
Hilary Menos
Articles
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Jan 16, 2025 |
thefridaypoem.com | Hilary Menos
SacrificeOpening the cardboard box that had helda long winter coat for my mother out of the catalogue,the ash-frail rows, arranged in sawdust,from bough-cleft, twig-fork, thorn-bush, tussock,were flooded with sterile day in their angular nest.
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Jan 9, 2025 |
thefridaypoem.com | Hilary Menos
Topping and tailing blackcurrants at the back window– the window wide and the evening scent of lilies. Some small creature struggling along the stonesin the heat, rolls over – a huge beetle? Binoculars:the drunken creature ducks under the doorstep,rushes out, rolls again – it’s a bee,a queen hypnorum, bright orange thorax doubledby the matching small male on her back she’strying everything to throw off.
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Dec 5, 2024 |
thefridaypoem.com | Hilary Menos
[…] But I learned that it’spossible for a sentence to have no words. That the meaning ofa word can exist without the word. That life can still occurwithout a mind. That emptiness still swarms without theworld. That it can be disconnected from the wall and stilllight up. [‘With My Back to the World, 1997’, p. 3]Nelson: This definitely does it for Alycia Pirmohamed, one of the Forward Prize judges, who warmly praised it before Victoria Chang’s reading at the Forward Prizes event. What do you think?
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Nov 21, 2024 |
thefridaypoem.com | Hilary Menos
WOLF SONGi.m. Eavan BolandSit still now. Take up your pen. In this space before noise beginstigers are visiting citiesand a white leopard sitson a lawn in Suburbia. A wolf is walking alongan empty beach in California. A poet sings his traces. Now she too is becoming history. Already the first slow movementof the strings is parting the silence. This is the point in the storywhen shadows thin as bladesquiver in the April air. You can see the wolf through them.
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Nov 14, 2024 |
thefridaypoem.com | Hilary Menos
Belphégor, Lord of the Gap, Hell’s Ambassador to FranceBradypus variegates, the brown-throated three-toed sloth,is surely the laziest bastard in the South American jungle. Once a week, she climbs down from the high canopyinto the O horizon, where she takes a shite on the detritus. This is dangerous, as there are jaguars there, and yourselves. Is the brown-throated three-toed sloth afraid? Is she fuck. You would cootchie-woo cootchie-wootchie-coo any sloth. So would I.
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