Tag Archives: David Tait

Self-Portrait with Discussion of the City of Light

Have you ever seen the entire works                   of Vladimir Nabokov falling, like through water,                   from a second-floor window followed soon after by Mendelstam, Dostoyevsky,                   The Norton Anthology of Contemporary Russian Poetry, the women that eat each other,                   some photographs of … Continue reading

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The Handover

When I analyse love’s hushed film I’m reminded of slow-motion replays of athletes passing batons to the next stage of a relay, and how at such speed all gestures seem significant: rippling legs, bouldered fists, the grandiloquent precision of a … Continue reading

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The Crying Men

If you have not, on your travels come across a middle-aged man in his finest suit, walking barefoot across the pebbled surf, his glasses hanging loose in one hand, then you’ve never been to my land, where such scenes are … Continue reading

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Self-Portrait with Corridor

I rarely consider my own existence, but now when you ask me how I measure myself, how I view life’s progress between last year and this, I’m unable to give you an answer. It would be easiest I’m sure as … Continue reading

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Flowerpots

My mother in the back yard troubling the gate latch, lifting tubs through the long shadows; setting them down, picking them up as next door’s cat stares out from its window, and footsteps roll through the cobbled alley. All these … Continue reading

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Spring Snow

I woke in the small hours to see you standing at the window staring out at the snow the evening news had been filled with – though when I next woke you were in bed snoring beside me, the snow … Continue reading

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Self-Portrait with Postbox

In Guangzhou you were woken by ‘hefty rain’ and couldn’t get back to sleep, no matter what music you played, no matter the book, the drink you lay awake, watched rain filming your window. It was raining here too. I … Continue reading

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