Sàl (Brine)
Is fuath leam, ged as gràdh leam sàl –
’s cruinnichte ann gach deur mo shliochd,
is mi fo sprochd air luime creige
The urge to explore and celebrate all the kinds of lives of Planet Earth is stronger than ever, but the environmental and ecological crisis demands we also lift our eyes, and our voices, to species extinction and habitat loss, to what is happening to the forests and hills, the rivers and seas, our streets and gardens. The writer’s instinct to pay attention has never been more vital. Literature can help us to see the natural world – and our place in it – differently.
Edited by Leonie Charlton and Karen Lloyd
The coming of winter reminds us of the change of light, the dimming down of the season. Everything is in flux; the last few swallows and martins have jinked their last until next spring, the energy of wildflowers retreats back down into the soil. In Issue Four of the Paperboats zine, we celebrate the many ways that writers notice the world around them – hedgehogs as ‘Spanish chestnuts in their brown prickly cases,’ but importantly, hedgehogs also as barometers of climate change. As well, we celebrate noticing in language and how the shifting world and the inner world of writers find some kind of equilibrium through the practice of poetry and prose.
Is fuath leam, ged as gràdh leam sàl –
’s cruinnichte ann gach deur mo shliochd,
is mi fo sprochd air luime creige
Hid’s blowin a hoolee, bit I geed oot a luk efter dinner wae the camera. A job tae stand apace long enough tae tak photos.
Crescent o cork, new moon, owld
moon, bracket, comma,
oppen or closed speech mark
twice she walks from the far side
see her through the rain window
the male you notice
first his head smashed
to bottle glass
What are we searching for, really, when we search for cowries? Out on the skerries, the four of us are bent double.
Sun baked; desiccated husks hung on the fence amid a dwindling vulpine aroma. Their eyes had long gone, and the spark vanished, leaving empty sockets.
There were none. Just a ten mile
dry stretch all the way to when
50s housewives baked them a la mode.
polar stratospheric clouds (the technical term)
thin and high and carried here
by a dip in the polar vortex
Out of sync with the tides. Out of sync with the season. Out of sync with the sudden drop down to the beach.
It was the year the humming-bird hawkmoths
never showed up to feast on the waiting banquet
of pink valerian.
A fresh-cut blade of summer grass
blows into the book. The seed head
trembles as it slices the print.
The sea gooseberry is not a fruit. But when I first see one, I don’t know what it is at all.
The thing is there was this young man
who saw me in Arlington Place picking up litter –
snickers-duo from amongst the daisies and sticky-willy.
Art Gallery – Orange paint
Be then non-be, that is extinction.
CLIMATE Justice – Climate Justice is unavailable in your region.