Primers Volume Three

Aviva Dautch, Romalyn Ante, Sarala Estruch

• Publisher: Nine Arches Press
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9781911027409
• eBook ISBN: 9781911027478
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

The Poetry School and Nine Arches Press are delighted to announce the arrival of Primers Volume Three, the third year of an annual scheme which creates a unique opportunity for talented poets to find publication and receive a programme of supportive feedback, mentoring and promotion. The scheme will select three poets whose work will feature together in Primers Volume Three, a book showcasing short debut collections of work.The Primers scheme provides an important platform for emerging poets who are seeking to develop their writing and build towards a full collection of poems. With the involvement of Jane Commane (Nine Arches' poetry editor), Hannah Lowe (poet) and the Poetry School, Primers Three will nurture and support new talent that may otherwise not find an outlet. It also aims to provide an important opportunity for poets to develop their skills, work on their poetry practice, and find audiences for their work. Following editing and mentoring with Hannah and Jane, the Primers Volume Three collection will be published by Nine Arches Press, and a further series of live events will showcase the three chosen poets at festivals and shows around the country.

Sarala Estruch

Sarala Estruch is a London-based writer, poet and critic. She holds degrees in English Literature and Creative Writing from Goldsmiths College and Birkbeck College, University of London. Her poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction and reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in Wasafiri, The North, and The White Review, among others. Her work has been commended for the Wasafiri New Writing Prize and the PBS National Student Poetry Competition. In 2017, Sarala was selected for the Ledbury Emerging Poetry Critics initiative, a mentorship programme designed to redress the diversity imbalance in UK poetry reviewing culture.

England: A Love Story, or The English Dream

London, 1978

do you remember / love / that day at the student hostel on Cross Street / the way the light tilted in / at the window to settle / on two émigrés / as we waited for our keys / except now we’d arrived / we were émigrés no longer but immigrants / carrying a larger suitcase of connotations / me pale-skinned in 70s flares / European features and freshly bobbed hair / you brown-skinned in new polished oxfords / and your unequivocal Indian nose / that day the sunlight illuminated us equally / and we thought nothing of difference / only of novelty / we were in love / with a country gleaned / from school textbooks and the photographs / your mother kept in the album of her childhood / gardens with rosebushes and hedgerows / cherry-cheeked men and women chirping good morning / from behind the garden gate / neighbourly / it was not neighbourly / the way they looked at you / when you stepped onto a bus / or the names you were christened / at the restaurant where you worked / in the kitchen / suds up to biceps / hands deep / in the crud of this country / washing and washing / fingers still aching the next morning / as you took notes in law school / while back in the country of your birth / you dined with nabobs / had already received a bachelor’s degree / these days as we walk arm-in-arm down London streets / turning our eyes and ears inside-out / to deflect the stares and the curses / (Paki! Wog-lover!) / I recall the school textbooks / manicured lawns fences and gates / cherry-cheeked persons with neighbourly faces / and think yes / the English are neighbourly / as long as you stay / on your side of their gate

Kesh

When one too many crane-necked

buttoned-up Englishwomen crosses

to the opposite pavement, when he

grows tired of the mutterings that

trail him like the British clouds,

when the job interviews become

predictable and his landlord raises

the rent on his damp-infested flat

for the second time in six months

he sharpens his blade, approaches

the mirror above the sink, the stink

of bleach and mildew rioting

in his nostrils, making his eyes smart

as he unravels the skeins of navy-

blue cotton, cloth falling away

from his head as if from the body

of a woman to reveal the black

glistening ocean beneath.

As he lifts his hand, closes his fist

around the rope, he tries not to think

of Biji or her fingers washing,

combing, plaiting in the evenings

of his childhood or his father

who taught him, on the dawn of man-

hood, how to knot a patka and tie

a pagh so that if ever a person

were in trouble they would see

the turban and know to approach

not turn their head in repulsion

as they did here in London in 1973.

A prayer is lost somewhere between

tongue and teeth as he pulls the strands

taut as...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• About the Selecting Editors
• Contents
• Introduction
• Romalyn Ante
• Aviva Dautch
• Sarala Estruch
• Acknowledgements and Thanks
• About Primers: