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Sarah Howe
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a small jar of night a thousand frontiers carrying him the sky of old age continues the firing in th... Continue reading
Posted Aug 19, 2013 at The Best American Poetry
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...The sour tear-like orange was there like a clove of garlic melting in my mouth. It wasn’t a time for complaints and nobody murmured a word of discomfort. It was the silence of refugees longing for an identity foreign to this tiny, floating, motherless city. –Kit Fan, ‘BN(O)’ A fortnight ago, a story about rumour’s power to fuel a whirlwind of nationalistic indignation, stoked online and then as quickly averted, played across the news channels in China. The trigger was a photo circulating on the Chinese-language internet, which seemed to show an act of recent vandalism. In a piece of... Continue reading
Posted Aug 16, 2013 at The Best American Poetry
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[My apologies – after a gruelling flight from London to Beijing yesterday (a journey I’d made in the opposite direction a few days before, coming home for a dear friend’s wedding), I found myself feeling somewhat discombobulated by my ping ponging of time zones. And so I’m running a day behind (or ahead?) with these posts which, appropriately enough, have just acted out the very West-East transit they describe.] At the turn of the twentieth century, the monk appointed by himself caretaker of the sacred rubbish was persuaded by Aurel Stein that the explorer should be able to load up... Continue reading
Posted Aug 15, 2013 at The Best American Poetry
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If I could get a mansion with a thousand, ten thousand rooms, A great shelter for all the world’s sc... Continue reading
Posted Aug 13, 2013 at The Best American Poetry
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The Savage is flying back home from the New Country in native-style dress with a baggage of sensibility to gaze on the ancestral plains with the myths thought up and dreamed in her kitchens as guides. –Denise Riley, ‘A Note on Sex and “The Reclaiming of Language”’ This Easter I spent five weeks or so living and writing in Hong Kong. It was only the third time I had been back since my family left for England in 1991, when I was almost eight. That childhood migration didn’t surprise me or, I think, my Chinese mother (though my little brother... Continue reading
Posted Aug 12, 2013 at The Best American Poetry
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Aug 12, 2013