Getting a Glimpse (Part 6)

Prize night is nearly here! I write this sitting in our gallery space awaiting the arrival of artists and their art. While I wait I thought I would share another glimpse inside our prise winning entries...

Here then is an extract from Acer saccharum (Pipeline) by Mara Adamitz Scrupe

Getting a Glimpse (Part Four)

We decided one glimpse inside our prize winning entries wasn't enough... 

So here is a second, an extract from award winning short story The Moving Room by Dominic Erskine.

He stood among a dozen rows of dusty strangers and shuffled forward a step with the rest of them.  An old man, and slow, he knew where he was but it was not clear to him how he came to be there.  He would establish a few facts. “I had a wife.  I had a life.  Munich shines. It always shines, the clear light of the plateau never leaves me now, it is as it has always been.  Munich shines.  Yes, München leuchtet.”  

One of them had mumbled.  In front of the assembly the young officer glanced up from his desk.  In this heat it was no doubt a complaint.  He undid his top button and stretched pleasurably, affecting to ignore the the downcast faces before him.  Dragging his boot heels on the bare planking, he resumed his place. “Open the door.”  The door opened on to the white gravel yard.

The old man’s revery continued: “Lovis shone too.  I picture him still with a glass of champagne in one hand and in the other his wife’s breast, as she sat on his knee, dress down to her hips, and a summer feast behind them. That’s how I remember Lovis Corinth:  that’s how he painted it!  No wonder in the end they had enough of us.’

“That must have been the last reunion.  Liebermann had come to visit, Slevogt was there, and the others.  I remember Max twirling his moustaches and the children in their sailor suits and knickers playing cache-cache, darting about like mice.  Someone had just come back from town, he told us…”  

The old man paused, he hardly knew he was speaking, none of the strangers around him seemed to be paying attention; unconcerned, perhaps.  Besides, he was only quiet.

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Getting a Glimpse (Part Two)

We are sitting here enjoying The Small Publishers Fair, having some wonderful conversations and sending copies of Elbow Room off to new homes. But for those that can't make it to the fair (and for those that can) we thought we would share another glimpse inside our prize anthology.

For today then, here is an extract from one of our award winning poets, Dual by Maria Isakova Bennett.

Dual

    Reflections on work by Saloua Raouda Choucair

He sketches the first move, rotates clay,

eases out air. His fingers cast curves.

 

The form coils like a belt still warm from wearing.   

She traces the second move