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Tuesday Poem: Remnants - Jane Burn and Bob Beagrie

You know, when you look at this cover, that you are going to be taken on a journey into the unexpected. This is language gone feral, back to its roots in history, myth, ritual, and mayhem.  The subject matter is post-apocalyptic, male and female voices talking about what is left, the remnants, after a great flood. What will survive of us?  What will future archaeologists make of the fragments of our daily lives? How will our future narratives shape the incomprehensible events of our past?

The Rite of Re-invention

They bring thingemies they’ve found.
They lay ‘em at me painted feet.

Between drum beats I nayme ‘em
te place ‘em inte ower story:

this be Papalla, ysed for snaring
byrds that soar underground

this be a Circumscope ysed te channel
the gleamings o’ the niyht sky

this be an Asmeplait, we can yse it
te weave a cloth o’winds

this be a Carlinflake, a scale
from the tail o’the Galorethirst

this be a most dangerous thingemie –

an Eyedrive, it were known
te enchant and te hypnotise


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