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charliebaylis5 · 1 month ago

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Han Kang

(in celebration)

collaged from Han Kang’s The White Book

My mother’s first child died, I was told, less than two hours into life.

I was told that she was a girl.

It was early winter, the first frost of the year.

When you were young, which brought you close to sadness?

‘White as a moon-shaped rice cake’

Colour and texture transformed by heat and steam.

A face as startlingly pristine as that.

*

I still have a black-and-white photo of the two of us.

My one vivid memory.

Rather than reaching out to tousle soft fur,

my arm stays clamped to my side.

#han kang #noble prize 2024 #poetry

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charliebaylis5 · 5 months ago

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write privaledge

There came a point in Salomon Weise’s mesmeric burst onto the literary scene when he felt he had reached the peak of literary success, namely, receiving a blowjob from Phoebe Glass while studying the bookcase of an unnamed but more successful poet. In the library of the unnamed but more successful poet. In the seaside mansion of the unnamed but more successful poet.

Salomon made a mental note of the authors on the bookcase. Sarah Kane. Frank O’Hara. Jenny Erpenback. Salomon Weise. [own book deposited superciliously on the shelves]. He recorded the names partly out of boredom, partly on the lookout for more literary ideas to steal, and partly not sure what he really needed to do with his mind in the essentially passive act of receiving a blowjob. He trained his eyes thirty degrees, like a camera, and looked out of the large open bay window at the partygoers below.

Solomon Weise returned to the kitchen where he began scraping the insides out of a table full of samosas while telling Phobe Glass, who had followed him down the stairs, he was allergic to all foods, by which he meant he: lactose intolerant, nut intolerant, shellfish, sulphate ridden, sugar overdone, terrific, sub-terrific, you name it. It. Phoebe clung to his every word. She had formed a genuine attachment to Solomon after a few dates at the zoo where he threw pandas at the pandas.

On reflection, at another tawdry launch of Peckham Wizards Fanzine launch, on an uncomfortable seat in the Southbank Centre, towards the back of the auditorium, as the unnamed but more successful poet read a poem about the lakes of Michigan for upwards of three hours straight. Eyes widened on and on down an ever narrowing lane. Wide. Narrow. Wide. Solomon thought to himself it could be better. Oh it could. Siamese twins with the same glorious dreams. He needed two Phoebe Glasses both equally pretty, both willing to perform sex act for his pleasure alone. At the same time. He texted Phoebe about his plan.

She never texted back.

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fan fiction based on Sam Rivere's Dead Souls.

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charliebaylis5 · 5 months ago

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