B. Anne Adriaens -Poetry

OFFERINGS FROM AN IMPROVISED SHAMAN

After Hinterland, an exhibition of Gladys Paulus’s work

1.

To the left, the tongue of my childhood
sewn white on white and painted
gold inside an immaculate gown
turned exotic as it crossed an ocean
to clothe the memory of a grandmother,
an oma whose favours were forcibly taken from her,
a lady now resurrected by a charm of wool and veils.

But the words… those sentences lifted
from the pages that brought her comfort
and nurtured my learned, now irrelevant,
guilt: their healing lies beyond their meaning.

2.

At the centre, opa’s presence enhanced to its essence,
particles once scattered and repurposed
now coalesce here, inside this survivor’s armour.
Talismans beating against his chest,
healing charcoal scales clicking,
as he walks through a hinterland
nestled in the frayed margins of existence.

Soothing gold has been poured into the cracks
and the ancestors’ scars are shining, their repose,
complete. As I leave the room, I contemplate
the flatlands of my childhood.

#

ORCHARDS – 8/2

The cooker doesn’t explode.
Untidiness acquires the logic of nesting
as you welcome autumn
leaves and paw prints on the landing.
Your door opens onto space
– cream, red and wood – with
a bouncy bed in the middle,
among the bits you brought and
the pieces you kept – seeds to start over.

Your window frames a green corridor,
stretching past pear and apple trees and shrubs,
thinning into a bramble-choked tip.
Closer, a robin on a hazel branch,
straight from childhood winters,
leaves a murmur,
a memory of things to come:
time biting its tail.

#

ORCHARDS – 11

Resounding rain a leitmotif amplified as it beats against a membrane of roof tiles, beams and possibly glass wool, sound vibrations along the slanting plaster ceilings. After five years

(give or take – doesn’t matter), the small flat offers a kitchen of your own. At least the carpet isn’t blue is your first thought. Then, looking up at the key meter: I am now officially poor.

(Doesn’t matter either.) You hold a fork that once belonged to your great-aunt, stainless steel lending solidity to memory. As your hand recognises the weight and shape of it, those years vanish.

Now very other Friday night, Iggy’s musical choices feed through your earphones, expand the free space around you as everyone else in the room recedes to the edges of another reality.

About the contributor

B. ANNE ADRIAENS currently lives and writes in Somerset, Britain. Her work often reflects her interest in alienation and all things weird and dark, as well as her concerns about pollution and the environment in general. She’s written several dystopian short (and not so short) pieces and is putting together a poetry collection exploring the many places where she’s lived. She attended the Poetry Summer School at the Seamus Heaney Centre, Queen’s University Belfast, in June 2017 and the following July, she was awarded the title of Frome Festival Poet Laureate. Her work has previously appeared in Helios Quarterly, B.A.D. (The Bees Are Dead) and Harpur Palate, as well as on several online literary platforms.

Related Articles

At the site of the crash – Brendon Booth-Jones

At the site of the crash all is thunderingly still. The street, trees, and houses lie curled asleep in the predawn chill....

An Astráil editor, Denise O’Hagan

An Astráil editor, Denise O'Hagan on the poets she selected for this issue.

Poetry- Megan Stratford

buried she’s just where you said i’d find her half-way buried underneath the pendulous trapeze to hang off of on afternoons that couldn’t move days like this one when...

More Like This

A Girls and Other Poems- Anne Bevan

A Girl There was a girl Who lived in a glass mind And carried her emotions From room to room In a brown suitcase. Blackbirds pecked at her Through see-through walls, Hissing...

Dry Bones

James Finnegan - shortlisted for Hennessy Literary Award (2018), highly commended in the Patrick Kavanagh Poetry Competition (2016, 2018)

Abecedarian

Michelle Bermudez is a Latina poet who received her MFA in creative writing at Adelphi University

Anne Bevan’s first collection of poems- Reviewed

TESTAMENT ANNE ELIZABETH BEVAN ISBN 978-1-910855-82-9 £10.00 Lapwing Publications, Belfast. Testament, Cork based poet Anne Bevan’s first collection of poems, has already received praise from reviewers: Anne’s poetry gets straight...

What I Didn’t Tell My Father, Poetry Ann Howells

What I Didn’t Tell My Father mosquitoes swirl like ash in headlights& priests call bingo from pulpitsup & down the shorearound our table relatives...