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JUST AROUND THE CORNER
The future these poems imagines feels very close, perhaps a little too close at times. The floods are lasting longer, the storms are surging and those we love are talking about the world they might be leaving behind. These things are no less terrifying because we recognise them.
And what can we do to prepare ourselves, for this future that gets a little closer every day? Do we stockpile, adapt new technologies, or resign ourselves to this weird new world, one which looks a lot like the one we’re living in?
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CRAIG BARKER
Daughter
* * *
Will you inherit my language,
speak quiet and quick, trip
over words like paving stones
with our large feet and fast apologies?
I would rather you speak less shy,
and only write poems about your children
once they exist. Your aunt just got engaged
to a nice German man and your father
shall have a niece – “double happiness,”
and I am writing a poem and fearing
the future. Will you fear it the same way?
Will you find that some things are easier to say
in a tongue that is not your own? I will wait.
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ANITA PATI
An unborn child wonders if it’s worth it
They say the seas catfight by night,
that rabbling gales scorch huddled girls?
Well, toffee, Haiti howls, that’s right.
Lizards and ladies stoned in deserts,
rows of heads popped by rocks in red little shocks?
Oh, poppet, the tongue that cocks will cop it.
And grannies and mice are vial mummies in cold countries,
mummies in others suck gun through their gums?
The choice, Lucy Locket, is yours to grace this earth.
Liver, cornea, lymph rotted from rust in water,
babies burping the expiration of suicide daddies?
Every little helps through WaterAid monthly, kiddo.
But the tremor of stars stirs furious lovers together?
Yes. Points and counterpoints horrify me.
And the migratory Brahminy kites swoon at Lake Chilika?
Pumpkin, most folk are wanting to flee.
Maybe I’ll whistle to see who picks up my tune?
Weigh it up, petal, maybe we’ll see you soon.
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ROBERT HAMBERGER
Gaza
We sat on the prom staring out to sea
when I read you a sonnet about Gaza.
We stayed quiet half a minute, until
you said I fear I’ll never live to see
the end of that. You may – but I think
it’ll drag on for ages. I understood
you were giving me permission for years
without you, making me fill a little life
after you’ve gone, hanging on
for Gaza to be solved, waiting
for no more boys to be killed
playing football on the sand.
We fell silent again, wanting Gaza
glorious and you here to see it. You. Here.
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SHRUTI CHAUHAN
Worlds
again and again people ask
me about the words that
make up my language and I
always say they are not words
they are worlds
the Gujarati word for country carries
a world within and when my grandfather places
his wrinkled hand atop my head tells me
he is returning to his desh for the winter
a world unfurls
a world of love and longing
of piggybacks across the ocean
of TB-stricken loneliness pay packets
and passports a world in
search of a better world
at the temple I hear
Om shantih shantih shantih
tucked into this plea for peace
there are tides energy
galaxies and eternity
Shantih peace for I
Shantih peace for us
Shantih peace for the universe
recalling my sister’s wedding day
I tear up at vidai
what’s that? I’m asked and I
refuse to reduce the word to
‘the final stage of a Hindu weddin...
