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P O E T H E S I S M A G A Z I N E
H a l f -Ye a r l y P o e t r y We b z i n e
Poethesis
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Poethesis Magazine is a half-yearly webzine that curates original poetry works from multidisciplinary artists who work with the written word as part of their practice. Drawing heavy inspiration from dance and movement, Poethesis Magazine seeks to create a reading experience that reflects the joys of watching a live arts performance. The works are specially curated to have a POC (person/ people of colour) artist majority, with the wish of contributing to enriching the arts world with multifaceted experiences. Follow us on our Instagram: @poethesismag
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c o n t e n t s
Editor’s Note
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Our Zoom
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Skin Dreams III
Swan Song
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Connection
I Want to be Whole
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RE:BIRTH
My Room - Movement poetry
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toward and into // oneness
The Grace in Falling
Skin Dreams I
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Artists’ Page
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e d i t o r ’ s n o t e Contributors Before we know it, half the year has gone by just like that, and here we are with our second issue! Throughout 2021, we watched as the world (and each other) tried to heal from the shock, pain and trauma that the COVID pandemic has brought about. The world may never be the same again but we can look towards the day the sun rises once again at the horizon. Issue #2 is dedicated to the theme, CONVERGENCE. A theme that unearths empathy, resilience and hope, and I wish that you, the reader, would do too. Thank you for taking the time to read Poethesis, and thank you to the artists for taking the time to help create this issue of Poethesis. - Jessie Jing.
Magazine Cover
Jie Wang A r t i s t -Wr i t e r s
Blessing R.M. / The Poetry Lagoon Maxine Flasher-Düzgünes Niharika Pore Rachel Ha-Eun Lee Rose Aïda Rowena Grant Tam Lin Ting-Ning Wen Artist-Collaborators
Catherine Sleeman Loretta Yussuff
Issue #2: Convergence
A r t wo r k by : L o r e t t a Yu s s u f f
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The Grace in Falling United we stand, divided we fall we see the devil lying in the details, as our misfortune start to feel misrepresented by rich, corrupt politicians’ rhetorics, perpetuating resentment for the sake of their tainted ego if we bite the bait, we bite the dust, never forget to make space for grace it’s supposed to be easier to love than to hate, or so I have been told, but our energy seems misplaced, finding enemies in our neighbours Divided we fall, like the morning star being a human being is a state of midwayer we are sinful by nature, that’s what connects us- imperfection, because perfection doesn’t exist there will always be love in grace
Blessing R. M. / The Poetry Lagoon
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The Grace in Falling (cont’d) United we stand, a battle cry for those yearning to be heard to those who understand life beyond personal belief comes a message of hope and a brighter tomorrow, from those learning from the past-perception was a by-product of how our worlds collided knowing we were more than what divided us knowing we were meant for that which divine us Immortalised, until eternity like the demi-gods and goddesses we are because we are love, We can’t fall if we stand together.
Blessing R. M. / The Poetry Lagoon
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Our Zoom ID : 325 815 4262 A gathering that can be pre-arranged, an online encounter between you and I. Password : 7V0Ftn I visit you through a tiny dot; you perceive me from my camera, we see each other through the digital wall. 01001000 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00111111 My voice is not an instant sound, for you will only hearI miss you -later, a short second. A delayed, digital greeting recalibrated into an embodied careI wish I could hug you now. -a cold passage turns warm.
T i n g - N i n g We n
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My Room My mind runs inside my body, thoughts are stuck in traffic. My soul is left behind in the vehicle, while I am sitting on a steady seat. Time flies while I sit still. I catch myself inside my body. I want to catch up with my running mind and wandering soul, and put it back into my present body.
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M y R o o m b y T i n g - N i n g We n Visual Movement Poetry by Catherine Sleeman Facilitated by Jessie Jing
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Skin Dreams (III) by Niharika Pore
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Transcripts - Skin Dreams: III “Well, I’m sorry to break it to you this way, but it seems you are diseased. Dis-eased, your brain is on fire is, your ----- died, your uterus is just dead, sir, you will continue from bleeding in every which way, placed atop my surgical table if i had my own way, placed there for me to watch to watch to watch ) the ground tilts below him, titles this story for him, his skin dreams of a new home, itching to escape his fallacy existence)
To read to read to read to read i read you with my stethoscope that i stole from my mother seventeen , years ago, as i was, will you ever ? Diagnosis: a cliche: my spec ies is Diagnosa Fishus, Diagnosa Squidus, stealing their bodies of scars to escape this wormfilled prison. I fill you with worms to drain the Indian Ocean, your brothers and sisters are oxygen-drowned, combusted, placed into oblivions as they gasp form water, drowned in their parching, poached I steal their bones, I steal their spines, I build myself a cane with their spines, crunching together they crunch together, each vertebra crumbling as their silicon cartilage erodes under your fingertips. Under the slightest of pressure you will collapse
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I Wa n t t o b e W h o l e I was once told that community means to come with unity. But unity sometimes feels like an entirely made up reality. One that seems
like it will never truly be.
One that seems
to be a fantasy.
In my dream world, everyone accepts everything. Coming together does not suggest separating every part,
Rachel Ha-Eun Lee
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I Wa n t t o b e W h o l e ( c o n t ’ d ) but celebrating who we are. And I have holes because of how you’ve divided me. One side
of Korean ancestry.
One side
being as American as I can be.
When will people accept all of me? I crave blurring the boundaries Filling the holes and being whole.
Rachel Ha-Eun Lee
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toward and in a waitingness grows an old theory goes your hand reaches between itself its watery release rushes out and away toward and into oneness is not hard to achieve a teardrop a quill can bleed onto your partner’s desk a dream can interrupt your lover a sock can be inverted and smooth out any surface carrying you, yet still silent it sits as you lock the door knowing it will be a while before you return even an early morning can merge two tired faces perhaps resulting in a coffee date
Maxine Flasher-Düzgünes
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n t o // o n e n e s s insert a profound belief insert something unread
insert runoff
insert an unknown insert a rest insert a cup holder insert another dream insert tumbled dry t-shirt insert more edges insert a tiny chair
insert a forever evening insert what you can never see insert distances
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Swan Song by Tam Lin
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RE:BIRTH by Rose Aïda Visual Movement Poetry by Rose Aïda Facilitated by Jessie Jing
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RE:BIRTH the dying woman knows of beginnings and endings like a serpentine, skin peeling to reveal the rebirth of a defeated goddess she cracked her shell before and she’ll do it again; rejecting previous identifications as a compassionate liberation whilst embracing the nurturing side of destruction she knows how to demolish before rebuild how to scream before freeing the fire in her aching belly
Rose Aïda
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RE:BIRTH how desire burns softly yet steadily when she rests her head on her own chest and breathes through wars that are not her own a woman knows how to resurrect time after time again she’s the gateway to creation a never ending emancipation unshackling herself to finally take space (i’ve buried many women in me yet birthed many more)
Rose Aïda
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Skin Dreams (I) by Niharika Pore
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Transcripts - Skin Dreams: I Paper cycles – the route it takes to get to you that it takes to get to you is unethical, wretched wretching retching over the ground. Axen-throwals in the splinters onto the floor, into the walls (onto the floor, sawdust on the floor) the scent of your work is wrippping ripping holes in your skin, the caterpillars scratch at your epidermal inferences in the cell-wall-cell-membrane, photosynthesising against the blood red moonlight. The caterpillars enter your face with the face-crabs, eating away at the eating away eating away eating away. Their pincers clack against you, your reading you’re reading, this process of reading, it permeates your skin and cuts holes in your flesh. A seed is planted, the crow will hatch soon, and your mouth will be filled with sand and dust and caries precarious cavities from its sweet, sweet song. A creaky bicycle lifts its metal handles, slowly, slowly, lifting and raising and throwing over; a newspaper lands on his doorstep, crispy crunchy crackers salted staircase, a case of wine, a staircase, with a gentle moonbeam dripping its slimy juices on his spotlit corner. Pearlescent, incandescent, white-balance dialled all the way up on your cameraphone; he’s framed in your screen, printed on white-grey paper, woodchips stuck in the walls, falling down, crumbling to the floor. None of this is real.
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Connection ConnectionInformation meandering its way across highways and byways, jumping and sliding in and out of here and thereno beginning, no end, no care A flare for finding new routes; new ways of transmitting, splitting, finding alternative means of outwitting-itself and othersto find a new way to meet itself again, someday.
Rowena Grant
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Artists’ Page BLESSING R.M. / THE POETRY LAGOON Artist-writer
NIHARIKA PORE
ROSE AÏDA
Writer
Writer
Visual artist
Dance artist
CATHERINE SLEEMAN
ROWENA GRANT
Writer
Artist-writer
Dance artist
JIE WANG Visual artist Painter
RACHEL HA-EUN LEE
LORETTA YUSSUFF
Writer
Painter
Dance artist
MAXINE FLASHER-DÜZGÜNES Writer Dance artist Visual artist
Visual artist
TING-NING WEN Multi-hyphenate artist Dance & Theatre
TAM LIN Artist-writer
Skin Dreams (VII) by Niharika Pore
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