The City

Stav Poleg

• Publisher: Carcanet Poetry
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN:
  9781800172371
• eBook ISBN:
  9781800172388
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: European Poetry
• Index: Literature

A captivating exploration of urban life, memory, and art through experimental verse. Stav Poleg's debut collection, The City, delves into the heart of modern existence, navigating the complex landscapes of London, New York, and Rome. These poems capture the essence of cities as both physical spaces and emotional states, revealing what they contain and what they lack.

Poleg's innovative style blends lyricism with fragmented narratives, inviting readers to explore the relationship between language and reality. Through recurring motifs of rain, rivers, and mirrors, she examines themes of identity, loss, and transformation. This collection, featuring work from Lights, Camera and New Poetries VIII, is perfect for readers seeking thought-provoking and evocative poetry. Discover a new perspective on the urban world and the human condition.

85

AFTER-PARTY

86

87

ET TU?

Tu as dit sérieusement, sans distance, sans un soupçon d’ironie, le mot ‘déconstruction,’ toi, mon ami.

Yasmina Reza, ‘Art’

Look closer, here is the water

we dream. Your eye for a comic-strip

ocean, my weakness

for rain-following

streets. Look

closer—I’m always the writer

test driving the sky with no

moon—a yellow plum

by the fire, a boy

checking himself out

in a curved-mirror

spoon. So tonight, let me drive you

into my own, compositional

weather—shall we

balance a glass

on the unstable dream

of a table?

Are you with me— 88

my friend?

Have you got the wrong

message? It happened

to me a few seconds

ago, and last week

during ‘Art’ of all plays—of all

places—

when I had to look

for the things we call

keys. Language is all we are

left with—

I thought, holding on tight

to the missing back

of my seat.

89

AFTER-PARTY

Yes, there was the abundance of nightfall—

the sky with a parachute scar,

the spoon clinking

on glass.

But no one could trace, like a hymn,

the blue-vanishing

trail of an apple-throw

arc. Things like this

happen—

a hula-hoop pivoting

beauty, a wonder thrown

like a firework into

the crowd.

Some say it was only

an arrow, meaning—

an error.

Others swear they could hunt down

the deepest

of sighs.

That the transformation

from an apple into

a question

was inevitable—

that the answer was no more 90

than a boy

offsetting fire with sci-fi

animation—I mean—what

would you choose?

The possession of Europe and

Asia / the greatest of warriors’ rivers

and tongues—the green in their night-vision

maps / a doorbell and how it rings

night.

91

SATURDAY

And on the seventh day I said

F*ck—I totally left out

Language.

The shops

were closed, I...

Table of contents

• TITLE PAGE
• TABLE OF CONTENTS
• EPIGRAPH
• CAMERA
• ANOTHER CITY
• AFTER-PARTY
• NOTES
• ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
• ABOUT THE AUTHOR
• COPYRIGHT