Steven Toussaint

FIDDLEHEAD Rangitoto, Tamaki-Makau-Rau, Aotearoa This little isle, there where for evermore      The waters beat all round about its foot,      Bears rushes on the soft and oozy shore. No other plant that would put forth a shoot      Or harden, but from life there is debarred      Since to the surf it yields not from its root. Dante, Purgatorio I (trans. Laurence Binyon)   not by wrists’ oblong bloom do suitable deeds aboundnot by wingbeat alone do stone birds fly not since, dehisced recess denied, I drone wildly withheld rose a beaten firmament forms bodiless flutter in the vacance air lapping synapse grows“Steven Toussaint”

Jump in