The Unknown In Every Direction
poetry by Ashley Somwaru and Kamila Mushkina, non-fiction by Aishwarya Shah, and art by Shama Nair
Poetry
My father dreams of Baldat and Chacha and a gorge. Elephants engraved into brass bells. Sansaar hai ek nadiya. Monkey tail torches. Snakes as arrowheads. Metaled teeth from Port Mourant. Thirsty mouths leaking into soil. Becoming grass. Becoming border. Dukh sukh do kinaare hain. Tears as earthquakes. Saturn in chains. Bhajan books stained with chana aloo. Trincity in the camera’s view. Crashing inside a conch shell. Na jaane kahan jaae… Ringing in the ears. Wood stacked to burn. Remains swept into the river. A hand as a wave pushing against shore... hum behate dhaare hain. A body in a black skirt is saying she’s next.
It’s 4 AM and I Can’t Sleep Because My Brother and His Friends are Stomping
Night’s Dream Night’s Dream Night’s
broken skitter scatter
nibbling eyes to sleep
leaf and woman lost in wind
[slinking into the yard where daal bellied
drunk skunts are busted
up with limacol and bushrum]
are veins swept into mortar
and pestled with bhandania
echoes of departing footsteps
rippling realms garnished
before song
there was hurt words
unsyllabled hollow land
unstringed by tide
my family never touched
bangle chime what never
made it to shore
my father writes
naja wo mathuranago khul jawo
***
вы когда-нибудь видели
баранью голову в тазике?
острая морда и рога закрученные
глаза не помню я испугалась
может закрытые
а может их не было
нағыз қазақ емессің бе?
вот лошадь щиплет траву —
пасется соғым
это шутка, но в каждой шутке как говорится
темнота сгущается не ранее десяти
смех и песни влетают в распахнутое окно
вот бы меня смогли сейчас отпустить
наяву окутаться сном
мне страшно и любопытно так, что страшно
ночь бессовестно скалится, томно льстит
я не могу надышаться и наливаю в чашу
больше, чем смогу унести
если бы я смогла, невесома и хороша
раскинуться в небе, как на безлюдном пляже
Essay
Day 1
The rows of dominoes that string the world together are tumbling onto one another. Airports are snapping shut, distance is reiterated and a seismic shift is underway. Meaning has become elastic as the unknown stretches in every direction.
I start to taste the meaning of words as they are uttered out loud. I wonder if this is a form of dissociation wrought by the pandemic. Have I always been able to feel the textures of phrases? Is this how my body responds to fear?
(I think of asking you if you can taste words too.)
Day 6
When people say to me, I love you, I say, what does that even mean?
I remember seeing a post-it slapped onto the wall of my Creative Writing teacher’s home that said, meaning is never monogamous. This is true of love, which the Oxford Dictionary defines as ‘an intense feeling of deep affection,’ but also as ‘a formula for ending an affectionate letter’ and ‘a score of zero; nil.’
It is evident to me that love is not a monolith; it is some sort of an enchanted mirror that reflects back something different to every observer. Yet, in recurring fits of absurdity, we abide by the convention of saying ‘I love you’, as though we are all staring at the same hallowed imagery of a universal lovescape.
OUR ARCHIVED CONVERSATIONS
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Leaning Into the Wind: The Poetry of Elysia Smith & The Prose of Yuriy Serebryansky
Visible Invisibility: The Art of Amy Bassin
Outside Her Body: Fiction by Shilpi Suneja & Art by Marina Kovalyova
Pinpricks of Light: Poetry of Shari Caplan, Carlie Hoffman, Kimberly Ann Southwick
People that Matter: Interview with Shilpi Suneja
Glitches & Revelations: Poetry of Sam Cha, Non-fiction by Rashi Rohatgi & Art by Misha Dontsov
Sequestered Rooms: Prose by Arman Adilbek, Aktay Safina and Ardakh Nurgaz & Art by Yuan Lin
Student Voices: Prose, Poetry & Art by Nazarbayev University Students & Alumni