I heard children singing this morning.
The sun had not yet even grown full.
Grass wet with dew.
The scent of the wet grass.
A red glow in the East.
Red like old gold in a brass ring.
I could not see the children.
Only the black silhouette of acacias
And the shadowed bodies of giraffes moving between them,
The red and black horizon and golden clouds.
But, their song was real.
It was honest.
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This book is a limited edition, and copies are hand numbered. It will NOT be available through Amazon or other distributors. You must purchase it directly from the author or from this site. It is hard-back (not the spiral bind seen
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Regis
Excellent poetry. Enjoyed this!
Many blessings,
~Linda