And Still Burning. fiction by Mansour Noorbakhsh

And Still Burning We — my colleague, and I —were in Rome, Italy, in the mid 90s. We had travelled there as the engineering team of an Iranian project to work with the vendor. The Iran-Iraq war had ended and some industrial projects had been re-started in Iran. As soon as we arrived and wereContinue reading “And Still Burning. fiction by Mansour Noorbakhsh”

A Wedding Gift. fiction by Dave Kavanagh

A Wedding Gift Dublin wept like a moody middle-aged woman, her tears cascading in a saccharin sleet of cherry blossom, the park littered with their detritus. Spring is so untidy. Despite the sunshine, a breeze cut in directly across the Mourne Mountains with fingers of Baltic ice that quickly made my skin feel raw. IContinue reading “A Wedding Gift. fiction by Dave Kavanagh”

Before the Seagulls. fiction by Nightingale Jennings

Before the Seagulls Ruby was noticeable in a crowd thanks to her jet-black hair and upright posture. At age 12, people referred to her as the girl with waist-long hair. Her hair had never grown below just a drop down from shoulder-length. Ruby tried, but it didn’t help to argue even when she was ableContinue reading “Before the Seagulls. fiction by Nightingale Jennings”

Sister Thresa’s Acting Class. fiction by Pat Jourdan

Sister Thresa’s Acting Class    1 A card on the school noticeboard announced that any girl wishing to join Sister Theresa’s Acting Class should go to the hall in the lower corridor after school on Tuesdays. At four p.m. exactly, with all our homework packed into bags and briefcases, eight of us showed up. The firstContinue reading “Sister Thresa’s Acting Class. fiction by Pat Jourdan”

Memoir of a Boyhood in Cameroon and Nigeria. by John Echem

Memoir of a Boyhood in Cameroon and Nigeria  “A man can only tell where it started raining on him, but not where he’ll get dry.” —Igbo proverb Chapter 1. Mbenge Mboka i. We lived in many houses in the years of my boyhood, but the plank house on the street of Mbenge Mboka, in Mbonge,Continue reading “Memoir of a Boyhood in Cameroon and Nigeria. by John Echem”

Sunflowers. non-fiction by Susan Glickman

Theodor Adorno famously declared that “To write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.” One might just as well observe that to paint sunflowers after Van Gogh is arrogant. But how can anyone fascinated by colour not attempt this most charismatic of blossoms? For Van Gogh himself, they invited an almost scientific investigation of chromatic possibility usingContinue reading “Sunflowers. non-fiction by Susan Glickman”

Thomas Graves: Getting to the bottom of Ben Mazer’s poetry. a review by Andreea Iulia Scridon

Thomas Graves: Getting to the bottom of Ben Mazer’s poetry   “Mazer is good enough not to care for contemporary fashion” Reading Ben Mazer’s poems one after the other, or in no particular order, gives the reader the impression of what holding a diamond in the palm of one’s hand must be like: one canContinue reading “Thomas Graves: Getting to the bottom of Ben Mazer’s poetry. a review by Andreea Iulia Scridon”

Literary Spotlight with Sue Burge: Featuring Helen Dewbery

As well as being a poet and creative writing tutor, I also teach film studies, so it was a huge privilege for me to interview Helen Dewbery.  She is a brilliant film-maker with a very unusual focus.  I hope some of you will be inspired to explore combining text and visuals thanks to her adviceContinue reading “Literary Spotlight with Sue Burge: Featuring Helen Dewbery”

December Lights. a poem by Monica Manolachi

December Lights The blinds opened at night let in the moon, who paints the dreams of someone loved. When cars give hasty glances through the windows, the morning sunrays join you for breakfast. An old shop shedding a flood of glass tears reminds you of innocent hands. The hopes glimmering on people’ faces roost inContinue reading “December Lights. a poem by Monica Manolachi”

Night and Day. Oh, Heisenberg. poetry by Lauren Friesen

Night and Day We cannot see it Or feel when it arrives Even our ears are helpless In separating this reality From nothingness Except we now learn That it is not a thing Or even a million But the detritus Cast off in waves From the heart Of beating atoms Within a beating heart AndContinue reading “Night and Day. Oh, Heisenberg. poetry by Lauren Friesen”