archive - issue 14

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  • Title
  • Date
  • Random
  • /

    By Ruth Barker
    On the QWERTY layout of my computer keyboard, the symbol / appears beside the questioning symbol ?. They are represented together on the same key, and
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  • Apartment / Containers

    By Vincent Bezuidenhout
    These diptychs are the start of a series of images I have been working on regarding the visual landscape we choose to surround ourselves
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  • I returned home after my first year in college to discover my younger sister had turned gorgeous. This was a disappointment, but not an
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  • Butterfly

    By Adriana de Barros
    The pupa, a silk wrap of emotionsIsolated, within breathing, wanting to bethe intense pronoun of selfIt is silly to be one's own pronounShe giggles
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  • Collage

    By Claudio Parentela
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  • Drag and Snap

    By Leigh-Anne Niehaus
    This series is inspired by the childhood game of "snapdragon", which allows for simplistic and delightful decision-making through random selections of colour and number.
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  • Evidence of Life

    By Tamlyn Martin
    Below is an extract from a series of 11 poems created in parallel with visual artworks. 5. Memories laced with visceral realityFlooding herThe gentle
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  • Forward! Slash!

    By Travis Lyle
    You think you're a forward-thinking kinda person, do you? Lemme be the one to break it to you, sunshine – you're as lame as the
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  • Human/Nature

    By Lydia Anne McCarthy
    This series explores moments between nature and human beings that are at once idealistic and unsettling. Each picture is an independent narrative, but placed
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  • Immigrants

    By Stanley Onjezani Kenani
    you want to livenothing else.you leaveto liveyou swimor like fresh sardinesyou are packedin boatsyou leaveto live.  you leavegold in the belly of Africaoil in
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  • In Between

    By Tania van Schalkwyk
    Raised in an Arabian land of heat, fire and temper,sometimes the calm of England clamps downlike damp in a bathroom with no windowand a
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  • Letter to the Editor

    By Elan Gamaker
    Dear Sir/Madam I should like strenuously to object to the subject matter ("/") of your current issue. It must first be mentioned, however, that it
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  • Or: a line drawing

    By Gabeba Baderoon
    Pencil and nothing. Her face turned almost entirely away. Forehead, cheekbone,jaw,the bun low in her neck,shoulderand down,the long linejust enoughthen left alone.
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  • p u n c t u a t i o n

    By Ula Einstein
    Einstein works with a diverse range of media, including drawings and installation with fire, thread, and blades. The series of drawings and installations with
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  • PATCH

    By Sean Hampton-Cole
    Keys. John speaking. 'Lo?Good morning. May I speak to Bob Mitchell please?Bob in Bonds?I'm not really sure. I'm trying to...You want extension 125. This
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  • Pretty Babies

    By Peregrine Honig
    With the premise that "/ " presents what is IN and what is OUT, the "Pretty Babies" series explores the fashion industry's well-published and syndicated DOs
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  • River Bank

    By Mario Sughi
    The symbol / is intended initially as a symbol of division. A real or unreal line divides the girl from the water, the girl from
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  • Scissor

    By Charlotte Gait
    There was a time when you and I were connected by iron, acid, vitamin and blood. Where every mouthful I took was with the
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  • Seasaw

    By Sol Kjøk
    Here, the motif is conceived of as a seesaw (the typo in the title is intended, as this drawing is part of a series
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  • Series Seven Up

    By Noel Fignier
    Text by João Branco Kyron, HipnóticaThe collision is imminent and in the fraction of time left, the eyes shut and the vision is superbly
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  • A battle over samoosas between the snobbish Cinderella and a homeless electrician is mediated by Cinderella's boyfriend JJ. The samoosa battle is conflated with
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  • Wayne Porter, freelance journalist, donned his anthropologist's birthday suit and hit the bowling alley. Bar the bowlers hat tipped gently off centre, the man
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  • The Incised Wound

    By Joanne Hichens
    "Please, for me, Dave," I placed my hand on his, and really, no begging, just asked him nicely, "Lay off the booze tonight." Whether
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  • He had been driving for hours through that unstable, somnambulist night when he fell asleep at the wheel. He awoke with a start and
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  • The space between.

    By Mehita Iqani
    It's a handy little line, the one that we use to make our options known. Either/Or. Paper and ink or binary code? Its clichéd,
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  • Un Hombre Fuerte

    By Tamo Vonarim
    Sun.star.kid: Written these words are, at times of a subconscious flow – whether they are mine, I don't know. All I know is that I
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  • Unbroken Awareness

    By TENDAI MWANAKA
    My life is now a floating shellI am a vessel on that river.The storm, the ship, the sea,Whose shores we lost in crossing.  I
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  • Untitled

    By Wilhelm Saayman
    This series of images, made using pen and ink, photographs and Photoshop, explore alternate/dream realities.
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  • Untitled

    By Aryan Kaganof
    /At R550 rand I thought I'd rather die/ My mother: can I trust this woman?/ I thought the Romans were coming, dinkum/ …and always
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Kerry Hammerton

Kerry Hammerton

Kerry Hammerton has published poetry in various South African and UK literary journals. These are the lies I told you, her debut poetry collection, was published by Modjaji Books in 2010. Some of her poems appear in the anthology Difficult to Explain, (2010 Finuala Dowling ed.) Other poems appear in the following anthologies: Africa, My Africa (2013 Patricia Schonstein ed.), For a Rhino in a Shrinking World (2013 Harry Owen ed.), Heart of Africa (2014 Patricia Schonstein ed.), and Hallelujah for 50ft Women (Bloodaxe Books 2015). The Weather Report, her second collection, was published in 2014.

Website URL: www.kerryhammerton.com
Sunday, 14 June 2015 18:39

My Other Life

I am better at my other life,

where no-one is dead,

where sadness doesn’t press

its cold weight into my sternum

creep along my clavicle,

breathe into my spine.

 

Where my mother remembers

to wear matching shoes

and doesn’t need someone to

hold her hand

while she looks for a will,

the deeds to the house.

 

Where we don’t have to hear

condolences fall like heavy stones

into the dry well of our grief.

Where I don’t feel my own mortality

at night: black sky, stars,

the milky way.
Sunday, 01 March 2015 10:49

How poets count

one four line poem

              published in a poetry magazine

              the ink from your complimentary copy

              stains your fingers

 

one six line poem

               published in an online magazine

               you email a link to all your friends

               no-one reads it

 

two more poems

               published online,

               on Facebook you get

four likes

              and your ex asks if

one of the poems is about him

 

three poems submitted

               to a new anthology

one poem is accepted

one glass of wine to celebrate

 

               you get invited to a poetry reading

four people listen to you read

one of them is your best friend

              the other is your ex

 

               you get together with your ex

               and write a lot of poetry

               your poems are accepted in journals

 

               you break up with your ex

               who now becomes your ex ex

               you write even more poetry

              and more of your poems are accepted in journals

 

one full length collection published

              you are invited to a poetry festival

ten people come to your reading

one of them is your mother

             you sell

six books

 

one review in a newspaper

one blog interview

one bottle of champagne

           to celebrate
Friday, 09 August 2013 16:32

an execution is not simply death

if I were on death row
would I beg them to execute me

and choose death by bullets
or the gas chamber
 
would I shout my innocence
to my last breath
 
would I be the last woman
publicly hanged

the last person 
executed in britain australia
 
would I order a last meal
of a single pitted olive
 
or two pints of
chocolate chip ice-cream

 would I be a foreign
drug smuggler in a chinese

jail or interred for social
crimes in iran or singapore

or a political prisoner
in apartheid south africa

would I lay my neck
on a stone slab allow

the hooded man to behead me

or feel the cold bite
of the guillotine

would I let them stone me
hounded by village scandal

or burn me at the stake

would the other inmates sing
me to my death

or would I walk
quoting philosophers?
Friday, 09 August 2013 16:28

Untitled

Untitled

The skin on the underside
of my wrist looks soft
and friable. Not white but pale

like buttermilk. A tendon
stands out like a painter
straining to keep a boat

tethered to the dock. Veins
and arteries run alongside,
secondary roads, roads

that transport blood. I know enough
to cut down, to cut vertically,
not across, not horizontally.

I would choose, though, to wade
through breakers to reach
a wide and demanding ocean.
Tuesday, 29 June 2010 02:00

What is your greatest achievement?

Me. I want to shout. Me.
Just being me. Being alive.
Navigating this planet. I made it through a divorce,
narcotic kids, changing careers.

Me. I'm the Superwoman of my
life. I'm the champion.

The words that fall out of my
mouth: deadlines; consolidation;
project teams; opportunities;
task-driven; co-ordinating.

Sometimes I'm asked:
who do you admire the most?