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C A R A PA C E P O E T R Y
OF MONSTERS AND MEN My Head is an Animal
After winning the nationwide 2010 battleof-the-bands competition Musiktilraunir in their native Iceland, six-piece chamber pop group Of Monsters and Men were hailed as “the new Arcade Fire” in Rolling Stone magazine. A bidding war ensued, and the group signed with Universal Music Group. Their new album ‘My Head is an Animal’ is a progression of folk-rock with a nod to their compatriots, Sigur Ros. Imaginative and rewarding listening in their own quirky Icelandic way.
MUMFORD & SONS Babel
After the rip-roaring success of their debut album ‘Sigh No More’, their sophomore attempt is very typical and, continuing in their rock-folky way, louder and raspier. This offering is fraught with near constant references to sin, salvation, and all of the pontifical hopes and doubts that lie between … most of ‘Babel’ is caught between the confessional and an apocalyptic hootenanny. A spirited effort, furious and hectic.
Shop 15, Piazza St John, Main Road, Sea Point, Cape Town, 8005 Tel +27 (0)21 434 1994 (land) Mobile +27 (0)83 310 0265 Email email@example.com www.upbeatmusic.co.za
PRICE INCREASE Very reluctantly we will have to increase the subscription price of Carapace to cope with the rising cost of nearly everything. Sadly the increases will become effective from the next issue, 93. South Africa R250 for six issues Overseas R350 for six issues UK subscribers £30 for six issues The good news is that we are receiving a wide variety of work from poets old and new. Yours Gus Ferguson
Cover/graphics by Nicolaas Maritz, email firstname.lastname@example.org or visit his Facebook page. His online gallery is at http://sites.google.com/site/ nicolaasmaritzgallery/ Other illustrations: Michael Augustin (p13/19); Sebastian Borckenhagen (p32) Poets in this issue: Mike Alfred, Keith Beavon, Jean Branford, Gail Dendy, Finuala Dowling, Basil du Toit, Oliver Findlay Price, Paula Fourie, Geoffrey Haresnape, Lynne Kloot, Mea Lashbrooke, Mzi Mahola, Adré Marshall, Jeffrey Murray, Candy Neubert, Harry Owen, Beverly Rycroft, Damian Shaw, Mark Swift, Gordon Stuart
and biographies. We know the roads. We go back a long way. We know when to go and where risk lurks. We know how to get to places: six ways there and seven back. We help each other select razor wire. 2 . Beggars never get enough of us. and those called to mosque. We note the blue clad devout on the hills. We share the ever changing light and thunder. how to avoid clowns and human missiles. We intuit those invisible lines denoting skin tones and income groups. Sirens and too many crime stories we hear.Mike Alfred Joeys We’re good chinas. Joeys knows he’s a map inside my head. our heads spin. Joeys and I. We know there’s just enough water to float the flotilla of rowboats on Zoo Lake. shared birthdays for over 70 years. a history pamphlet. We know where things are and where they were and envisage what will be when I’m gone. We’re buffeted by August winds. And as for eating and drinking.
Despite problems. after all. it’s home territory. will be happy to mix my ashes with his other allergens. our meshing place. don’t forget the trams Joeys. I know that Joeys. 3 . that wonderful time of trams. we’re comfortable with one another. Joeys and I.We delight the Brazilian avenues and listen when the birds sing thanks. my good mate. and please.
Japanese houses taking their cue from wasp homes are glued together as light as paper kites. muffled in a heavy blue acoustic where dolphin clicks escape through glassy quickness. glue and cardboard suffice for the mysterious interiors of boxes and books. sometimes it’s best to only halfunderstand the world – and slowly at that – with paper technologies. its yogurt and ivory pallors remind me of where trees have broken in storms: the painless silky grain of their moist fractures. Maori Shell Music An orchestra of the sea – musical notes blown across the lips of triton shells or through the hollow legs of hermit crabs.Basil du Toit In Praise of Paper Cultures Paper is my favourite substance: better than glass or any of the wedding metals. The instruments lifted from sea water drip like brass tubas fished out of a canal. folding carefully along natural biases into thoughtful shapes. their golden curves and silver reflections – 4 . the one containing verses the other peaches in blue wrapping.
Stringed Woodnotes Music sounds corkier. water’s deafness is unmuffled into music. baled out. a knick-knack but with sublime purposes: invented for the realisation of Bach’s mind. strung and redolent wood makes a curious object. fresh as air.the sound is emptied. more wooden on these old instruments: you can almost name the trees they came from. where would his music have gone to except such glued and polished boxes humming resonant fandangos & fugues. shines with uncompromised sunlight. wood scented by the apples their boughs gave off. Seasoned like fish in smoke-houses the stretched. the brittle corals harmonise. spring blossoms and fragrant diseases that scored the spongy bark. cleared. 5 . each tone becomes dry and salvaged. wing bones of albatross moan thin white flute sounds.
It begins with the rhythms of a primal dance: we strut to the rituals of courtship. some slant of feature that quickens ancestral blood. From behind its tarnish. The images deconstruct – high. a hairline retreats with the years. with an awkward gait. Our shapes are the consolation. Run to earth. taut new images crowd the glass with our lover’s eyes. stumble over words and the pitfalls of truth. the glass snatches its final glimpse of the faces we keep from the world. the rhythms of the dance harp on. Hot for the chase. They are all the loved and the creatures of chance. and dream the years. We fall from the mirror. On learners’ feet. the strangers we take to heart and to bed. a woman in flower. 6 . At the death of our time the moon turns over. ghosts topple from our mirrors: a grimacing girl.Mark Swift Breaking glass The only comfort has human shape. they are hunter and prey. that shock of recognition. angular bones give way to flesh. their short-lived dream of the years begins. topple into grace. they cleave to their quarry. all in pursuit of themselves. We awake to sleep. they take up the dance. a man in search of himself. in the busy dark we tangle together in familiar sheets. From our two-legged cells we focus on a blur of movement and gesture.
a jumbled room. We leave the safety of an unsafe place. a long-haul away. etched on the metal of a diehard English dusk. bright strands of childhood hair outlast a moulting man. We return to our brutal departures. always the boy on wheels that spin forever. to a sleepless image of loss. All of it: smudged towns.Countdowns For my stepson James Some days are made to remember. he is always a child. Some detritus remains – somewhere. Mine is a child on a cycle. the clock works on overtime. are in countdown. gestures and words. in the sweepings of the years. A man now. fingers cajole a familiar breast in what proves to be farewell. 7 . pedalling away in trousers too large. our footfalls dwindle on streets worn down by dead men’s boots. others we never forget: lips close on an epitaph.
you in your suit.Gail Dendy Ruminations on the Plum 1. 2. tearing my hair. the pulp smells more sweet than bitter. to let the fresh air in. or something like. Allow me. this evening. but the sheets show the blood of the plum. We have dressed for dinner. In the heart of me lies the purple plum. The pip lying in the heart of the plum as though fastened with hooks and eyes. and me with my plum-coloured dress 8 . digging up my roots. You’d think it inviolable. You have such kind hands for this brutal work. momentarily. 4. When the plum bursts from over-ripening. 3. We must open the windows. as though sewn into its purple jacket. In my heart of hearts fi fy fo fum a giant walks with his clumsy boots. In the fresh air two birds balance themselves as though treading water. you say. having dressed for dinner. and prise away the flesh from the pith.
admittedly. 9 . My heart is not like a plum at all – this is a lie. although. 6. I swear a plum lies in the heart of me. It constantly ticks to remind of the end of the world. My heart is far too much like a plum fastened with hooks and eyes and sewn snugly into its purple jacket. it’s red and moist and is carried by four little branches. 7. But one kind word. I wind myself around the island of you. it is the lie in the heart of me. and it promptly undresses. a gesture.so loose it takes on the shape of a river. Conclusion: my heart is a bloody nymphomaniac. a glance. 5. deep and moist in the root of me.
The Olympic Torch is not an ancient tradition. just before he reached the tree he was aiming for. It was introduced by Hitler at the 1936 games in Munich. This is a tradition that has endured. like boxing and the martial arts. 10 . A man known to his tribe only as ‘Kruak’ (‘The Fox’) covered 100 metres in an astounding 9. In terms of quantifiable times or distances. the lion caught up with him 20 metres later. whilst being pursued by a lion.06 metres in 1536.Damian Shaw Notes on the Olympics (to set the record straight?) The modern Olympics are so specialised that most records are truly all-time records. are difficult to quantify.2 seconds on the Cape Flats in 8625 BCE. we need to mention that an un-named Polish youth leapt an incredible 9. Unfortunately. People like Samson and Atlas did support great weights. Certain ancient disciplines. but there was no clean and jerk. however. in order to impress his classmates.
or ask why Uncle Ivan shot himself in a hotel room.Finuala Dowling Micheál Mac Liammóir came to Cape Town in 1962 And so did I. or discuss Oscar Wilde or any other parallel. 11 . My mother dressed quickly and slipped past the nuns to see him in ‘The Importance of Being Oscar’. these two lines crossed. Recognising the importance of being alive. I bawled for her milk-stained shirtfront: ‘Mrs Dowling! Gone to the theatre! And your baby crying these last four hours!’ Barely a mile from my not-nursing home a six-year-old boy tried – was tried – for flamboyant wit in a home where you couldn’t say ‘gay’. Later.
5 A slight breeze ruffles the grass like a drifter. And recall I love the quiet and long shadows of winter. I love the quiet and long shadows of winter. When the sun is low and the cold is bitter. to claim a patch however small. 3 In the silence deep I have an urge to call Out loud.Keith Beavon Winter 1 I love the quiet and long shadows of winter. As the day is ended there comes nightfall When the sun is low and the cold is bitter. Under foot the frost crackles at each footfall. Thrown as I walk in the veld through brown grass tall. 4 Alone in the veld I feel that I own it As far as my shadow reaches. 12 . 2 Finches and waxbills no longer twitter. When the sun is low and the cold is bitter.
13 . I love the quiet and long shadows of winter When the sun is low and the cold is bitter.6 Now far away I see candle lights flicker. As the cold night bites I tug on a shawl.
cool and quiet I slice red. 14 . I cannot think of life without her. raw strawberries from the garden. Proper English Daughter rhymes with Water. her crutches glinting and clicking. In the kitchen.Beverly Rycroft Outside My mother paces the farm road. The bored sun cuts a template from her hobbling shadow. If English made sense it would rhyme with Laughter too.
Paula Fourie om mani padme hum For Athol who helped me listen to them die I entertain frequent guests between these walls bedmates who suck greedily from my body while I grind them to pieces with blunt fingers and the worms bursting underfoot scream their pappy white mess to the heavens since then many flies have come to drown themselves in my whisky how does one measure tragedies? I know it by my own cruelty for the gnawing of endless bodies entombed in the ceiling (whining of frightened puppies) the frantic search for wet hollows where they can drink and can die stay with me like the little bullets of shit early-morning gifts raining down on my chest 15 .
Robert Herrick HERRICK Fain would I kiss my Julia’s dainty leg Which is as white and hairless as an Egg. EYEBALL The eating fantasy that you’ve deployed Would be of interest to a Sigmund Freud. each nipple cries: To your cream. In what wee hour did you then begin To raise this potent hymn to oestrogen? HERRICK Would you have fresh cheese and cream? Julia’s breast can give you them. And. Are you okay with your cholesterol? 16 .Geoffrey Haresnape Erasmus Eyeball responds to Five Verses by Rev. here’s strawberries. You seem so keen to nibble at this doll. if more. EYEBALL You must have huddled in your bed alone Kept wide awake by your testosterone.
and bed-rid Mumma lies: Dry-roasted all. EYEBALL If dental plaque your fancy so pervades How would you cope with HIV and AIDS? 17 . you can be brutal. we shall see There in your teeth much leprosie.HERRICK Withered with years. but raw yet in her eyes. EYEBALL Ah. Bob. if that you mean To be accounted inside clean. What’s the cause? You love of truth? Or fear of menopause? HERRICK [to women to hide their teeth if they be rotten or rusty] Keep close your lips. For if you cleave them.
since your departing So different today! Kari kaeru.Jean Branford Haiku for Bill Kari naki ya! Ima natsu ato de. 18 . Kari no naki Anata yuku kara. Kyoo chigau! Crying of wild geese – Ah now. Hearing again those voices I must weep myself. Mata koe kiite Nakimasu ya! Wild geese returning. Aki no koe Calling of wild geese – Coming now after summer Voices of autumn.
no doubt. but a snail with a hat 19 . I’d say.Candy Neubert the audacious @ an H sticking out which has come to mean hash is nothing. but an H with a dash a curlicue A which has come to mean at is nothing.
barbed-wire rusts and encircling electric fences have nothing left to keep out. or in except ghosts listening to the rustle of cockroaches under the leaves and when at last there is nothing no rough beast to crawl towards Bethlehem to be born then it will have come – the world without us Amen 20 .Adré Marshall Worlds away When the ice-caps slither into the heaving sea pushing the tide into no-ebb mode to guzzle the strait-jacketed shore where ravening mechanical brontosaurs bulldozed and gobbled the coast When among the rubble.
21 . A bright sadness brings me To this new chapter. Haiku Thick clouds cause city Lights to become our stars on Cold dark nights like these.Jeffrey Murray Bright Sadness* The keys under my fingers Are stiff as I type. * ‘Bright Sadness’ is the name given to the season of Lent in the Eastern Orthodox Church.
where are amabutho you said disarmed the enemy and crawled with you into its zones? Where are the brave countrymen you said risked their lives and went back for the injured? Where are the heroines who gave you strength when you kept looking back? Where are the leaders whose eyes you said telescoped the prophesied Canaan? Where are the women you said hid you under their buttocks and washing baskets? Where are the comrades who panned for truth when tongues were lashing hollow promises? What happened to patriots whose words you said were their honour? Did the revolution melt all that salt of the country and leave us with sand? 22 .Mzi Mahola Where Are They? Papa! Where are the heroes you said dared the enemy bullets and teargas for our freedom? I want to know.
What rubbish! In fact. Whilst engaged on a routine surveillance mission. ‘We’re not sure whether it was cummings’ characteristic capitalization issues or perhaps his eccentric punctuation or delightful sense of whimsy – which ultimately did the trick – but the poetry had the effect of pacifying this bloodthirsty warrior and his battle-hardened thugs. Even to the extent. a much more useful application. philologists working under the auspices of the United States Army have – in recent years – discovered that poetry can effectively be deployed as a means of peace enforcement – capable of being utilized at any one of the world’s hot spots.Gordon Stuart Operation Pegasus Poetry should never be regarded as useless. Somalia that the effectiveness of poetry as a weapon was first revealed. According to Dr Captain Oswald Schwartzbaum the case was quite extraordinary.’ The e. cummings’ 24 incidental non-poems. philistine poppycock of this type should be treated with the contempt it deserves.e. in Mogadishu. in this case. proceeded to strike a Somali warlord solidly on the back of the head. cummings piece which provoked these far-reaching consequences was a poem which has been 23 . at that juncture. Somewhat predictably the militiaman began to devour the book and also read some of the perplexing verses which had. It was in 1992. The slim volume fell from the helicopter and. bombardier and poetaster Chester H MacGlashan accidentally dropped a copy of e. of causing some of his soldiers to lay down their arms and start chanting Kumbaya. it was also discovered that poetry might be used as a weapon of mass aggression: indeed. as luck would have it. The circumstances were strangely poetical.e. According to a declassified communiqué. A short while after this breakthrough. remained unconsumed. a song which they weren’t even aware of at the time of the fortuitous incident.
The United States Army immediately realized they had stumbled onto something of massive. libraries and private homes (and summarily deleted from the Internet. the peach (in) mid-air. militarily. what if I rosemary. perhaps epic proportions – maybe the largest step forward. One should remember that the United States Army has the mentality of a vicious old lady – and will never forgo a fresh method of inflicting pain. cummings’s work was hastily recalled from book stores. Working in close partnership with the CIA. (the) awakening globular (nose) of parker. since the Battle of Agincourt. As soon as could be expedited a battalion of tweed coated literary critics were rapidly inducted into the United States Army 24 . All of e.e. classified – and an in-depth analysis of his entire oeuvre was hastily compiled.understandably ignored by the critics. the army moved swiftly into gear. I quote briefly from the oft-neglected work: what if I rosemary (bracket) the enchantress who (like) daffodils (soaring) anti-clockwise did in a blizzard of (I) in fateful petals of peculiar. hey nonny no.) Every scrap of the man’s writing was collected. And it didn’t stop there. what was regarded as being of even greater importance (by the military big cheeses) was the fact that the warlord in question didn’t even speak English. sublime sliding of blossom on a (trampoline) superbly beneath my (quivering) nostril (did) I salute her gorgeous (persimmon). However. Such was the innate power of the work that it had the capacity to break through the language barrier and alter the fundamental building blocks of perception and behaviour.
The second major poet to be tested was Dylan Thomas and once again the taskforce elected to use the original airdrop methodology. This involved the aerial dumping of selected tracts on the bemused citizens of a whole lot of stupid. The next phase of the campaign was to investigate the effect of e. One of Thomas’s most irritating pieces What if an ankle of doom was chosen for the experiment. cummings on the psyches of political prisoners and common criminals.e. Deep within the irritable bowels of the Pentagon.with the rank of Literary Lieutenant: in spite of the fact that these bastards were notoriously difficult. ill-disciplined. And so the commanders of Operation Pegasus proceeded to organize an extensive series of Poetry Readings to take place at a network of Correctional Facilities situated within all fifty states as well as in the United Kingdom. cummings poem tended to have a comparable effect on all of the sample populations. totally arbitrary places. In spite of the enormous linguistic and cultural variation between these nations. Burkino Faso. the hastily-convened Operation Pegasus then continued with its Highly Classified analysis of cummings’s work. the e.e. The work of e. cummings poem – unless such individual were prepared to don an orange jumpsuit and join the Muslim prisoners incarcerated at Guantanamo Bay. touched me high in the gribble of a wanton moon staring clockwise through the green sniggly 25 . It subsequently became illegal (and a sin) for citizens to possess an e. cummings was now deemed to be a strategic weapon – a weapon of mass-pacification. Dr Captain Schwarzbaum organized a series of informal ‘ball and chain soirees’ during which time the effect of the verses were carefully analysed.e.e. Sikkim and the Faroe Islands. squeamish and not well attuned to the national interest. The experimental group of nations (known as TEGON) consisted of Albania. What if an ankle of doom. Papua New Guinea.
where many rock-eyed curlews strode a-forward bemoaning their feather of grief in the frog-edged dingle of the buzzard night. albeit fairly messy and bespattered. Buggerall. (The inference was made. Here again the results were immediate and dramatic – but it was revealed that Thomas’ work could never be deployed as a means of mass-pacification. How the earthworm squirmed in its venomous silence. since they regarded these two poets as being ‘natural born swine’. The military noted that if the United States Army were ever to be engaged in a largescale ‘culling’ operation of a civilian population then the poetic works of Dylan Thomas would be just the thing. The works of the two poets produced no effect whatsoever. meanwhile. big time. Eliot.lopsided paramour. truly truly. in the bonny faery light did counter clockwise caress the green bones of dawn and grasp the nettle infused with green. bleeding cabbages. causing grievous bodily harm and wanton dismemberment. gleefully recorded the grisly results – which were interesting.S.’ Schwarzbaum and his immediate superior. Nothing. erroneously. I. Eliot and his Il miglior fabbro proved to be a grave disappointment. On the contrary. In the considered assessment of Doctor Captain Schwarzbaum ‘the goddamned mofo’s lost the friggin’ plot. Acting on a militarylinguistic hunch the High Command of Operation Pegasus decided to experiment with the works of Ezra Pound and T. Zip. It was as if the winged horse had unleashed a stinging kick to the crotch – as it were – such was the profound sense of failure which 26 . General Lopez Winkelhoffer. the poem caused the experimental groups to run totally amok.) In this regard. that their works would therefore have a nasty affect on the enemy.
However while the Eliot and Pound sessions were still in progress. Schwarzbaum had a radical idea which was to completely revolutionise Pegasus – and take the campaign to the next level. if you have a callow.prevailed. The poisonous fruits of their scribbles would then be carefully harvested.e. poetrywriting adolescents and thereafter settle all such individuals in large writing factories not unlike the structures which are traditionally used to accommodate battery chickens. Now that’s good value. never failing to catch their nerd. 58% more effective than the works of the so-called heavy hitters such as e. The material produced by the poetry nerds was eventually deployed by the army and found to be. the army had succeeded in illegally acquiring some 145 321 callow poetry nerds (there were fortunately no complaints from their families) and these individuals were immediately put to work. And remember. in particular. Ted Hughes and James Dickey. cummings. 27 . Philip Larkin. After just four and a half weeks. was annoyed that Eliot and Pound had not lived up to their literary reputations and described their so-called classics as being ‘a classic cockamamie conjob’. poetry-writing nerd in your family – please get in touch with the United States Army as soon as you can. Your despised relative might soon have a bright future writing poetry for the nation and the free world. on average. pimply. Dylan Thomas. Schwarzbaum commissioned a fleet of vehicles which had formerly been used to catch stray dogs. Throughout the suburbs of America the poetry nerd-detector vans would quietly ply their trade – ever watchful – with nets and lassoes a-ready. The indefatigable Doctor Captain proposed that the military should launch a nation-wide round-up of all nerdish. To capture these ink-stained malcontents. General Winkelhoffer. Robert Lowell.
or stooped. wimpled. This is it. How can you know. hums just beneath the slow-motion roll of surf. cassocks flying. ka-cherk. or the musical thrum of some vast beehive over the water. Tell me: how is it possible not to? 28 . ka-cherk – guinea fowl that surge like a pod of hunched grey priests across a field. Where I belong. like a swaddle of peeved sisters. The world is singing to us its faraway monotone of drowse-filled Gregorian chanting: ka-cherk. Now. ka-cherk. I hear you ask. like a droning cargo plane that never drifts any closer.Harry Owen Tell Me The engine of evening throbs.
Dendritic the earth’s nerve endings: upright to the air bare without their summer salve of leaves drongo-rough how the breeze thrills how the sunlight the curtseying bushes and dancing shadows say to me welcome! something is down here amongst the twigs the dead leaves its dim scuttling life of birdmouselizard dreaming mine too dreaming me: these nerves on the edge of perfection in a rustling shuffling goingaboutitsbusiness -ness of a calm and startling hillside 29 .
golden grass pom-poms. 30 . Five grey feathers fall.Lynne Kloot Two Haiku Lanner cleaves the air. Arrowheaded. Weavers build their nests at the tips of the branches. strikes the dove.
Mea Lashbrooke Chameleon at close of day Swamp creature in miniature you honour me. a wide-hissed anger flashes flanks a vulcan-red. 31 . limbs that sway the rhythm of your heart and mine poised now on day-warmed rock. through pinpoint eyes on softly swivelled cones. alien hands. then lift a helmet head to find an all-round world. a grip of certainty. and for the shortest time you leave your dragon self swallow a single drop that undulates within your scraggy neck. the space you leave. here at this garden pool. stiff-legged you stalk away. I hold my breath. concealing oh what tiny visceral sculpting. in stretched defence of your prolific world. receives a yearning prayer. what microscopic flow of blood and lymph that quietly throbs the end of day? small (and I think brave) to safeguard ancient text. When hot air yields to evening cool and dusty scents breathe out the heat of day. I have seen your tail a coil round vibrant green. aeons old. stippled skin splashed green and pink. the shape of you. respite from chores at end of day. tendrilled round the heart of every man. a prayer that calls to know the beast.
In this nave of sharp light small swords rise remaking new leaflings from earth.Oliver Findlay Price Nothing Between moments and space great birds glide undoing the silence of now. 32 . But no shadow and light no rivers undo and remake this nothing.
he is finalising his first novel. as well as a rural schools project near Seymour. ≈ Harry Owen immigrated to South Africa in 2008. CARAPACE EDITORIAL ADDRESS: 5 Green Hill Close. He is a former SA amateur Flyweight Champion and former professional Eastern Province Bantamweight Champ. Five Books of Marriage. PAYMENT By Post: P O Box 12020.za Please ensure that your name appears as a reference for the deposit so that we can tie it to your subscription.00 for 6 issues.co. As a novelist.00 for 6 issues. Please use ‘Cara Subs’ as the reference AND NB include your name! Confirmation of payment should be emailed to jjf@userfriendly. Non-Dog.za South African subscriptions: R250. The Music of Ourselves. He is the editor of I Write Who I Am: an anthology of Upstart poems and For Rhino in a Shrinking World: an international anthology. Please make cheques/postal orders out to SNAILPRESS. and Worthy. Standard Bank Thibault Square. 7975 Email ferg@webafrica. He lives in Grahamstown.co. Branch Code 02 09 09. His collections are Searching for Machynlleth.org.00 into the following account: w Bank: Santander w Sort Code: 09-06-66 w w Account Name: User Friendly w Account No: 41198284 w Confirmation of payment should be emailed to jjf@userfriendly.NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS Mzi Mahola started experimenting with poetry at school and has produced three volumes. Account no 070 826 099. ≈ Jeffrey Murray is currently a PhD candidate in the School of Languages & Literatures at the University of Cape Town. Electronic payments can be made to SNAILPRESS. 8010. He runs a creative writing project for the community where he lives. Mill Street. Overseas subscriptions: R350. ISSN 2219-2867 .za or can be faxed to +27(0)21 461 9807 Overseas subscriptions: UNITED KINGDOM subscribers ONLY: Please deposit £25. Fish Hoek. He is also a playwright.
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