TThhee IInntteerrlluuddee PPooeettrryy AAnntthhoollooggyyIssue 4 – 2006

Cover Design by Alya Karame

Illustrations by Kit Kelen

Copyright © Interlude MagazineAll Rights Reserved

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A Meeting on Main 3 34 WeedByron Barrett Helen Nodding

No Grey 5 36 Animals in the House of MirrorsRia Kirby GR Gorga

You’re History 6 37 Origami Box PoemGiovanna Paternò di Sessa Andrew Nightingale

Inner Visions 7 39 Pickering PlaceJames Elphick Robin Priestley

Haikus 8 40 Two by TwoAlessio Zanelli Tom Leins

The Lemon 10 42 AngrySam March/April 2006Esme Parin Annie Nichols

Welcome to Slowtown 11 46 AboveJan Kattein Byron Barrett

Interview with Raymond QKiril Bozhinov

17 47 Dear Ken … (a letter to the Mayorof London)

Helen Nodding

Nuggets 20 50 Some Friday AfternoonsMalgorzata Kitowski Esme Parin

Nazi Dogs! 22 51 Guide to Risk in the CityRobin Priestley Lottie Child

Create your own Artist’s Book 23 52 TransmissionAmy Whitehead Stuart Newton

Seven Deadly Moons 25 54 Love of the Earliest EscapeIvana Rados GR Gorga

Attack! 26 56 The SongwriterFrancesca Ricci Michael Corkett

The Report 28 57 Film PillsKathryn Cooper Francesca Ricci

Ephemera 30 58 SubmissionsKiril Bozhinov

Ice Cream 31 59 Make Gloves not WarPaulina Eglé Pukyté Zoe Griffiths

What I love about this area… 32 60 Dublin ClosingRobin Priestley Byron Barrett

Qualia

Sometimes reality is too complex for oralcommunication – Godard

Frozen in a salty equinox of loam and sea,together with land’s consciousness I counter:

if instead of our memories,we were made of our forgettings,

if instead of seeing what we did,we reconstructed what we missed in our blinks,

if instead of secreting what we thought,we drew a circle and stepped inside?

Teeth lightning weeps bleeding branches.A dead bird has fallen from the goblet.

I collect phonemes from the dream,assemble them into a coloured graph.

Cinefilm tram-rattles industrial scapes.A diagonal hat; red walls; machines.

Malgorzata Kitowski

Slowtown is located somewhere between London and the Sea in the heart of the area earmarked for major urban developmentunder the Government’s Thames Gateway Strategy: 120 000 homes along with schools, hospitals and major transport infra-structureare to transform this region by 2016.

Slowtown has a very distincturban infra-structure whichencourages its growth whileintegrating with the naturalrhythms of the landscapewhich surrounds the town.Slowtown has a VisitorCentre, a Picture House, aMuseum, an Observatoryand a News Agency.

The town's growth is influ-enced by local conditions. Itcan shrink as well as grow -depending on the need of itsinhabitants. Architecture isused as growth initiator. Ithelps to direct and managethe growth of the town.

There is no masterplanbecause growth can occurin plan as well as in section,perspective or axonometric.It occurs at 1:1 scale as wellas at 1: 25 000 scale.

On the following pages aresome postcards receivedfrom Slowtown. You can cutout the postcard of theVisitor Centre, RainhamRadio and the SlowtownMuseum, apply glue to theback, fold them along theircentre line and send them toa friend at home.

Slowtown was created by:Jan Kattein, Zoë Quick,Chrysanthe Staikopoulou,Neill Grant, Young-BumKim, Boriss Krutiks, PhilippLammers, Emi Melin,Christian Meyer, VeronicaNiederhauser, JelenaPancevac, Elli Papacosta,Juris Platacis, IrinaSharapova, Carlos deSousa Machado and AlinaVadera between 18th Julyand 7th August 2005.

Vis

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W e l c o m e t o S l o w t o w n

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Below Zero

I’m claiming my bride,Discouraged by patience and bruised by time.Seven ivory towers stand limitless,It must be curtain night, it must be time.The long line truly is ended by this time spent straightening it,As fathers to each other and ourselvesA mind transparent is fulfilled.Jealousy, you cruel but effective healer,Deny my struggle and defeat,Attempt to remedy what anger cannot.

Know I never feared you,Know I’ll always advance at a steady pace,Until I lose my function,Out of control,Beyond concentration,It’s below zero this inspiration.

Paul Da Silva

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Whom Do They Offend?

I have witnessed holy love all worshippers to their track, and satisfaction with his daily wages pacify him.

between flowers and the sun He knows the secrets of dust and decayand self annihilation every ignorant pilgrim

of sacred caterpillars, visits their furnished temples. and the skills of Pioneer Potter, whose viceroy

in honour of the candle flame. he is, and in his vexation lies His displeasure.Aloof, stands the clayed cottage That is why I don't bow before these

This lends due veneration of the dustman, nervous torch bearers, for love thrives on honesty,

of light to my spirits, which shakes and cracks purity and truth of each partner.with their boastful stares on every turn.

but where should i seek this light

in these modern exploits? his eyes flush and his heart gushes with bloodOur pygmy stalwarts turn at this difference, but mental peace Aamir Aziz

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Why You Can’t Go Home Again

There were apples you shouldn’t have bitten,skits you should never have written,friends it was wiser to flee,punishments one can foresee,neighborhoods wholly destroyed,people you need to avoid.

There’s your sister in fantasyland,sweaters you never could stand,enemies fitter and thinner,husbands still waiting for dinner,floods from mysterious torrents,

cops who are waiting with warrants.

There are journalists wanting a quote,morals you failed to promote,merchandise bought but unneeded,questions you shouldn’t have ceded,toxins your chimney emitted,neighbors who want you committed.

If you ever went home, you’d be nuts—they’d make sausages out of your guts.

Terese Coe

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Crash Course

Sleek steel-grey vehicle speeding through sunlight to where the road peters out on the beach in slap-dashedcement clinging to brick-ends, mudpuddles of sandpitted tentwater and blocks of conglomerate stuck to torn-up

scabs of surfacing. Jump-cut jolt-started from handscrawled signs, instance is simple tense, place made overentirely to time. Kickstarted from handscratched marks, houses are outposts of distance. Eaten under wheels

stripped of all history, that progress without aftermath, where you were is where you are now set back along theaxis. A single timeless virgin present processed pointlessly forwards, translating future to now exactly blanking

past as expelled detritus. From absolutely inside, all without look like escaped killers, all seem nude, moving as

smudges at the margins of the screen, blurring to merge beyond this sealed place whose soundless murder isself-defence against all silence. Touchbutton windows effortlessly glide shut without seam to subtract self as

distinct from its backdrops, extract viewer from its sights, relieve seer of thing seen. So vision is magnified tovista eyelessly. Incommunicably itself everywhere and otherless. Slides on a layer of ensnared air through a

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