moon cycle.
No fruits or sweets are consumed and primarily lemon water is drunk. It does not require any isolation and tests one’s will power by resisting the sweet temptations of the world around you.
Mama – is corn or yucca blended slurry also known as Caiçuma that is the main thick nourishing liquid consumed. The ancestral yellow corn (Sheke), or in the autumn the mandioca or yucca root (Atsa) are boiled to make the Caiçuma beverage. It’s meant to prepare one for other dietas, connect you to the dream realm and with the plants. This dieta lasts one month during which time minimal food is eaten. It requires three days of isolation in the beginning. No water can be drunk for two weeks after which açai juice, lemon water and cinnamon tea are ok.
Nanna or Genipapo – is a dark bluish black skin paint which can also be drunk to achieve a mind altering and cleansing process. It’s a form of deep spiritual protection. It comes from a palm fruit which is grated then pressed to produce the dark dye. It’s applied all over the body except the pelvic area and reapplied during the entirety of the dieta. It turns darker with time until almost black then fades to a dark blue. During the other dietas Nanna is also used to paint ornate patterns on the face or body which are meant to guard the participant from negative forces. This dieta is a minimum of three months and isolation is required in the beginning.
Muka – Their most sacred plant which is a long brown root. Its tall bush produces a long pod. The name Muka means bitter and provides connection with the world of the Yuxin or spirits. It is meant to show the energy in the environment and people’s bodies when doing their healing prayers. It’s the longest of the dietas after which one is considered a Paje or spiritual elder. This plant teaches the Paje how to work with the Vukush or prayers blown on the back of the head and over the heart along other parts of the body as well depending on the healing needed. This dieta lasts a minimum of one year and usually requires complete isolation in the initial stages.
Runa – Is the snake dieta where the saliva from a water Boa is extracted after which it’s consumed by the Paje. The serpent is then released and the Paje remains connected to it through the spirit world. The snake then guides them for the rest of their lives through the physical and ethereal realms. This dieta is at least one year long and requires isolation.
Claudia continues: “ Mama – is corn or yucca blended slurry also known as Caiçuma that is the main thick nourishing liquid consumed. The ancestral yellow corn (Sheke), or in the autumn the mandioca or yucca root (Atsa) are boiled to make the Caiçuma beverage. It’s meant to prepare one for other dietas, connect you to the dream realm and with the plants. This dieta lasts one month during which time minimal food is eaten. It requires three days of isolation in the beginning. No water can be drunk for two weeks after which açai juice, lemon water and cinnamon tea are ok.
Xinaya , Claudia says , is a person with knowledge and another name for Paje. Even after the completion of these dietas one is not truly considered a Xinaya until after years or decades of practice and proving one’s humility and healing abilities.
Here clearly the concept of humility in connection with healing is introduced.
And then : “ Egos are kept in check and it’s considered distasteful to be boastful or use one’s power in the wrong way. “
Therefore if non-humility does not satisfy healing, an excessive EGO uses power in a wrong way: the combination of the two aspects, therefore, leads to disease .
In the following Claudia’s paragraph, the basic themes of catharsis, of the purification of encounters, of the action of tobacco, as a masculine value, which helps in prayer since ancient times, to recall upon oneself, healthy and positive energy, are discussed.
Claudia tells : “ There are also specialized shorter dietas recommended after drinking Uni which is their name for Ayahuasca and even Rapeh to help connect one more to those sacred plants. Uni is consumed frequently during all of the dietas above to connect one to the spirit world, their environment and their own intuition. Rapeh is a tobacco snuff which is made by mixing dry and powdered tobacco leaf with the ash of a tree called Tsunu. It’s used to focus and cleanse as well as to pray by placing an intention before blowing the tobacco in the nose. This is done with a Kuripe or self blower or sometimes with a Tepi or two person blower where one receives the fine powder on one end as another person blows on the mouthpiece. This is one way to share the essence and knowledge of the person blowing it by the recipient so ideally it’s done by someone whom you have a very strong connection with. The process is only slightly mind altering or more accurately described can make one dizzy. Spitting or blowing your nose after provides a sense of release both spiritually and physically. The intention is made before each nostril is blown by communicating with the tobacco silently. After a brief period of lightheadedness one feels focused and overall lighter.
There is sometimes a purge after depending on the quantity consumed and the strength of the blow. It can stimulate bowels or make one sweat profusely often invoking an emotional release. Spiritually tobacco is considered a gateway towards communicating with other plants therefore talking with the tobacco is also a guide in teaching one to pray with this ancient masculine spirit. Rapeh is said to be one of the oldest ways to pray or sit with tobacco long before it was smoked. It makes much more sense to consume it frequently in the humid climate of the Amazon where bacteria and respiratory conditions can be more prevalent in the sinuses. It is also used to make one’s awareness more keen which is extremely necessary in the high risk environment of the Amazon jungle . “
Let’s talk about Kambo again, a medicine of which Claudia Costa is a special expert
Kambo is a frog medicine extracted from Waxy or Monkey tree frog, Phyllomedusa bicolor.
This substance contains peptides which are an incredible healing tool against cancer, dementia, immune deficiencies, hormone imbalance, inflammation, infertility, viruses, bacteria, fungus and lethargy among other ailments.
Claudia tells : “ The Chief’s descendants are the only ones allowed to apply Kambo or Kapü in Yawanawa territory. Knowing all of this I humbly asked permission to work with his nephew who is the current Kambo elder. In Yawanawa tradition your teacher is kept secret so I won’t reveal his name here. Chief Nixiwaka granted it to me under the condition that I do everything exactly as taught to me.
In indigenous bureaucracy, it is difficult to get permission before undertaking any serious work or collaborating with anyone in the tribe.
The Brazilian mining and logging industry has a bad reputation of trespassing indigenous territories and taking resources without permission so the tribal leaders are the guardians in charge of making sure that doesn’t happen on their watch. “
The Healing Value of Music and the Sugar-Free Diet : Claudia says in this last paragraph confirms some aspects of our cultural knowledge, but certainly broadens it .
“Through my teacher I have learned not just Kambo but basically got an immersion of their entire culture including the language. His son is teaching me their chants or Saitis as they’re known here along with the guitar which is a new instrument for me. I picked it up while trying to heal my wrist fracture to build back my finger and hand strength. During my Mama dieta I had alternating language and music lessons every day where I was taught the complex pronunciation of their phrases and chants. I immersed myself in this while abstaining from life’s subtle pleasures. The most difficult part I thought would be not being able to drink water but I was wrong. It was actually being surrounded by fruit trees at peak season without being able to eat any of the nature’s bounty that surrounded me. It makes total sense to abstain from sugars, even natural ones. The bacteria in the body feeds off of it therefore not consuming them for an extended period resets your body on a cellular level. Though I tend to go down this more scientific way of thinking, the truth is it’s a spiritual sacrifice which is just as important as doing it for health reasons. It’s aligned with the indigenous concept of reciprocity where one has to give in order to receive. The last day of my dieta my teacher’s daughter prepared and gave me my plant bath. Afterwards I received the Vukush prayer from him which felt very powerful.
Thank you Yawanawa tribe! Haux Haux.
Poem by Claudia Costa
Tributaries of the Amazon
Rio Gregorio leads me towards the ancient
wisdom of the Yawanawa tribe
upon its clay-colored waters
The air fills my lungs with its thick humid breath
We slowly snake down the river
mimicking the Anaconda’s slithering patterns
Drops splash us from above and below
as we avoid the driftwood and sandbars
Vultures soar showing off their majestic wingspan
while gliding in resonance with the earth’s magnetic field
Tall grass grows on layers of sand and clay
Bird nests resemble baskets hanging from the tallest trees
The rain stops and the sun beats down its warm rays upon my skin
Small palm frond thatch roofed huts peek from behind the foliage every so often
In the anteroom, the muzak’s too close for comfort. I mean, I can tolerate its sick-sweet breath at the rim of my ear, but I don’t want it in my head. Synthesised drums and a voice that could never identify all images containing traffic lights. A lyric tossed off by a minimum wage chatbot on a Friday afternoon. And why, after all, am I here, surrounded by fish tanks, and waist deep in picture papers from the early twentieth century? There was, I recall, a black-bordered invitation, an urgent but ambiguous phone call, and a tip-off from a carnival card reader who saw tall dark strangers and profound transformations. It was, perhaps, written in the stars at the bottom of my primary school homework. It’s all, of course, immaterial to the point of phantasm, as the muzak sticks on a low-pitched drone, and a small door opens with a sound like a breaking bone. In the darkness beyond, a dog’s eyes flash both welcome and warning.
The Sunrise Arc
The garden shifts when we turn away, with daffodils becoming dahlias, roses becoming rhododendrons, and other seemingly chance transformations governed by nothing but the laws of alliteration. The lawn becomes a lake, the paths become planets orbiting a star that, last time we looked, had been nothing but a snowdrop. And the glasshouse is a gas nebula some 700 light years from where we stand, fleeting nodes of awareness in the exhalation of spacetime. A black hole becomes a bee, humming its way from singularity to sunlight on purple petals. It is precisely fourteen steps to the gate and, 28 billion light years beyond that, Earendel shines a million times brighter than our humble Sun.
The La La Log
Having lately retired to a small village in the hills, I am struck by the shifts in what passes for real. Houses are painted like bathing huts and are larger on the inside than out, with each room opening onto fields and distant mountains, and staircases winding into clouds. Cobbled streets breathe like the spine of the serpent that circles the world, and car wheels spin in clear air so as not to wake it. Everyone exhibits aspects of the spectral, walking through walls and through each other, and speaking in dead languages which, though weighted with bulk and portent, approximate the harmony of angels. Signposts gesture to a glistening Yes, and time, as it said in the guidebooks I once dismissed as mere fantasy, runs backwards.
24/7
The chemist opens her heart to let the children in. Grazed knees and ears that ring like cracked church bells. Throats raw as condemned buildings. She doles out lint and lozenges, with gloved hands and loving eyes that say: Yes, I have sat alone, watching moths circle the antiseptic flame. Many burn, but those which survive are transformed for the remainder of their brief and beautiful lives. We are all sisters and brothers of the powdery wing; all flirtatious with the rush of extinction. The children all love her, kissing the hem of her white coat before erupting back into the sun. They will remember her when they have children of their own. They will remember her when their wings turn to dust.
Oz Hardwick is a European poet who stumbled into academia through not paying attention. He has published “a dozen or so” collections, most recently the chapbook Retrofuturism for the Dispossessed (Hedgehog Poetry Press, 2024). He has won many prizes, mostly for an extensive knowledge of 70s music trivia, but some for poetry. Oz is Professor of Creative Writing at Leeds Trinity University.
