Earth, wind

'Tis a blustery day that makes me feel strong. Restless winds remind me of those days when first I felt the fullness of my womanhood. It is the kind of strength which conquers horizons, yet has my feet planted squarely on the ground. There is no Earth Mother goddess: I am she, and must be... Continue Reading →

Such love

 I should not have done that. I should not have opened one of the few repositories of mementos I have - an old leather writing case which was once a favourite of my mother's - to look for an appropriately elegant bookmark for a gem of a book I'm reading. The book has a history... Continue Reading →

Incidental lyricism

Some poets find poetry in the most surprising places. Translators can also find lyrical bits in dry texts. When I come across them, I sometimes scribble these fragments down. These are gleanings from a few target texts I have produced in the last week, which bear no relation to the general import of the text... Continue Reading →

pure chance

dream-catcher tossed one up landed in mine carried me away held me tight moved me inward and beyond followed me around all day it is coming back again tonight Allison

Open Library is yours (ACCESS FROM HERE): now a one stop access widget!

New at euzicasa: Open Library is yours (ACCESS FROM HERE): now a one stop access widget!. Readers of the world unite! What a far cry this is from the part-time job I had for a while as a university student! I was a "shelf reader". This entailed gazing at the rows of books stacked on... Continue Reading →

Everything she knows

I taught her everything she knows. That's what the mother said on the sixteenth birthday of the eldest daughter. Not everything, said the daughter. But nobody heard her until years later when she found her true voice. © Allison Wright, 2013.

Res Poeticae

David Bowie used to do this. In an interview with British marvel, Michael Parkinson, he spoke about his creative process. David Bowie used to cut words out of the newspaper, or write arbitrary words on a piece of paper, and if my memory serves me correctly – and I believe it usually does! – he... Continue Reading →

Mottled things

Some days are not for conquering. They start out too early - meeting deadlines, deflate to the dish-washing imperative then collapse into mid-morning sleep, a willing submission to sweet oblivion. Mad rush to a luncheon outing; accept the kindness, community is kind; community is obligation too: A stroll with old folk on sunny-day country lanes after days... Continue Reading →

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