Not the Whispering Wild

John Eppel

Description

In this, one of his most moving collections John Eppel is at the peak of his poetic powers. His speaker is a wizened soul, mindful of time and mortality, contemplating the cycle of life, the moon and the stars, clouds and rain, rocks, soil, tree, flowers, dogs, cats, birds, toads, spiders, termites and a tiny virus bringing us death. Also featured are beggars, schoolboys, literature and art legends, sons and daughters, grandparents and grandchildren. John Eppel gives a symphony of words about 'our brief eternity.

Sujets

• Poetry
• List of African writers by country
• African people
• African

Informations

• Publié par: Pidgeon Press
• Date de parution: 04 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781779293572
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Not The Whispering Wild New and selected poems

Not The Whispering Wild New and selected poems

By

John Eppel

Published by Pigeon Press 12 Fortune’s Gate Road, Bulawayo, Zimbabwe

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© John Eppel, 2021

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Cover Picture: Blessing Chakandinakira

Cover Design: Anton Bhana, Creative Centre, Bulawayo

Text Design & Typesetting: Paul Hubbard

All rights reserved.

No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means — electronic, mechanical or photocopying, recording or otherwise — without the express written permission of the publisher.

John Eppel hereby asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this book.

ISBN: 978-1-77929-354-1

An Old Man’s Lockdown Fantasy

He rang the devil’s doorbell loud and long; red polish on the doorstep lipped his shoes; the insects in his ears revived a song, a tintinnabulation of the Blues. The bats above, the worms below, the germ inside the socks inside the shoes inside the lungs… ten toes too short to strum, to squirm, but fiddle, diddle, flexing, slip and slide inactivate the percolating fleece. Ten fingers tapping out a rhapsody, a variation of Old Nick’s caprice; ten knuckles knocking out a do re me. He rings the devil’s doorbell long and loud, the hinges creak, out wafts a twerking shroud.

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