18 Jul 2019 / News
Itis and the Labyrinth
(Labyrinthitis: a self-limiting disorder of the inner ear)
Hitchcock angles start the pinwheel.
My room strobes past
like fast train windows on a loop.
Your intricate architecture
is haunted by hiss and murmur
around the curve
of semi-circular canals and otoliths,
cavities hollowed out,
lodged in the temporal bone, time out of mind.
So much of me is blobs of meat
but you are delicate as bird bones,
alien as sea-shells.
A labyrinth’s call is to be mysterious,
consumed by its own convolutions.
Mine is to cling to walls and wait.
25 Nov 2021 / My Arvon Week
Bodies Lined with Gold: Lumb Bank, The Arvon Foundation, August 1996 by Sarah Corbett
Sometime early in 1996 a…
03 Nov 2021 / The Stories We Tell
‘I’: 26 reflections on the fiction of self
Mæg ic be me sylfum soðgied wrecan
17 Aug 2021 / My Arvon Journey
Perhaps it all begins with the voice.
What I remember most clearly now is Mrs Jenkins reading to us from …