Ishion Hutchinson

AmayaBouquet - Judith - fotografia toma directa impresa en papel epson cotton hot press 320 gr - 110 cm x 150 cm - 2014

 

A GIRL AT CHRISTMAS

The choir that cannot die.
Fish and fennel. Snow. Christmas
tree, clover and pomegranate.

For all she’s gladdened: milk
which is love dreaming in one
hand; clefts of clementine stain

the other. They cannot die,
these tribal ornaments, coral
joy, battering ceramic, peach

bones. Scotch bonnet seeds.
She then belts her savage choir
and dances herself into a festival.

*

VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ

Some meager talk of Larkin
over quiche and pâté, olives
the proclaimed ragamuffin
picked at as though our lives;

circumspect, the neutral host
blanched at pills and diaphragm,
shook her clipped head of frost,
insist he please changed from

that cold brute, to where life
is modest, the islands, perhaps,
not this social phalanx;
but he answered, none too vexed:

that’s the drivel of some bitch;
a gulf caved into her face;
the champagne flattened to piss;
cardiac breath, no one flaked,

waiting for blood on the ice,
an extremity, voice rifted
on voice; burred, tender, polite
in one spur, like crisped pomfret

forked in the eye, she said:
all solitude is selfish,
and effective only when dead;
be selfish. You won’t be missed.

*

READING LIGHT YEARS

A soft light, God’s idleness
warms the skin of the lake.
Impeachable, mind-changing
light in the mind of the leaves.
What is terrifying about happiness?
Happiness. The water does not move.
God’s idleness is everywhere.
In the October and November
inlet, the leaves sleep far
from the married corpses,
bound by a pure, inexplicable love.

*

SONG OFF THE ISLAND

I walk the midnight her voice
storm off the island into the house,
the cupboards and closets,
heaving books out of place;
I climb the whitehaired moon
of her tears bolted to furies
pacing in the hanging plants.
On each scream’s scaffold I abide,
an old soldier, full of dreams
to sleep, kneeling to the eye
in the wall, its jagged dark
in the morning braid of her love
pain; there I minister amid
what we tear down and build.

* *

Image: “Judith” (2014) by Amaya Bouquet   

Ishion Hutchinson by Rachel Elisa GriffithsIshion Hutchinson was born in Port Antonio, Jamaica. His poetry collection, Far District: Poems (2010), won the PEN/Joyce Osterweil Award. Other honors include a Whiting Writers’ Award and the Academy of American Poets’ Larry Levis Prize. He an Assistant Professor of English at Cornell University and a contributing editor to the literary journal Tongue: A Journal of Writing & Art. http://ishionhutchinson.com


Published on July 20th of 2014 in BAR(2), Poetry.



[ + bar ]


Die großen Bäume. Eine Juno-Novellette.

 Paul Scheerbart

Die großen Bäume tasteten mit ihren langen Astarmen immer heftiger in der Luft herum und konnten sich gar nicht beruhigen; sie wollten durchaus... Read More »


The Turtle & the Fox

Debora Kuan

 Take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. -Shakespeare, Hamlet

My first encounter with my colleague Ivan Fox’s... Read More »


Ukrainian Tales of Buenos Aires

Stanley Bill

In the late 1920s somebody shot and killed a Ukrainian railway worker named Mykhaylo Marusiak on a street in Buenos Aires. The date is unknown. The... Read More »


Islands

 

Gabriela Poma

The sleeping pills had finally worn off.

Her left eye opened, a slit, and she remembered to breathe.

Yo no entiendo nada de esto.

The world seemed... Read More »



» subscribe!

Newsletter