Monday, December 17, 2012

For Sarah Baartman-poem by Serubiri Moses

For Sarah Baartman By Serubiri Moses I have come to take you home where the ancient mountains shout your name. I have made your bed at the foot of the hill, your blankets are covered in buchu and mint, the proteas stand in yellow and white – Diane Ferrus I am coming back home. Sheets of volcanic rock lean over me like tree branches, Shielding my mouth from glaring sun, soothing my feet like a babe in bosom, I am home on these black rocks that bear markings of my forefathers, on which earth they planted trees and manicured lawns, where zebras melt into the zen-like quietness of the landscape in deep grayish browns. I am home trekking the valley with my goats, sheep and cattle. Sarah, our black bodies have left the museums now. My black body has found its silence here among the crater lakes. I return from the place where black bodies are fetishized like fertility dolls, soiled with white semen, and white curses to those to whom Black Beauty must be tamed and groomed. Sarah, I am home in Naivasha on the volcanic bench, where vapor rises from the hot tarmac like morning fog in the rain. Sarah, I am home where The road is a long tongue that drinks up the rain with a terrible thirst.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012


Literary bloggers out there this is for you: Wasafiri blogger – call for applications Wasafiri, founded in 1984, is a quarterly magazine for contemporary international literature. Based in London, the magazine publishes essays, interviews, fiction and poetry by established and emerging writers from diasporic communities and around the world. The magazine has also established an annual New Writing Prize. Wasafiri is hosted by the Open University London and funded by Routledge, its co-publisher, and the Arts Council England. We are looking for someone with a proven interest in international literature, culture and arts to blog for Wasafiri. The ideal candidate will be someone who can write in an engaging manner about topics and themes that feature in Wasafiri. This is a paid position, with at least one blog a month to be produced, which will be approved by the Wasafiri editorial staff. Blogger Specifications Must be experienced in writing on international literature and related subjects through, but not limited to, postgraduate studies or journalistic output. Ability to work to tight deadlines and take initiative. Past experience of blogging (preferred). Ability to work independently, seek out opportunities and take initiative. Good research skills and an understanding of the responsibilities that come with working for a reputable international magazine. Candidates may be based outside UK. Please send a writing sample, a brief description of some ideas for the blog and a cover letter with CV and references to Deadline for applications is 22 February 2013.

Two Strangers: Christmas poem by BNN

Two Strangers One Sunday in December, Two strangers sat near each other in church. The Pastor talked about Salvation and hope. Then he told the church to join hands and pray. The strangers joined hands and prayed for the nation of Israel and for one another. After the service, the strangers said, Bless you, to one another, and parted ways. The next day, the strangers met in the supermarket. They both reached for the past packet of milk. It spilt on the floor and they both cussed at each other. You fool! you idiot! And they parted ways. BNN 2012

Sacrifice, poem by my friend from Lancaster, Alex Evans

Sacrifice by Alexandra O’Toole Evans We loved the tenderness of this poem by Alexandra, especially its unlikely physical manifestations. A perfect way to start the week. Enjoy! . Sacrifice . When you are out there, hanging from lengths of rope, with nothing but pipes and pieces of corrugated metal to break your fall; and the sea, surrounding you, soothing you, ever threatening to swallow you whole, I am in the kitchen, shaking earth from root vegetables; scraping off their rough skins, before I chop them into pieces and drown them in scalding water. . Do you think I don’t know the risks you take? Guilt and uselessness gnaw at me every day. So I make lists, and tick things off as I go, charting my success in crosses out and cups of tea; marking my days with memories made digital and sending them to your inbox out at sea. To the east: where you hang from lengths of rope. . . . Alexandra O’Toole is currently editing her first novel and has just completed an MA in Creative Writing at Lancaster University. When she’s not writing or blogging about writing at she works with businesses to help them connect with their audiences through stories. Tags: Kumquat Poetry poetry poem Alexandra O'Toole