Ashley

Creative Nonfiction | Issue 24: Undone

In Alison Fishburn’s flash creative nonfiction piece “Safety,” the technical, detailed nature of the writing subverts expectations and takes on new meaning as the story behind the objects being described is revealed. 

I wear a powerful spring on a cotton cord around my neck. The spring is a thick steel coil coated dark blue, about two inches long. It used to be compressed to half its size inside a device called a brake cartridge, a safety mechanism the size of my hand, plugged into a table saw that uses electrically-charged saw blades. Should one of these electrically-charged saw blades come into contact with a conductor of electricity—such as a finger in the wrong place at the wrong time—the electric signal to the blade changes, activating the brake cartridge within five milliseconds. Within those five thousandths of a single second, while a finger and life attached to it hang in peril, the powerful spring is released, sending a molded aluminum stop into the spinning blade, reducing the blade’s rotational speed from 4,000 times per minute to zero, saving the finger and life attached to it.

I found the spring in the bottom of an industrial-sized plastic trash bin in a woodshop where I sometimes work. What caught my eye first, though, was the discarded ten-inch blade embedded into the aluminum stop of the brake cartridge next to the spring.

Among wood scraps and sawdust, the combined object was mesmeric, machine versus machine, a snapshot artifact of averted danger; safety.

I pulled the blade from the trash bin for a closer look. I inspected the way the curved teeth of the blade bit all the way down into the aluminum stop. I imagined witnessing the moment of impact and I wanted a souvenir for what I had imagined. I dropped the blade back into the bin, opting to keep the powerful spring because it fit inside my pocket.

I have another souvenir, an airbag I never look at.

The airbag is a sheet of white nylon that used to be compressed inside the steering wheel of a you know where this is going.

Should a car come into contact with an obstructive object, and crash, an array of electric sensors in the car are triggered, activating the car’s safety system.

Within five hundredths of a second, the number of airbags deemed necessary for the type of crash detected are deployed. In the steering wheel, a canister of sodium azide, a white odorless poison, is lit by an electric match, causing a chemical reaction. The sodium azide is converted into nitrogen gas and inflates the airbag, preventing the driver’s head and chest from hitting the steering wheel.

I found my souvenir airbag on a car in a tow lot, the collateral damage of a head- on crash with a charter bus. I was told the driver of the car had died instantly because not even the airbag could have saved her life.

What caught my eye first at the car was my dad, because he was retrieving personal effects from behind the driver’s seat. Then he wailed, falling backward, catching himself on the ground as though the ground had prevented him from falling any further. I was standing next to the car, looking through the space where there should have been a door, observing the driver’s seat, the painted outline of my sister’s figure in stains of char and blood. I took a step toward my dad but stopped because I saw what sent him falling. And I looked away from the pool of liquid red on the floorboard behind my sister’s outline, and the first thing I saw when I looked away was the steering wheel bent upward in a ninety-degree angle and the deflated airbag laying on top.

I went to the airbag. I inspected the piece of cloth that couldn’t have saved my sister’s life. And I imagined the airbag was the last thing to touch her when she was still alive. And I decided I would keep the airbag as a souvenir because it was a final moment with my sister, an artifact of our missed goodbye.

Sometimes I hold the cotton cord on either side of the powerful spring around my neck. I rotate the cord until the motion spins the spring. I pull the cord tight, watching the spring snap to a stop. I do this again and again because I like watching what I can control.

Other times, without thought, I wrap the cotton cord around my hand like a rosary. Or I’ll pinch the spring with my fingers, a futile attempt to compress it to the original size it would have been inside the brake cartridge, before it was activated within five thousandths of a second, which is ten times faster than an airbag could save a life.

Alison Fishburn is an American writer living in Paris, Ontario. Originally from Florida, she has written and self-produced three full-length plays in New York City, studied acting and playwriting at The Barrow Group, and studied and performed improv at the Magnet Theater and Upright Citizens Brigade. She has an art degree from Brooklyn College and an MFA in creative nonfiction from University of King’s College in Halifax. Her writing has appeared on Longreads, The Outline, and SAND. She is currently writing a memoir about her younger sister’s unexpected death in 2013. This piece appears in SAND 24.

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Safety by Alison Fishburn Read More »

Click here for a video preview of SAND 24
Click here for a video preview of SAND 24

Nearly 100% of the work we publish in SAND is chosen from open submissions. Below, SAND Art Editor Alia Zapparova provides insight into the selection process and reveals what stands out in the submissions pile. In this article, Alia discusses why Elise Carlton’s series “Court” was chosen for publication in SAND 24.

“The woodcuts that make up Elise Carlton’s series ‘Court’ were created using offcuts from another work. The artist describes them as material and emotional negatives. Like photographic negatives, they have a kind of opacity, they point beyond themselves and make you wonder about the image that they could potentially reveal.

“And they’re visually intriguing in their own right. The marks and forms are both simple and inscrutable. They include everyday details, such as a toothbrush, and abstract shapes that look like broken maps of unknown cities.

“The artist describes her work as dealing with non-linear narratives and themes of identity and historical amnesia, and the blend of the everyday and the abstract evokes personal and social archeologies, about ways to unearth the unsaid and unsayable, by arranging and re-arranging its fragments.

“This is why I loved this work: its visual power in the use of leftover materials and the space it opens up to reflect on the potential of the leftovers of our lives.”

Elise Carlton works across mediums and genres to construct and populate non-linear, up-for-edit narratives. She explores themes of identity, duality, objectification/personification, historical amnesia and extinction, and is tied to performance. Carlton’s work has been exhibited in London, Mexico City, and Lisbon, among other places, and printed in SAND, Poet Lore, Roundtable Journal, and Brenda Magazine. Carlton is originally from Texas, but since 2017 has been based primarily in Lisbon, with a stint or two in Syracuse, New York.

Why We Chose It: Art by Elise Carlton Read More »

Click here to read an article on why our art editor chose artwork by Amber Iman for publication in SAND 24
Artwork by Amber Iman. Ridges wind to form a map of a family member's travels

Detail of “Dar” by Amber Iman, published in SAND 24

Nearly 100% of the work we publish in SAND is chosen from open submissions. Below, SAND Art Editor Alia Zapparova provides insight into her selection process and reveals what stands out in the submissions pile. In this article, Alia discusses why Amber Iman’s “Dar” was chosen for publication in SAND 24.

“Amber Iman’s ‘Dar’ is a complex and intricate large-scale etching inspired by her grandfather’s movements as a railroad engineer for the east African railways.

“Visually, the piece is stunning in its quiet beauty. I couldn’t stop looking at the delicate winding lines, following them deeper and deeper into the picture, watching them almost dissolve and reappear. Even without knowing the context, it’s clear that the work refers to maps and journeys, traces and lineages.

“I love the way that the inexhaustible details evoke the work of memory and forgetting, pointing to time and history as physical imprints and journeys through space as multiple timelines. The care that went into making the piece is also evident: the painstaking, precise work of etching the lines reflects the attention to the personal and social histories that the artist is tracing.

“It’s a powerful work that both subverts and fully exploits the capacities of its medium to make visible a deeply personal exploration embedded in a social context.”

Amber Iman is a multidisciplinary artist working primarily through printmaking, photography, and mixed media. She is curious about concepts including hybrid identity and the erasure of history while documenting her artistic process. At its core, her work depicts a story of migration and memory as means for reflection.

Why We Chose It: Art by Amber Iman Read More »

Image of poetry in translation. Click here to read an article on why literary translators should submit to literary journals.

Since our founding in 2009, SAND has published work in translation from at least 18 languages. Although journals like ours eagerly await the arrival of translations in our submissions piles, many translators don’t think to submit to literary journals. This is despite journals being a great way to expose emerging translators and to build the reputations of talented authors whose work is still obscure or unknown in English.

Wanting to get other publishers’ take on the issue, translator and former SAND Editor in Chief Jake Schneider reached out to other magazine editors from the Society of Authors Translators Association Symposium and in the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses (CLMP), of which SAND is a proud member. Within hours, he received an outpouring of insights, including comments from the following editors, all of whose publications eagerly accept translated submissions.

  • Jennifer Acker, editor-in-chief of The Common, which is devoted to “deepening our individual and collective sense of place”
  • Curtis Bauer, translation editor of The Common who also translates from Spanish himself
  • Dede Cummings, editor of the magazine The Hopper and publisher of Green Writers Press, both with a strong environmental focus
  • Ann Kjellberg, editor of the journal Little Star, but also the literary executor of Joseph Brodsky and a former contributing editor of the New York Review of Books
  • Mindy Kronenberg, editor of Oberon Poetry Magazine
  • Minna Zallman Proctor, editor of the quarterly The Literary Review (TLR), established in 1957

Should a literary translator submit their work to literary journals?

Ann: Of course! Who could think otherwise? How else do you expect the awareness of an author and the eagerness to invest in and read their work, to spread beyond specialists in the language? If an author is already well-known in English, there is the necessity of making the case that you have something to offer beyond easily available existing translations.

Minna: Translators, especially emerging translators, don’t often think of submitting works in progress to journals because they are focused on book-length projects for book publishers. Changing that paradigm should really just take a nudge from journal editors – who should do a better job of opening their pages to translation, and reaching out to translators to solicit new work. And translators will certainly have an easier time proposing a book-length translation if parts of it have already appeared in literary magazines. The extra exposure provided by a magazine publication is great for an emerging translator given that the business of literary translation has such a strong word-of-mouth component to it.

Poets/poetry translators should definitely be looking at magazine publication from the start of their collaboration. Most of the poetry books that come out in the US are comprised of poems that have all already appeared in lit mags. That’s the model that’s already in place for poetry and so poetry in translation works similarly. Poetry translators should familiarize themselves with the poetry-literary magazine model so that they can use it effectively.

Curtis: It definitely helps people learn about the new voice in a new language. Take a look at Shearsman Books: their webpage more or less says that if you, as a translator, haven’t published a substantial portion of the book of poems in journals in the UK and US, they won’t even look at it. From a publisher’s perspective, individual publications indicate that there’s an interest in the work in literary circles, and that interest tends to lead to better sales.

 

Have you published excerpts of a translation project that was later published as a book?  Did the magazine publication help?

Dede: A few years ago, I received an email from a translator [Ellen Skowronski Polito] who wanted to know if I would write a letter on her behalf so she could enter for an [ASLE translation grant]. I wrote to say that we were very interested in her work translating the work of a Spanish poet, José Manuel Marrero Henríquez, and that if all went well, we would very much like to publish it. Jenna Gersie, the managing editor of our literary magazine, The Hopper, attended the ASLE convention in Detroit and the award was announced with the translator winning! We then made a firm offer to publish the actual book [Landscapes with Donkey]. The editorial process proved to be quite lengthy, but rewarding. One of our editors at Green Writers Press [Anna Mullen] has a knowledge of the Spanish language, so I signed her to work with the translator to make sure that every word rang true to the tone and meaning of the original.

Curtis: Yes, several. The reasons are obvious, as stated above, but there’s also the publicity aspect. One of the things I love about The Common (there are many) is that the journal publicizes the work that comes later: if I publish a poem there, and then a book comes out, I can tell the editors and they’re going to make that announcement in the journal and on their social media sites. The Common isn’t the only place that does this, but it’s one of the few that does it really well.

Ann: I have. […] It is hard to say how precisely this helps. A good source of evidence about this would be editors at publishing houses who publish a lot of translation. Book editors have told me on the whole that they wished they had time to read literary magazines more. We do struggle on our end with readership and distribution – on the other hand, of course, it helps the translator, when going to an editor, to be able to say that parts of this have been published in X, Y, and Z. As an editor myself, I am aware of magazines I appreciate, and I notice when they have given a writer or translator the thumbs up. I think one has to make a somewhat amorphous case that increasing the presence of an author in English is a drop-by-drop process and anything you can do to support this will help a book publisher to commit to your project and will help readers to respond to it. An unknown name in a foreign language is a hard sell, likewise a redundant translation. Literary magazines are your natural ally: they are looking for great work, and you are looking to be seen. Unlike many of their submitters, your writer is a known quantity in their original country and likely to deliver as a writer.

 

On magazines soliciting translations, and where they look for them.

Ann: When I find an author I like I try to find out if there is anything new on the way; I even try to put authors together with translators. I have reached out, for instance, to winners of the PEN and Sontag prizes for works in progress to see their manuscripts. 

Minna: Translators who have been hired by a publishing house to translate literary works are often not included in the serial rights process at all, so they have to leave publishing of excerpts to the publishing houses. The publishing houses that publish more translations are small and independent and often running on limited resources and are not good at getting early excerpts out to magazines (which have long lead times – if we wait for review copies to arrive we usually wouldn’t have time to consider and schedule an excerpt). And literary magazines often don’t have the resources to scour catalogues to look for excerpts. Literary book publishers and literary magazine publishers should work together, because translations – whose authors are often unknown abroad – need more exposure in the literary marketplace to get to readers. Translators can help in this process if they have connections to literary magazines and if the publishers are open to suggestions – even when they are not actually part of placing serial rights.

TLR tries to reach out to publishers for forthcoming work. We’ve found we have to do extra legwork on our end to get publishing houses to think of submitting to us. Again, it’s about forming relationships and keeping up with what people are working on. 

Of course the most important way to know about possible excerpts is through relationships with translators. If we hear from a translator about an interesting work in progress, we’ll approach their publisher to see if there’s something from it that might work in terms of length, and timing. We make a very deliberate effort to engage translation. To that end we have editors at TLR who are focused on soliciting and evaluating works in translation. We’ve definitely found that it’s not a genre of literature that just arrives in the slush pile; we have to reach out for it.

 

On rights to publish translations.

Minna: Most literary magazines are even more under-resourced than small presses and so most of us ask translators to only approach us with projects that they have the rights to – or projects in which they have the author’s permission already to send out for publication. If translators don’t have their permissions in order, most magazines won’t be able to publish. This is very different from how publishing translations work with a book publisher, because in all cases it is the responsibility of the book publisher to seek out and acquire translation publishing rights. Lit mags are the only publishing entity that asks translators to do that work. (Explaining this structure to a room full of seasoned translators can cause gasps of dismay and outrage.) But lit mags for the most part do not have the money or legal experience to deal with translation rights, so that’s how it is. It’s a good idea anyway for translators who are doing a translation for love (rather than under contract – where they don’t have the serial rights anyway) to know the situation with the rights so they don’t spend time on a project that’s already been promised elsewhere.

 

Do you edit translations?

Jennifer: We accept unsolicited translations, and we also commission translators to render works into English, especially for our Arabic portfolios. All pieces are thoroughly edited from an English-language point of view, and our editors work closely with the translators, and often the authors as well, to arrive at the best possible English-language version.  The collaboration can be somewhat unwieldy, given the multiple people reviewing and consulting, but we find we are still able to retain the author’s original voice and stylistic choices. 

Ann: I definitely edit. I usually feel that my suggestions are consistent with an extrapolatable underlying text, and I am counting on the translator to correct me if not; it is a back-and-forth process. In the case of a living author they often participate.

I have been grateful when translators and publishers from whom I am publishing translated work are willing to excerpt it in ways that purists might challenge (The author didn’t mean for it to end there!), in some rare cases even restructuring work. In the later case, one says, “adapted from” in an author’s note or a credit line. One would ordinarily only do this with a living author. I think that it helps to make the work available to an audience and shows the author in a beneficial light.  When translators are able to step back from what might call a dogmatic allegiance to the original, it can often create good opportunities for the work, in the right hands and under the right circumstances.

 

How do you handle edits if the original was already published in its current form, potentially in a language you can’t read?

Mindy: We recently included Korean translations and conferred with the scholar/translator when small inconsistencies were discovered within her own submissions (some of which had previously appeared in other publications). Rules for languages can vary (and dialect and time period can determine linguistic tradition). Admittedly, these were not “substantial,” but one has to try to check for accuracy so that the translation is true as possible to the original work.

Curtis: When editing translations, even when I don’t read the language – I’m thinking of an Israeli poet I published a few years ago (I don’t read Hebrew) – I listen to the English. If there’s a problem, I usually hear it when I read it out loud. In the case of the Israeli poet, I asked the translator about a few lines that I found problematic, how they were constructed in Hebrew and the choices she made in her translation. That evolved into a more focussed conversation about grammar and metaphor (the metaphor in the poem seemed odd, and I wondered if it was “odd” in the original, too; it wasn’t), and ultimately the translator resolved the “oddity” that I heard. I guess what I’m getting at here is that I read the poems and stories and consider their complexities and nuances in English first; if something catches my attention, I mark it as a point for a conversation about the text; that conversation usually leads to a conversation about translation choices and requires that we look at the source text and the translation.

 

Have you taken risks on a translated work that would be unlikely to be published as a book?

Ann: Certainly. I have often excerpted pieces that are strong on their own when I had reservations about the whole. In cases like that I think I am giving the translator a leg up! Publishing a book is a much bigger financial gamble than including a piece in a literary magazine, but seeing that some of a translation has been published before may help to give a book editor confidence, and suggest some ideas about how an editorial process might bring out the text’s strengths.

Curtis: Of course. I think that’s the only way that “unlikely to be published” piece will eventually find its way into book form; new authors and translators needs exposure. They have to start somewhere, and I’m willing to consider work that may never find its way into book form.

 

When publishing translations, do you focus on a particular language or region?

Jennifer: The Common publishes work in all genres with a strong sense of place. It has led us to include a wide variety of international works from more than 16 languages over the last 10 years. Recently, we have begun to highlight translated works in place-specific portfolios. For example, in fall 2018, we published a 100-page portfolio of works from Puerto Rico, the majority written in Spanish and translated into English, to mark one year after Hurricane Maria.  We have also developed a particular focus on translating and publishing contemporary Arabic fiction. For six years now, I have worked with prominent Jordanian writer Hisham Bustani to select, translate, edit and publish works from the Arab world. In 2016, we published TAJDEED (Renewal), entirely devoted to contemporary fiction from the Arab world, representing 26 writers from 15 countries. This momentum has continued so that we are publishing a special portfolio of works translated from Arabic every spring – in 2018, we published a portfolio from Jordan; and in 2019 we are just about to release our Syria portfolio in Issue 17.

We are currently putting together a call for submissions for Lusophone portfolio, works from and about the Lusosphere – Portuguese-speaking countries and their diaspora. We’ve found these portfolios not only allow us to publish a diverse array of writers, but help us find new readers. These issues are also very popular among teachers who use our The Common in the Classroom program.

 

Do you hold translations to a different standard than originals?

Curtis: I don’t think so. I hold both to a very high standard. 

Ann: No. I expect translations to hold up as a literary experience: they don’t get a pass because they are translations.

 

Do you have any other advice for translators submitting to magazines?

Ann: Only, please do it! It seems so valuable to me. Try to identify sections that are free-standing and give the editor a choice. Offer to provide more if they want. 

Curtis: Yes! Be open to a conversation with editors about multiple aspects of the work. I often encounter translators who are unwilling to engage in a conversation about polysemy. That’s one of the things I love most about translations, so I often ask translators to reconsider word choice and syntax.

Minna: Keep an eye out for literary magazines that publish work in translation and submit to the ones you like best. Tell the translators that TLR loves work in translation. 

Mindy: Think of it as a process of literary outreach, and discovery for readers.

 

Some of the comments above were made as part of a panel about literary magazines at the 2019 Society of Authors Translators Association Symposium. A big thank you to Ruth Martin, who is co-chair of the Translators Association and translates from the German herself, for inviting us and for facilitating this discussion at the symposium. And thank you to all the editors for sharing their experiences and agreeing, after the fact, to us posting their illuminating comments on our website. This article originally appeared on our website in 2019 and has been edited and shortened in its current form.

Why Translators Should Publish in Literary Journals Read More »

In their creative nonfiction piece from SAND 24, adoptee Kimberly Rooney (高小荣) reaches out to birth parents who will never receive their letters, reasoning that “it might be easier to track down a missing limb than to wonder what’s missing at all.” The first page of “Letters” is excerpted here as it appears in the issue designed by Déborah-Loïs Séry. 

Image of excerpt of creative nonfiction piece from SAND 24. Image text: Letters Kimberly Rooney 高小荣 Dear 爸爸妈妈, One of my greatest weaknesses is assuming that because others have experienced something that I have, there is nothing for me to say. This has hindered my ability to apologize, my ability to ask for an apology, and my ability to write. I have been told that writing is about laying bare your experiences, that even those who stood beside you cannot know your heart unless you choose to share it with them, but I still cannot arrive at words that feel significant enough to share. Perhaps it is because I am writing to you, and out of anyone, more than anyone, I expect you to understand that I exist with a deep fracture within me, as though I have been removed from myself twice over. The first when you left me on the side of the street, the second when my American parents took me across an ocean away from you. I wish it were so simply violent as cleaving off a part of myself. It might be easier to track down a missing limb than to wonder what’s missing at all. I fear I am not being clear enough. 你明白我的意思吗? I will try again soon. 你的女儿

Kimberly Rooney 高小荣 is a Chinese-American adoptee from Jiangsu Province. They now live in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with their cat Toaster, and their writing has appeared in The Offing, Longleaf Review, Chestnut Review, Waxwing Magazine, and more. They are a 2022 Best of the Net Finalist, and when they aren’t writing or working, they enjoy calligraphy, singing, and crocheting. You can find them at kimrooneywrites.com or on Twitter or Instagram as @kimlypso.

Excerpt from “Letters” by Kimberly Rooney 高小荣 Read More »

In Micaela Maftei and Laura Tansley’s co-written creative nonfiction piece, a group trip to the beach in the Pacific Northwest reveals “the currents here are not just in the water.” The first page of “Primary Bonds” from SAND 24 is excerpted here. 

Image of excerpt from SAND 24. Image Text: Creative nonfiction by Micaela Maftei and Laura Tansley. Primary Bonds. The temperature of the water in the Pacific Northwest is only acceptable if you have no appendages, if you have no backbone, or if you have enough blubber to make a thousand pillar candles thick as thighbones. Down there are spiny urchins and gliding otters; sea lions transformed from lumbering, hooting beasts into graceful dancers. Swirling in frigid currents and silent pulls, the water is a full-body experience. We creep in and it feels solid, then it feels like we’re somehow becoming it, like a drop of ink that submits and frays itself over and over until it’s completely diffused. The cold is absolute; there is no cold beyond this cold. I think I might be dying, we say to each other. There is no grace to our entrance or exit. But it's warm on the beach, late afternoon, even under the shadow of giant cedars. It’s September, and in this place September is still summer. As we sit on the sand and let this heat warm us, we notice that some of the tips of the trees have turned brown, dry, and splintered looking. Eagles survey from these uncovered places. Someone we’re with says, Trees are like people, they die from the top down. The steampunk pirates land at dusk. The sun is going down into the waves and the light is golden and the white spray comes over the rocks every six seconds or so. They crash into all this. Announcing them are half a dozen dogs ploughing down a gangplank, huge, panting, black, and sprinting wildly in circles around the beach, spit-flecked tongues lolling sideways out of their gigantic jaws. We pause and look around at the others, the locals. Someone must surely know who the pirates are; the black smoking boat is so distinctive in comparison to the zodiacs and yachts moored in the small harbour we arrived at. This place is so remote that everyone seems on a first-name basis, meeting as they must do again and again outside the general store on the dock, which is the only place to congregate here, everything focused around purchasing purpose and the balance between need and desire. But no one knows who they are, and all of us on the beach look blankly at each other as their dogs bark and the smoke pours from their seemingly self-riveted boat and our skins prickle with drying salty water.

MICAELA MAFTEI and LAURA TANSLEY have been writing together for over a decade. Their collection of short stories, The Reach of a Root, was published in 2019. They live in Victoria, BC, and Glasgow, respectively.

This excerpt from SAND 24, designed by Déborah-Loïs Séry, appears as it does in the print journal. To read more, buy a copy or subscribe at our webshop.

Excerpt from “Primary Bonds” by Laura Tansley and Micaela Maftei Read More »

Image of poem. Image text: Aea Varfis-van Warmelo Paeaean in the ουδαουδαμώς the slopped sea licks at sand slips back to seabed shoves forth and licks // the gloss wet of it all means nothing now the longing gone too and — he / empty hollow buffeted still yes the hot sand lick of sea he has trod before yes yes from water all land is land from land all water is water so he slips from one to other easy easy from land to land for a decade now one wonders why he has not mistaken one for home yet unless he knows Ithaca from the smell — one wanders / / / the hot stench of home, supple still welcomes him back ———————— κι αν μας τραγουδάει I no longer hear it the seasong the murmur of it no sound of it to me no // I have // I do / I locate Athens in the stench when the hot slick fist of summer strikes I am home — vicious sick word made for killing ///// home in the stench warm full up of it yes / the fatty pang that is longing —— truth: I left it though and truth: return is no pilgrimage truthtruth: I have no Ithaca none of us do unless forced to leave it —— who to blame in it / I’m inclined to point - O who to jab with the // the TR-/uth of how borders spasmed and altered monumental that slipstream border cicatrised on map — please the borders do do trtrace them on the sheet but in water they are nothing but layline ///// the swimmers from the east slipstream to us and little do they know — little really do they know the waters are Greece and the waters will drown them but the triumph is landing yes how cold wet sand unwelcomes cold wet hand and foot //// the triumph — sweet rotten home not that she cares πατρίδα μού she will shift them before long ——— how’s the nowthen for nationalism / σε ξέρω ξέρεις / I do I/I do /// you identify too strongly with the dent where feet have passed ////// not your step not you only sweet butter divot of marble coincidence — I know to hate you well / easy easy to ——— O —— το θαλασσόασμα — O sing for the slick sea the liquid cradle how she holds her still children __

Aea Varfis-van Warmelo is a Greek/British performance-maker and writer based in London. Her work has appeared in The White Review, Tolka, A Glimpse of, Spam, and most recently featured in the National Poetry Library’s Future Cities exhibition. She is currently a member of the Southbank Centre’s New Poets Collective.

This excerpt from SAND 24, designed by Déborah-Loïs Séry, appears as it does in the print journal. To read more, buy a copy or subscribe at our webshop

“Paeaean” by Aea Varfis-van Warmelo Read More »

Image of poem from SAND 24. Image text: By Memoona Zahid you cannot want what you do not know in daadi’s garden, we reached up to the dangling loquats forever yearning for the glow behind the fruit but never the actual fruit. above the trees – a helicopter, unreachable whirring being. never did we think to fly higher than the clouds. background noise like the ache of a single violin heard from beneath the loquat tree. a stray cat burying its face and children into the wall. we were taught the solidity of our bodies until from us poured a viscous sap of purple. like the first thrill of passing through clouds, bodies surprise in the way they are permeable. then, suddenly, we want to give everyone everything – the blackness of our pupils, the slowness of our blood as it sways inside us. what unforgiveness happens when our fingers slip around the loquat and decide to pull?

MEMOONA ZAHID is a writer of Pakistani heritage. She is a Ledbury Critic. Recent work appears in Lumin Journal, Gutter Magazine, and as part of The Runaways London project. She was recipient of the Birch Family Scholarship in 2019 and received her master’s in Poetry from UEA.

This excerpt from SAND 24, designed by Déborah-Loïs Séry, appears as it does in the print journal. To read more, buy a copy or subscribe at our webshop

“you cannot want what you do not know” by Memoona Zahid Read More »

Laura Lynes’ short story from SAND 24 transports us to a near future in which two workers at a lake resort attempt to provide guests with “the sublime experience of feeling small and alone inside Nature” despite the obvious effects of climate change on the lake experience. The two lovers escape into humor and fantasies of freedom to enjoy what might be the last days of their love. The first page of “The Lake Experience” is excerpted below.

Image of excerpt from fiction in SAND 24. Image text: The Lake Experience By Laura Lynes Above the lake, the sky is a pleasure dome of pink fading into baby blue, and several of our latest hotel guests have begun the long, shallow walk into the lake’s centre—keen, I know, for the full immersive experience. It is another hot day. The willow trees are vibrating around the rim, and the water, milky as always from the lake’s mineral base, is static. Except for the guests, only a small, attendant drone is moving. As for me I am on standby in my paddle boat, although I, too, am all eyes. I watch as a woman with a bright blonde bob lowers herself onto all fours in front of me. It is as if she already knows that the lake stays shallow right through, and yet she’s in pursuit of something still, pulling her thin body through the water now in a steadfast, forwardly writhing motion. When at one point she looks up at the sky, I do too. The pink is turning red and the whole display is deepening. If our guests enjoy the effects, they might emerge from the lake in a good mood. This thought begins my fantasy: The guests return to the hotel with a spring in their step. Gia is at the desk as usual and the guests grin widely at her and exclaim What a day! or To be alive! while lifting dripping arms into the air or slapping the desk. At this, Gia is moved to smile with all the teeth in her head, and then she blinks and the guests are gone, tucked away in the creamy folds of their rooms and 100% satisfied all round. I play this out as the guests push on with their lake-walk. The heat is beginning to throb and the skin of my legs has stuck to the polyethylene of my seat, making me unstick and re-stick myself onto a different patch. I notice that others, now, are dropping into a crawling swim and the general momentum of the group is picking up. I close my eyes to resume the fantasy. With the guests tucked away indefinitely, the drone falls out of the sky with a cartoon whoosh! followed by a wallop! when it hits the water. And so Gia and I have full access to the lake. In the beginning we laugh and laugh because we’re in love, and because the warm mineral sludge is Luxury we haven’t experienced. But then we laugh because we notice that laughing loosens up our parts. Our laughing becomes harder, insistent, undoing first our collar bones, and then the sterna between our breasts, until finally there is a full shattering and we are free.

Laura Lynes is a British-Hungarian writer, currently undertaking an MSt in Creative Writing at the University of Oxford. Her writing can be found in publications including Lighthouse Journal, erotoplasty, and Litro Magazine.

This excerpt from SAND 24, designed by Déborah-Loïs Séry, appears as it does in the print journal. To read more, buy a copy or subscribe at our webshop.

Excerpt from “The Lake Experience” by Laura Lynes Read More »

Gboyega Odubanjo

Brother

it’s funny   because the world is
burning   this day is another

i wake up at 630   now south somewhere
you wake up   the day is itself

metro become evening standard
become sleep   but today it’s autumn

and it’s been a court-mandated 12 months
and you’re driving again   the world

is burning   i don’t care   you say
you’re going to buy a tesla and 

you won’t   we won’t make
a difference will we   easy listening 

on repeat   ‘til it’s smoke
in the car   smoke in the streets

GBOYEGA ODUBANJO is a British-Nigerian writer born and raised in East London. His New Poets Prize pamphlet Aunty Uncle Poems won a 2021 Eric Gregory Award, and his pamphlet, While I Yet Live, was published by Bad Betty Press in 2019. He is a Roundhouse Resident Artist and an editor at bath magg.

This poem originally appeared in SAND 21.

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