SAND Issue 5

issue

5 8 ,- €

•8•

The Fjords

Shane Anderson • 12 • Poem for Mike Kelley Erin Pringle-Toungate • 13 • The Nortang Bears Tim Suermondt • 14 • The Dark Mythological River Saša Stanišic´ • 15 • Let’s Go Sleep Japan Soon Rebecca Farivar • 18 • Deutsches Eck Florian Imgrund • 19 • …

Bettina Lessmann • 63 • o.T. Bettina Lessmann • 64 • o.T. Dolan Morgan • 65 • The Benefactor Elvia Wilk • 66 • Season 9 Jude Bridge • 68 • Mum Nose Best Benito del Pliego • 74 • S Gerard Beirne • 75 • Vision of the Scribes at Work on a

Florian Imgrund • 20 • …

Gerard Beirne • 21 • Meditation #32 Indulge in Dying

Vision of Hell Anna Rosen Guercio • 76 • (im)material meditation

Benito del Pliego • 22 • N

Florian Imgrund • 77 • …

J.M. McDermott • 23 • Circe

Florian Imgrund • 78 • …

Steven Johannes Fowler • 27 • {Species} Dolan Morgan • 30 • How to Have Sex on Other Planets (Pt. I) Caleb Salgado • 36 • Am Strand Bettina Lessmann • 39 • o.T. Bettina Lessmann • 40 • o.T.

Kristie Kachler • 79 • Still Life Alexander Gumz • 80 • Nach dem Free Jazz Adam Moorad • 82 • Madame José Eugenio Sánchez • 94 •

i’ll be part of it (brunch remasterized)

Dolan Morgan • 96 • How to Have Sex on Other Planets (Pt. II) Elvia Wilk • 105 • The Zone

Kaffee pause

Changming Yuan • 106 • Believe It or Not, the 5-Agent Principle Accounts for Us All

William J. Fedigan • 42 • Coffee on His Pants James B. Nicola • 43 • If you live Julian Smith-Newman • 44 • By Way of Language: An Interview with Richard Deming Shane Anderson • 51 • To Stop To Heart: A Review of Monika Rinck’s to refrain from embracing

Cover art: “Bear.” 1658. University of Houston Digital Library.

1 March 2012. http://digital.lib.uh.edu/u?/p15195coll18,85

Becky Crook • 57 • Lovegrove & Gosling: A New English Literary Agency in Berlin Ángel Cobacho • 62 • Suspensión

6

7

CONTENTS

Makambo Tshionyi

THE FJORDS

spoke, replies Mama, staring at me now, direct, smoothing her sunprint dress, snapping coquette – trying to steal up Papa’s attentions again, like it been the good old days and Papa be stalking her again – Papa who, once upon a time, when he sees how fast Mama’s been grown from an ankle-height into woman-molded form, takes it square into his mind that it is ok to track on her sly-wise – with a thump in his breast and clever in

by Makambo Tshionyi

his heart nonetheless. Papa who, having successfully prosecuted this manner of courtship, does some days later – or is it months, or is it years?? – have Mama cooking up at breakfast time, cooking up for the whole entire family, cooking up proper how a proper lady should be cooking up in our Township. Mama, who now when she looks Papa’s way can’t help but make out in truth a gut-punched man, a man shadowed brilliantly across his shoulders with the dry hang of

VEN WITH THE PASSING OF PETTY, WORN LIVES,

middle-age, a dizzy-looking man who has proper found the wild, ever

some men manage to hold on to a glimmer of their proper

since he did something that you ought never do in this Township – not

selves; and so it is with Papa – Papa who steps close to

if you claim rights from here proper you ain’t – meaning that Papa,

me before he has fully committed to his departure to the

you see, he swam in the fjords, and on the day of worship no less, after

fjords, slaps me hard, palm flat, backhand – raises welts, causes my

Grandmama had warned him off, wagging her finger, slamming doors,

cheeks to sting quietly. Listen, says Papa – Mama’s workin’. Keep your

shaking her head. Not there, Grandmama had said. Not now. But Papa

snot self-wise. And indeed Mama is working, in this case pushing along

didn’t listen, of course – he decided to brave the clear murky, and as a

the boy in a white bone carriage, her right-hand knuckles grinding

result, once he come ashore, he took to itching from the inside out, took

hard bone to weathered dust, even while shading the boy’s saucer-

to busy throwing up, found the solitary sort of gospel in the mud, rolled

wide eyes with a thinned-up left. This is the same woman, mind

his eyes heavenwise. Papa rolled his eyes heavenwise and then promptly

you, who birthed the boy, only after the sunshine struck her in

took to fucking up his own boy’s baptism. Picture this: all of us is

the face just so, the milky yellow rays framing her son in bleached

gathered, dressed best as we can be dressed, down at the Shallows on

silhouette soon as he take his first breaths in this world – looking

a hot day, a humid day, a day when pressed to the buxom of our

like he’s none too happy to be the Township’s newest savant and

Lord the boy is gonna be. And now Papa ambles down toward

savior. “Goddamn,” says Papa at the time, the shame steady riding down his back. “Goddamn.” Truer words was never

8

us, red in his eyes, slur and stutter in his words, skunk on his breath; Papa who once he comes up on range leans over, doubles over in pain,

9

gets his doe eyes watery for a spell. Papa who shuffle-steps away to the soft sound of a mocking weeping – and this only after tossing over

quitting his daily life of unsullied routine and plainspoke order, spitting on the fact that he been a man whose life been proper made up to that

his shoulder fine salt crystals for luck, counting to five before they hit

point: a wife, kid, house. A man blessed with a boy gifted at birth

with a thud the ground. Papa, in short, who been no different from the

with matte obsidian skin tone and burnt white hair, a boy arrived

rest. Within this Township, you see, men of a certain age – no matter

within this world with a cough of pebbled, blackened phlegm – a

how daft or set in their ways – men eventually find themselves tiptoeing

boy who, through good works and proper behavior manages to rise,

toward the fjords, mostly but not always in the calm of night, searching

rise over many years, into a position of trust and authority within the

out an advantageous locale to unburden and unwind, a space to proper

Township – a boy, in short, who gives breath to the beautiful game of

genuflect toward the future, such as what remains of it is available to

Papa’s life; a life which grounds itself inevitably, just a stone’s toss from

them, such men, falling, failing men. The last thing I heard Papa say,

the gardens, where Grandmama and Grandpapa once played – up near

in fact, before he made the exit, was this: Mama, Papa said, as his steps

the Great Wall itself, far removed from a not so humble house on the

drifted to nothing: hold down your boy. And so Mama, being proper a

not so humble street, where a family grew roots; where picnics and card

woman of the Township, she listens, of course, to what Papa done said.

games and birthday cakes unnumbered were the markers of the passing

Mama holds the Boy underwater. Just briefly. There is the splash, the

days; a home of marbled lacquered rafters and seductive jagged corners,

white noise, and then arms break easy, legs break easy. And all the while,

of hidden pleading walkways and obscure tilting heave – a house which

Papa’s words bounce and crumble between Mama’s ears, and she just

– perhaps on account of that heave – now sinks into the muds as if on

listens, as best she can, listens and steps proper in the ways of a woman.

schedule, two and one half centimeters per year, as if the mazes within

And me, I’m watching Mama close-like. Can’t take my eyes off Mama,

its interior are too rude a joke to contemplate fully – as if the room

you see. Couldn’t move them if I tried. Because there are morning glory

that we all come to love – the Happy Room – where a boy learned to

blossoms, uncut, in her afro. Mama has on a sunprint dress. And then

walk, where a wife learned to make whole, to please, to love – a room

Mama, you see, she looks my way and smiles. And I smile back, because

of patterned rosewood floors, and walls hued in taupe, and a single,

it’s breakfast time and I’m hungry again. I’m hungry, and Mama’s about

winsome fireplace, crowding the far right extremity, with ceilings

to cook. About to cook for the family again, like we are a family again, like

slung low, and a floor absurdly puckered – a room held together by spit

Papa ain’t gone nowheres. Papa who been tiptoeing his way down to the

and sinew and hope, trust, family – as if the Happy Room

fjords, in broad daylight, entertaining smart ass women along the road,

truly provided a young boy a blanket security guaranteed

casting aside his vows precise in the place where the boy once choked on

by Papa – Papa who once he observed ever so slightly his

salt water and was promptly repaired by the grace of the rapids; the boy who pissed hisself in public, a savant and idiot, all rolled up in one. The boy whose Papa arrives at the fjords after resigning his public commissions, after

10

shadow slip below his shoulders, when gazing in the mirror, determined that this life, the life that then he was leading, was not for him, that it was finished, that it was waste, and so concluding, Papa departed. Goddamn.

11

POEM FOR MIKE KELLEY

by Shane Anderson

No is yes in Japan but with more time For the planchette’s scraping

THE NORTANG BEARS b y E r i n P r i n g l e - To u n g a t e

Like this, snowflakes in midWinter, analog, static, Channel 00 – This is the way my eyes drift To light fi xtures, USB cables The way the world treadmills Against clock faces, smug, revolting.

P IN THE HIGH MOUNTAINS LIVE THE NORTANG bears. They come down in Spring when mountain climbers

Mike, my fingers are strained, itch,

are fished from the rivers, and they return in Autumn when

Are waiting. Don’t tell me

the mountain climbers fall like leaves of red and gold. The bears have sharp teeth and claws, and their coats are as ragged as the

We didn’t love den Hai

clouds people see after a bad dream has brought them onto the porch.

Or the plush, stitched togetherness

Where they wait in the dark. As though good dreams are just past how far they can see – if they look further.

Of the brown bears We were attached to with your delay –

The Nortang bears are older than trees, and their paw pads are as hard as the rocks under the streams where the dead lie, like the first fish a

I will yes you if I have to;

Nortang bear catches and leaves gutted. The dead watch each other

We did love them, didn’t we, do,

between the streams and rocks. The wind that hardly moves them throws bees from flowers while they wait for the bears to come down

For all that’s stuffed

the mountain, or go up it, or eat.

Inside of them, time, lost, blanketed?

12

13

THE DARK MYTHOLOGICAL RIVER

by Tim Suermondt

for Billy Collins

LET’S GO SLEEP JAPAN SOON b y S a š a S t a n i š i ´c

It’s not all that dark and not all that mythological.

Actually it’s pretty easy, like taking a walk in Syracuse, talking with your Uncle Mortimer, HAT NEXT? YOU ASK. SWITZERLAND, I SAY. LET’S reading about the Battle of Stalingrad

go sleep in Bern. Why is it called Bern? you ask in Bern,

from your chaise lounge.

and you yawn, and I yawn, and there are bears in Bern, and drunks and children fall in the pit and get saved or die. We

A cool wind blows over snowfields,

sleep well no matter where, we fall asleep together well. We have slept

a strange light shines

through a lot of world. We have slept on the train to Belgrade with our

on comfortable houses in the suburbs

legs like bridges across the seats. The conductor’s hat was tired and too small for his forehead. The conductor wanted a sincere ten euro for the

and a man in a worn-out tuxedo

mud on his seats. The conductor wore a mustache.

puts out the trash.

On the plane from Serbia you saw crows on the runway and Your heart has been broken,

fell asleep in the midst of a panic attack, and I had to wake

and historically

you up and tell you about it, and that made you freak out

you don’t know why.

again. During our landing the stewardess played Blue Velvet and danced slowly between the rows, but we didn’t hear it,

You see? Pretty easy.

14

we didn’t see it, we had our eyes closed.

15

In Washington we fell asleep in the National Gallery of Art – Matisse,

that Japanese photographer. You remember? A young guy, white jeans,

the sleeping pill – but it wasn’t only him, it was the troubling nights

who rollicked with his tripod between the cedar trees, looking for the

before; we had made up a new game, decided not to speak during the

right angle, for the best light, eyes alert like a vigilant lover. Focused

dark for a week, but you busted the edict right after midnight. You

people are the most beautiful ones, you said and called over to him asking

said that I wasn’t being silent in English. You said that I was keeping

if he would tell us a Japanese bedtime story. He didn’t pay attention to

still in a different language, and you felt left out and found it unjust. I

us or he was scared of strangers lying in Faulkner’s grass or he didn’t

couldn’t answer. Rules are rules. I was scared that if I opened my mouth

speak this language, and when I was a kid, I believed that unheard and

it wouldn’t be English that came out. So we lay there awake, night after

incomprehensible words don’t just disappear but gather as clouds in the

night – me not wanting to sleep unintelligibly next to you, and you

sky and come back to us as thunder, so that everyone can hear them.

trying to understand what I wasn’t saying.

After you fell asleep, back in Faulkner’s garden, I kissed your temple because I like it so much to see a kiss written down on your temple.

On a bench by the Brandenburg Gate we slept on a Sunday to voices of Russian tourists, to songs of pigeons. We were

In Bern we went to Einstein’s house, we wanted to sleep

led to the bench with our eyes closed, again a game in which

for Einstein. We have a soft spot for sleeping where famous

only our dreams were supposed to see the grand columns.

people once slept. Bern is named Bern because Berlin was

As we woke up, we couldn’t remember what dreams we

already given away, and you placed yourself on a chair under

had, and we spoke Russian songs fluently for hours.

the photograph of Einstein’s wife and you closed your beautiful eyes, and I sat opposite on the floor and closed my

In Eastern Alabama we fell asleep on a dirt road leading to

beautiful eyes, and we paid homage to Einstein. It was half

a church in the fields. Three hours in a full morning heat

an hour maybe, before they came and got us. I never told

until a fat black guy woke us, fist against the windshield. We

you what I dreamt in Bern. In Bern I dreamt about Japan

followed James to the mass, and the mass trembled and stunk

– that is, I dreamt about Bill Murray. Let’s go sleep Japan

and boiled. Let’s sleep, you whispered, but chants and god

soon. On that day in Bern, you were a little bit sick, you

and James kept us awake. We nestled up against him, he put

were a little bit pale, you were a little bit silent in Bern. In

his hands flat on our heads, his good shirt smelled like a lemon.

Bern you were a little bit asleep with me.

In Oxford, Mississippi we slept in Faulkner’s spacious garden and – believe me or not – on that day in Faulkner’s garden, I forgot what the deal was with our sleeping. As a matter of fact, I forgot what the deal was

This story was fi rst published online in

with all our games, rules, and assignments. It happened at the sight of

Gigantic: A Magazine of Short Prose and Art

16

177

…

DEUTSCHES ECK

b y R e b e c c a Fa r i v a r

The mouth gives without looking.

Heartmouth, armmouth – the whole body a mouth?

Eye on train window and still I see my reflection.

Ugly hex.

A raven swarm at the Eck. We are culled by the journey down the Mosel down the Rhein at the bend the mouth takes.

18

by Florian Imgrund

19

…

Let us stand out in the thunderstorms to be struck by lightning/not once…/who is ready to admit defeat/the naked vulnerability askance/ensconced in doubtful self-belief/a fitting sentimentality to shore up survival/At our core we indulge in dying/death’s other great rival/ I am not blind to the trivial or the insignificant/the wooded by-pass of memory/but up ahead of me the light is doused/the cows come home ignoring grunts and unfamiliar noises/chewing on the wet grass through which the current spreads/in through their mouths and out their legs/ eating away at their own death/chewing on its cud/I should intervene/Listen to me/what if the thunder never comes/the darkness is stunned into silence/or better yet/we forget all that we have lived through/that hunger that never stops for breath/Relief/would we call it that/What I am getting at/famished as I am for life/my appetite barely whet/I can’t believe I pass on chances and then regret the last of days/There are other ways to starve yourself/ retrieve your past when it’s long spent/Repent, repent/whisper to me your over-indulgence in all that’s heaven-sent/we have lived through dark times and are hell-bent/the unfortunates lament the stricken multitude illuminating the way

by Florian Imgrund

21 20

MEDITATION #32 INDULGE IN DYING

by Gerard Beirne

part i

HOW TO HAVE SEX ON OTHER PLANETS

by Dolan Morgan

yet. Take it one step at a time. Ease into it. There’s lube if necessary, but it probably won’t be – on this planet, you must fuck with your mouth and your voice. Why? Because Mercury commands all forms of verbal, written, and printed communication. Time for mercurial phone sex.

Start talking, and fast. Mercury’s orbit around the sun is a mere 89 earth days, yet its own axial rotation happens but thrice for every two solar orbits. So you must speak quickly; you and your lover will be years older in a week’s time. Say everything you’ve always wanted to say. Say everything you never wanted to say. Lick your lips and say: “We cannot stop the junkmail from coming, but we do not have to read it.” 1

1. The Inner Planets

Let your lover say: “We cannot stop the radio announcer from talking, but we do not have to listen to him.” 1 If you do this,

E START WITH THE INNER PLANETS NOT BECAUSE

you will survive the heat, and you will survive the lack of

they are the closest physically, but because they are the

atmosphere and oxygen, and you will survive the intense

closest morally. They may be called the Terrestrial or

solar rays, but as you climax, you will come to know that

Telluric (meaning earth) planets, but they are also the

the crater in which you rapidly mouth your desires is

Personal Planets, and as such represent the best initiation for beginners.

named not after Castor and Pollux, but after Apollodorus,

They care. They are aware of our needs and are “concerned with our

the ancient builder of the Pantheon, and like him, you

feelings…they present us with the opportunity to say, ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ and

will be accused of imaginary crimes, convicted and put to

‘Maybe.’” 1 Well, thank you, Inner Planets, and while it is still our

death, both by the press and the authorities. There’s no

choice, let’s get started.

fighting the spin here, and unlike Apollodorus, you will not be remembered, as a crater or anything except a stain

At 350 degrees, Mercury is going to be hot, but don’t be nervous.

This is the land of Gemini the wise! And Hermes, messenger of

or pulp novel. The junkmail continues. And the empty feeling? That’s your pantheon.

the Gods! So your induction into ecstasy will be in strong, able hands – hands that can be seen from orbit in the shape of an enormous crater whose troughs spread out like the legs of a spider. Get in there and strip naked, but don’t touch anyone

30

Now, onto Venus, where it’s all pressure and no caldera.

A swarming white testis, the tantric Venus exists in a perpetual state of longing and desire, punctuated

31

by sudden eruptions against itself and others. Lacking

glass, ogling your paused body as if at an unhinged, post-

plate tectonics, for example, the planet holds positions for

historic bukkake session. When you can no longer stand it,

eons until geology finally bursts outward in hot, massive resurfacing. At ground level, atmospheric density is the highest

and at the exact right moment – in tandem with all of your marbled lovers – release, suddenly and with anger. Step down

in the solar system, 92 times that of Earth’s. Conversely, the naked

from the pedestal, hips swinging like back-alley switchblades,

human body typically pushes outward with a force of 14 pounds

and be as overwhelming, insatiable, and destructive as you like. At

per square inch – a meager effort here. Venus wants to get inside

this depth of longing, the difference between mortal violence and

of you, and be warned that Venus shares etymological roots with

orgasm should be, at least scholastically, indiscernible. You are the

venenum – poison. To successfully have sex here, without entering

caldera. After all of this time, Aphrodite – une grande mort.

into a kind of toxic shock, you must blend in, you must be a chameleon – though not of color but motion – and you must commit to a dance

On Mars, in the name of war, you will don the colorful masks and

that mimics the planet’s pervasive lust and repression. You and your

vibrant costumes of Mexican luchadores. As pro-wrestlers, you will

lover will slowly subduct across the surface, shaping your bodies into

tag-team yourselves, flying off the blue ropes into the red, iron-oxide

angular forms, redolent of geometric figures and the rocks around you.

hematite. Prepare for engagement. You will act out the moves of battle,

Be a ballet of stone, mineral, and strata. That is, while gutting striations

but only as rehearsed. You will tear at each others’ bodies and clothes,

through the sulfuric desert with palms and feet and knees, one of

but only as theater. You will beat and pelt one another, drenched in

you must play the role of subductive slab, reaching your throbbing

sweat and passion, but only for dramatic effect. You will not wish

lithosphere into the other’s primed accretionary prism, running back-

“for the actual suffering,” but instead “only enjoy the perfection of an

arc basins in taut lines against the other’s spreading axis. In order to

iconography.” 2 That is, there’s no action, only acting. And why do we

avoid notice, all of this must be done as slowly as possible. Dancing,

act? To remember, to look back and codify. There is no war on Mars: all

you should be as unseen tangents to each others’ slight curves, never

true violence is enacted toward the future as a kind of fevered hope,

touching except in ways that don’t matter. To onlookers, you must

but on Mars everything is expressed toward the past, a hallmark of

appear naked and completely still, like strangely wrought statues,

nostalgia. If there is a struggle, it is against that of the oncoming

your limbs cut at unnatural angles into stone, left here long ago,

future. Violence is motion, sadness an inscription, and here it’s all

forgotten by your builder, slowly worn away and shorn of color.

stillness: 4 Billion years ago, the planetary dynamo stalled, halting

If one of these onlookers announces, “I invite you in the name of

the magnetic field. The pieces and parts are here but none move,

Mylatta,” let them take you, both intimately and as a souvenir.

just flaccid bedrock. The central fluids are desiccated, and from

Do not move. Do not speak. Do not anything. Hold it in. You will be venerated and revered, displayed and studied. In enormous buildings, academics will pore over you through

32

one horizon to the next, there’s only rust, the memory of a metal, and two frozen poles on opposite sides of the bed.

What can’t Mars forget? Night after night you too must try

33

to remember what heat is like. Again and again, you must search each

never officially recognized. All parties reserve plausible

other’s bodies for the words of an old bolero. Look each other in the eye

deniability. In alternating maneuvers, they will equip the

when you dance the Aided Suplex in the garden, or sing the Argentine

two of you, following the pattern of a discrete function.

Rack from the balcony, or strum the Samoan Drop in the veranda;

One at a time and in taught rhythm, they will strip you

hold hands when you undress your Russian Legsweep, your Battering

bare, smelt and mold you. Gently, they will construct

Ram, your Double Bulldog Choke Slam. There will be nothing else, not

for you a propellant and a nozzle and then stuff you

even loss or victory, just time’s perpetual spectacle. Kisses, punches

with powder. They’ll gift you a monocoque structure,

– do everything as hard as you like. There is no dying on Mars, only

laced with vernier engines, gyroscopes and gimbals.

Epimetheus. From the start, the match itself has been death, a moment

Back and forth, new accoutrement will be added as

always pointed backward, and the longer you think about it (or the more

the stakes, following a von Neumann hierarchy, rise

you try to remember), it should be obvious that the afterlife has never

into absurdity. This is your courtship. A dangerous

been the future – but instead can only be the past. Olé.

set theory that pits Hyperion plasma against Lunar modules. Staring at one another across 150 million

Contrary to popular belief, the Sun and the Moon are

miles of empty space, you and your lover will finally

actually equals embroiled in a longstanding game of

be launched in an interstellar game of chicken, à la Bertrand Russell,

brinkmanship. Look to the sky and you will see two bitter

like two drunk teenagers on the edge of a cliff. Try to imagine it as fun

enemies of comparable size. Watch them chase each other,

and keep drinking. Arcing through the void, you would do well to smile

hurling endless threats. Watch them eclipse one another,

as you think of the Lagrangian Point, the place where the gravitational

taunting and braying. They put each others’ lights out.

force between two bodies is equal, where the two of you can slow to a

They mimic the other’s movement. In turn, they wave

soothing stop and linger in the dark together forever. How nice. Yes,

around the sky day and night, claiming all latitudes and

the time between discharge and inevitable impact should be just long

longitudes as their own, like competing dogs pissing on every

enough for both of you to think of this stupid dream, and to furiously rub

tree and bush in the forest. One’s stink erases the other’s, as

one out while admitting to yourselves that you never actually thought

it always has, and for you to have sex on either body, you must

of yourselves as equals – finally meeting in the middle at the intersection

engage its enemy. These scales demand balance. Or else what?

between A and B, a logical conjunction and pointless explosion. Then

We need not find out. Serious sextronauts will allow themselves

the Cold War continues without you.

to become deadly weapons in an always escalating arms race between Helios and Selene. Word of your arrival on the Sun will be broadcast through secret channels and intercepted by unseen agents.

continued on p. 96

Your lover’s stationing on the Moon will be publicly eluded to, but

34

35

Taken from the series:

o.T.

but that's probably wrong too

Kaffee pause

by Bettina Lessmann

40

ovegrove & Gosling

by Becky Crook

LOVEGROVE & GOSLING A new English literary agency in Berlin

And when you have finished, when

Founded officially in April 2012,

the as-yet unrewarded investment

the against-the-grain agency is

of five or eighteen years’ labor is

run by the enterprising owner

ready to unfurl its wings outside

of Berlin-based Dialogue Books,

the boundaries of your laptop

Sharmaine Lovegrove, as well as

hard drive, what then? For many

by the unflagging editor of The

new writers, this necessary step,

Reader Berlin, Victoria Gosling.

from having-written to being-

Both thoughtful, powerful, and

read, is daunting. And for many

motivated by their common love of

foreign writers, living and writing

modern literature, Lovegrove and

in English in Central Europe,

Gosling assume complementing

agents and publishing houses can

roles in the agency.

seem especially far away.

Lovegrove

is

a

reader.

Her

Anyone who has ever undertaken

Enter Lovegrove & Gosling, a

longstanding relationship with

to write a book knows about this:

new Berlin-based literary agency

the

the empty page that stares back at

dedicated to selecting, fine-tuning,

Germany and the UK, her know-

and presenting your written work

how as a studied book-seller

to English publishers. In fact,

providing for the literary needs

L&G is the only English-language

of her reading clientele, and her

you for hours, the elusive word or sentence, the early mornings and late nights of tooth-pulling typing and re-typing, the whirligig of self-doubt, the endless methods of procrastination, the relief when the pen flows freely, the tedium and the joy of writing.

publishing

literary agency in Central Europe

dynamism

and is therefore well-positioned

through

for into

industries

pushing tangible

ideas action

to gather up new literary gems for

equip her as a compelling peddler

the publishing world.

of manuscripts to publishers.

“The publishing industry starts with the writer and ends with the reader.

My role is at the reverse end of what I do now, which is selling books to customers at my shop. As an agent, I sell manuscripts to publishers, so for me it’s the same conversation that I have as a bookseller, which is to talk about books with passion, insight, and belief.”

56

of

57

A

self-professed

Lovegrove’s unique,

bibliophile,

appreciation

Gosling is a writer. As a novelist

her with their manuscripts, for

stages of their careers. “The

and short story writer, she has

editing,

encouragement,

fine-

widely-

events and the interaction from

herself run the gamut of the

tuning, and providing a sounding

the audience are an integral part

publishing industry and knows

board for their ideas before they

modeled in the concept and setup

of the Dialogue, and we really

what it involves. “Having been

began to approach agents.

of her shop. A small, intimate space

love building on and adapting the

on the writer’s side of the author-

in Neukölln, Dialogue appears

tradition of the literary salon,”

agent

well-

As an editor for Berlin Stories at

more like a living room library,

says Lovegrove.

qualified to understand the trials

NPR, Gosling brings her passion

and tribulations of the writing life.

for storytelling to the airwaves.

Stemming from her previous work

That doesn’t mean I’m overly soft

She loves the challenge and instant

literature

and

international writers at different

perfectly

varied

modern,

of

is

with less than 3,000 curated titles, each thoughtfully chosen

relationship,

I’m

by Lovegrove and her staff. All of

chatting with customers at the

though. I also know how many

gratification of these short radio

the books are new, in a deliberate

London Review Bookshop and

hours writers can spend playing

clips, which require authors to

effort to directly interact with the

writing reading lists for writers

spider-solitaire and neurotically

distill their Berlin experiences

publishing industry and support

and

avoiding all work.”

down to solid gems. Her taste for

academics

who

needed

authors. In addition to selling

bibliographic advice on specific

books, Dialogue hosts a range

topics, Lovegrove and her staff

After she moved to Germany in

of story-telling events featuring

also offer a Book Doctor service.

2008, Gosling established herself

Century

with The Reader Berlin, an

is trying to change). As a child,

“One thing I’ve noticed is that people often pick up books that they’ve already read – but are not sure where to go next. The Book Doctor service offers a conversation about what you are looking for to enhance your reading matter. After an in-depth discussion, we then make book suggestions to suit your needs. The Book Doctor is called as such because we are being prescriptive with our recommendations in the sessions!”

literature is broad, though she claims to be married to Nineteenth Gothic

Horror

(but

editing consultancy which also

she checked out piles of books

offers workshops and writing

taller than she was, first relishing

competitions. This effort came

adventures and trial-conquering

from her work editing friends’

heroes with happy endings, but

books, which built momentum

now she also seeks out books that

as

ask difficult questions:

more

authors

approached

“You would not be the person you are now were it not for the books you At the end of the day, all of

boil down to a single goal: that of

Lovegrove’s many undertakings

helping good stories to be heard.

58

have read. Reading is still an escape, and it’s also an exploration. It’s where I look for answers – and a good book always adds something to my understanding of what it is to be human.”

59

to think of yourself as an athlete

& Gosling has so far received

(only fortunately, your career

excellent response from writers

won’t be over at 25). It requires

and agents in Germany and in the

focus, dedication, sacrifice. You

UK and is available for anyone

have to accept that and take its

writing in English within Central

joys where you find them. I’d also

Europe. The next step for the

advise adopting the belief that

agency is to receive submissions

what you’re doing is meaningful,

and

that

to

begin

approaching

publishers. Anyone writing in the

you

are

by Ángel Cobacho

SUSPENSIÓN SUSPENSION

contributing

something.”

Anteayer resbalé con algo que

English language or on translated

parecía ser una mancha de aceite

works may submit their work or

en el pavimento. Pensé que el

contact Lovegrove & Gosling

golpe sería terrible y que, como

about their terms and conditions

mínimo, me fracturaría la cadera.

at www.lovegrove-gosling.com.

“For

English-language

writers

When Lovegrove isn’t

O algo peor. Todavía no sé cómo

enjoying Berlin’s cultural

acabará esto, pero se hace tarde y

scene with her writer-

empiezo a tener hambre.

Suspensión Suspension

The new effort by Lovegrove

living in Berlin,” Gosling advises,

husband and young son or

Two days ago I slipped on

“it’s very easy to lose focus and

absorbing a delectable work

something that looked like an oil

forget why you came here. I don’t

of literary criticism with a

stain on the pavement. I thought

think the answer is to go to every

glass of wine, and

that the fall would be terrible and

literary event there is, but finding

if Gosling isn’t picking up

that, at the very least, I would

other writers, or those who will

a Mitfahr to the Sächsische

fracture a hip. Or worse. I still

support you, chivy you along, and

Schweiz or to the Czech

don’t know how this is going to

provide feedback is invaluable –

border for some R&R, both

end, but it’s getting late, and I’m

even if it’s just one person. I’ve

may be found together

starting to feel hungry.

said it before and will again,

sipping Châteauneuf du

writing is hard and it’s lonely. If

pape and plotting world

you are serious about it, about

domination.

producing the work, it can help

60

Translated by Julian Smith-Newman and Christina Wegener

61

Taken from the series:

o.T.

but that's probably wrong too

by Bettina Lessmann

63

VISION OF THE SCRIBES AT WORK ON A VISION OF HELL Scribe A working his pen at a slant (to judge from the endings of his descenders).

His script showing a strong sense of the perpendicular (in spite of a slight tendency for his vertical strokes to slope to the right). More calligraphic than accurate.

Almost every page of his work marred by errors, pointed out and corrected.

For example the word ‘cynericu’ to ‘cynerice’ (in fol.64v of the edition) with the ‘e’ written in subscript. Other readings too requiring alteration: in ‘hie onbryhton,’ 1. 12, mistaking, as subject, ‘hie,’ the verb’s indirect object. The frequency (in dim light, by way of explanation) of dittographic errors: ‘gesawe,’ fol.69r, 1. 3, written twice, the second deleted in revision.

Scribe A with lesser skills than Scribe B (perhaps a student under supervision).

The interchanges of Hand A to Hand B within the homilary, a ratio of five to one.

Hand B’s appearance in the middle (both scribes clearly in the same scriptorium)

voz, como tu propia voz, quiere hacerte compañía.»

— «You hear the voice that repeats a voice remote from time.

At times, because of it, you know what happens in you; at

times you only understand that this voice, like your own

voice, wants to keep you company.»

Translated by Julian Smith-Newman

and Christina Wegener

75 74

of the folios, relieving A from time to time. Hand B writing the Incipits and Explicits.

A veces por ella sabes lo que ocurre en ti; a veces solo entiendes que esa

A vision of hell opening and closing, all the better to tell, by the more experienced scripts.

— «Escuchas la voz que repite una voz alejada del tiempo.

by Gerard Beirne

S

by Benito del Pliego

…

The table wobbles, pipes freeze, the painting hangs askew, to be tended and praised like the Goethe plant that repeats itself in each formation and, spilling over the window ledge, points to morning’s dishes.

This is the 21st floor. The work we return to from a mysterious city grown so small and calculable.

The state department clutters the stairwell.

The lake is a boy’s eye, impossible to scale. We fill three rooms with our living – what you would call mirror I call gold-domed

capital of getting. Here shines the gruel that keeps the populace accountable.

by Florian Imgrund

78

79

STILL LIFE

by Kristie Kachler

part 2 * continued from p. 35

HOW TO HAVE SEX ON OTHER PLANETS

“rewarded with excommunication, imprisonment, death at the stake.”1 You may wish to establish a codeword, though ultimately it won’t matter. It may be true that no one can hear you scream in space, but you’re still going to. Now oil up.

2a. Middle

by Dolan Morgan At more than double the size of every other planet combined, Jupiter rests atop a great seat of power.

It’s well stocked, and there’s no wonder that the most impressive Roman temple was built in 2. The Middle and Outer Planets

its name. Jupiter’s magnetosphere operates at a strength at least 14 times that of Earth’s. The

HEREAS THE INNER PLANETS APPLAUD PERSONAL

attraction is uncontested, but be careful. Despite boasting a Jovial

choice and free will, sex farther out is definitively less

character, Jupiter is an unofficial police state, surrounded by a retinue

casual. The next two subsections of the spheres constitute

of armed, icy moons. The Galilean satellites goosestep in tight, regular

both order and disorder, rule and its subjugation, and

formation around its regal outer body, while the rocky core is shrouded

they deftly establish how there is actually little difference

beneath a blanket of gas and bureaucracy – mostly helium and earmarked

in their dichotomies. So, the takeaway point here is that,

legislation. Some interlopers suggest that the core doesn’t even exist,

obviously, the sex is going to be amazing. Of course, it goes

like the king of Kafka’s Castle or the unknown guard in the Panopticon

without saying that it will also be out of this world. Beside

prison, but it is this very uncertainty from whence great power is drawn,

our central star, the Middle Planets Jupiter and Saturn are the

striking fear in all comers. Central core or no, the enormous red eye

largest in the solar system, and, “because of their enormous

watches over everything like an omniscient corner-deli camera. And as

size, the regularity of their orbits, and the vast extent of their

in the case of a bodega, it would be impossible to merely get down here

gravitational fields, they act like two great balance wheels to

and do it like dogs. You’d be ejected in an instant – because of Jupiter’s

stabilize the system and keep celestial order in it.” And our Outer

hold on both space and time. No, in order to fuck on Jupiter, or in a

Planets – Uranus, Neptune, and the always contentious Pluto – are

deli for that matter, one must emulate Zeus’s rise to power, wherein

persona non grata presiding over rebellion, masochism, violence

he and his father fought as two bedbugs, the spear-like thunder cock of

and delinquency. Allegiance to these bodies has historically been

the one fiercely piercing the Titan carapace of the other, spilling rocks

1

96

97

and Olympian children all over the heavens’ filthy aisles. This traumatic insemination will, for better or worse, be the only sex on Jupiter. You must become an infestation of vermin spawning in its crannies, eluding incarceration in your sheer number and anarchy. You and your sleeper cells must fuck rampantly, in the breads and cereals, in the oatmeal and crackers, in the walls and the corners, in the frames and the linings, and you must do it with ferocity, without care for the other, in the name of a greater good, with idealism and hope: rape with a human face.

bowl of chips and dip? A massive, global storm, 12,000 miles across. Someone here is eating babies for fun. Someone has opened a vintage bottle of Furies, spilling both Eumenides, the kindly ones, and Erinyes, the angry ones, all over the shag carpet, and there is no stain remover on Saturn. The sex doesn’t stop. Sadly, permanent fellatio and cunnilingus are quickly becoming the true castration. There’s cum everywhere and too much chafing. It smells like shit. For

It is in this manner that Jupiter truly wins, however, by eradicating the

escape, you must invoke Saturn’s patron angel, Cassiel. Use

difference between revolution and rule, between Europa and the Bull.

the amulet made in his name, intended to ward off enemies

Here, all transgression of the law is a default affirmation. Your throng

(your erstwhile lovers), with words carved in the blood of a

of bastard children will be absorbed into the shelves, and eventually you

bird, tied to the legs of a dove, and set to flight. This should

too will be sold and eaten. In a great reversal, you will have fucked and

scatter the mob, yet the bird will not fly, and neither will

been fucked to no purpose, and your corruption will be of no solace or

your enemies. On Saturn, it’s always Saturday, no matter

consequence to anyone. Attempts to call for justice will bring laughter

the doves. What now? You can choose to further embrace

and ridicule and character assassination, both for you and your family.

Cassiel, to rest in passive judgment of the cosmos, staring

Get on the floor and put your hands in the air. You’re going to live.

with dead eyes over the bobbing heads of the endless parade of hysterical swingers – or you can become Shani, maleficent

On Saturn, it’s always Saturday. A day of rest. A day of relaxation.

Navagraha of the Vedic texts, and dole out punishments,

A party that never stops. Saturnalia, the Golden Age, forever. Naked

lopping the limbs off of kings, developing “systems of legal

from perihelion to aphelion, with a cornucopia overflowing its horn

torture that function with cold, Saturnian efficiency,”1 and

of plenty, “loose reins are given to public dissipation; everywhere you

embrace the soft melancholy that is so faithfully married to

may hear the sound of great preparations.” Yes, sex is going to be easy.

3

You’ll leave your car keys on the outer rings and take off that blouse,

sadism, but either way you’re staying at the party. So take a deep breath; it’s going to be a long day.

kick off your boots and chillax while strangers casually have their way with you. It’s nice. Everyone feels good and no one has to work.

2b. Outer

This is the great harvest! Yet, when the partiers go down on you, as if apathetically reading the Sunday paper, you’ll realize that all this leisure is being dragged to an untenable conclusion, and the Sunday paper will never actually arrive. That cool breeze? Blows at 1,100 mph. That

98

It’s logical that Uranus is the celestial haven of water sports and golden showers. Though English-speaking schoolchildren might protest otherwise, its name is drawn

99

both from the Greek, ϝορσανός, which is reminiscent of Sanskrit’s “to rain,” and more directly, οὑρέω, meaning “to urinate.” Some will wish to contradict these roots, boldly asserting that Uranus has cold feet, its temperature as low as -371 F. All of the unleashable liquid, they’ll say, is frozen. And detractors will be quick to bring up the satellite Voyager’s damning observation that Uranus is not pissing on

to go unspoken, ambitions unrealized. Try to copulate and reproduce with the idea of being alone, of never really accomplishing anything.

More importantly, take pleasure in the sight of others doing the same.

Watch them dance. Watch nothing happen until nothing reaches its fever pitch, where it doesn’t shatter that wine glass, but threatens to.

Anything is possible, and it’s staying that way – until everything is an assault, and waiting is battery. Or is it the reverse? Either way, if done

anyone. Rather, they’ll say, it stands just out of view with an

correctly, it should hurt. Keep taking it, and feel the weight of the rest

axial tilt roughly parallel to that of the solar system itself, as

of your life push back. One more second. One more second. One more

if trying to blend shyly into the background. Skeptics will

second. One more second. One more second. One more second. One

rightfully ask, if Uranus is one of only three gas giants and

more second.

ruler of “revolution, crisis, [and] reform,” 1 then why this prude inhibition? Admittedly, the specifics of its low thermal

Neptune’s movement in Gustav Holst’s The Planets is the only piece

flux remain a scientific anomaly, and no, we cannot precisely

featuring human voices, a chorus of women hidden in a separate room

explain its hydrocarbon haze layers, but the general cause

from the audience. This illusion and chicanery is correspondent to the

of its inaction does not elude us. The reason? Not Uranus’s

mystic planet’s strange, almost magical promises. You will wonder: Who

symbolic relationship with castration, nor the fear of its

are these people, and what else is happening behind closed doors? Poseidon

own children, but the paraphilic act of Desperation – aka,

clouds the answers in fathomless ocean depths, yet he graciously invites

holding it in for sexual pleasure. Uranus isn’t a prude – it’s

you to dinner, dangling information before you – not to mention a

an unhinged voyeur getting off on this cold limbo. Uranus

trident of power, wealth, and love. To have sex here, you must accept,

isn’t hiding, but lounging in a painful erotic repose. That’s

and why not? Like anyone else, you too want power, wealth, and love,

why it isn’t peeing on anyone. And to have sex on Uranus,

right? Wrong. Neptune is going to teach you what you really want.

you too will have to embrace its philosophy. Don’t try

Neptune is going to show you what’s behind those closed doors. After

anything stupid, either: Uranus “responds to efforts to appease him…with intensified naughtiness, until finally his own personality becomes as diffuse, rootless, and lacking in direction as his causeless rebellion.” Sound familiar?

1

Whether it does or doesn’t, it should. Here, you must assent to the things you suppress. On Uranus, discover what is in your psychic bladder and make it stay there. Secrets ought

100

dinner, when you’re thoroughly drunk, he will drag you under the water, bring you into the room, only to reveal that it is empty. “There’s no one here,” you will say, noticing for the first time the cheap rings that Neptune wears. “No,” he will tell you, “it’s not empty. You’re here.” 4 And then he’ll close the door, leaving you to consider the cold, methane walls. But you will not be alone for long. Emerging from the scattered disc population and drunkenly tossing off their Kuiper Belt, resonant

101

trans-Neptunians will refocus their gravity on you, repeatedly, as if trying to draw water from the furniture. Your payment? A constant supply of drugs and a few moments of broken sleep. After a fashion,

If you sing loudly enough, maybe the part inside your body that he’s right about will finally exit through your wide open mouth, like a live rabbit leaving a shallow hat.

you too will begin to sing. There are other rooms, you’ll realize, with other people – the final chorus in Holst’s symphony has

Pluto, finally, floats alone on the edge of everything and oblivion

always been a cry for help, calling over the harp and oboe to

without knowing who or what it is. For billions of years, it was

an unmoved citizenry. An unlikely hero will emerge, a new

nothing. Then, briefly, a planet. Now, after a symposium, a dwarf.

Martin Luther of the orchestral brothel: Neptune himself. He

Next? A worm? Who knows – its orbit is confused and unpredictable.

will champion your cause and demand your release, pointing

Pluto stands between the solar system and eternity like Janus, god

out the names of his “cheap” planetary rings: Courage,

of doors. With two faces looking at once forward and back in time,

Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. In his unlikely honor,

Pluto as Janus represents both the dead in Hades’ underworld and “the

you and your comrades will smash through the doors and

emergence of life-forms from the one-celled organism.” The umbra, the

onto the stage, halting the quintuple meter, making chaos

darkest part of a shadow, is named for it, and “Pluto’s weapon is the

of sheet music and stands, woodwinds and brass. You will

bomb,” where “the unexploded…is a uterine symbol; the explosion is

set the timpani aflame and slaughter the string section.

phallic.”1 The point? Pluto doesn’t know where it ends and something

You will put the conductor against the wall, last words

else begins. Unfortunately then, your partner cannot accompany you to

be damned. But these musicians are no wimps, either.

Pluto – because Pluto is both itself and its lover, as you must be here as

They will muster their forces, garrison off the organ and

well. You will practice auto-erotic asphyxiation instead. Put the noose

blockade the first chairs. In a flurry of coattails and bow

around your neck and let yourself go. As you get further from the sun,

ties, they will launch a counterattack, push back your front,

you will freeze like Pluto’s atmosphere and fall toward the ground.

and cut off your supplies. Now, the real sex can begin. Held

Pluto’s mass is even less than that of the moon’s, so you will fall slowly,

fast to the ground, a hand around your neck, you will turn

the noose uncoiling like cream sliding across a gently sloped table.

your head to the audience and scream, pleading. But this has

Imagine the rope as a cord hooked up to a dialysis machine: “[She]

always been your part, your solo. Make them believe in magic,

tried to sleep during dialysis. Most of the time, she dreamt of herself

that live rabbits can really come from hats, and, rising from their

on dialysis.” 5a With your hand, stroke as the gambler does its poker

seats, the guests will applaud you. It’s been a fantastic show. Take

machine: “I was gone. My body was there, outside the machine,

a bow, if you can. Tomorrow, the performance starts again, almost

but at the same time I was inside the machine…It’s like playing

everywhere, “until there is no difference between sound and

against yourself – you are the machine; the machine is you.” 5b

silence.” In rehearsal, Neptune will arrogantly wave his trident and whisper to you, “Stop pretending – this is what you’ve always wanted.”

102

Stay like this, hanging naked on the line between life and death, ascension and climax, orbit and universe, now and

103

forever, like laundry in a breeze. Know that the solar wind is gradually memories rush out ahead of you, crossing through the umbra. What part of you do you want cast into the future? Then, at the end of your rope and in an immaculate conception, you will offer to the void the same two STDs granted you by God – one tenuous, the other infinite.

Bibliography

Cats can be found in the same section as Cat Breeds and Cat 1. Watters, Barbara. Sex and the Outer Planets. Valhalla Paperbacks, Ltd:

Care. In the Cat Zone. Other subjects can be found in the Airport

Washington, DC. 1971.

Communication Zone. You can search for these subjects from the

2. Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. Trans. Annette Lavers. Hill and Wang: New

Lounge Zone or the Wi-Fi Zone. Under “Z” is the Zone where the

York, NY. 1972.

zoning board meets: The Zoning Zone.

3. Seneca. Epistle 18, 1-2.

4. Morgan, Dolan in the voice of Neptune, Planet.

It’s time to enter the Feedback Zone. Welcome to the group critique.

5. Turkle, Sherry, ed. The Inner History of Devices. MIT Press:

The Constructive Criticism Zone. The Construction Zone.

Cambridge, MA. 2008. a. Sanal, Aslihan. “The Dialysis Machine.”

In order to get any work done here, your zone will need to maximize

b. Schull, Natasha. “Video Poker.”

productivity. You may need to hire an ergonomics expert. Perhaps your lumbar is not properly rounded. If the S-Shaped-Curve doesn’t dip and sink right the clavicles may teeter. The wrists may jut. It is never

Parts of this story first appeared

too late for Body Renovations. And maybe there is something dusty

in Eclectica in October 2011.

in the basement you can use for this. A blueprint or a fist with creases.

Something very dusty.

This is the crop tool and this is the zoom tool. This is the pendulum tool and this is the chaos pendulum, which is not to be used lightly.

Some would say it is not even a tool, but in fact the answer.

104

105

THE ZONE

by Elvia Wilk

blowing the surface of Pluto into space, one granule at a time. Let your

SAND IS

Becky Crook Christina Wegener Julian Smith-Newman

Editor Managing Editor & Foreign Languages Poetry Editor

Florian Duijsens

Guest Prose Editor

Yvonne Andreas

Art Editor

Lyz Pfister Michael Clemens

Copy Editor Design

Catherine Plaut

Events Coordinator

Susan Schulz

Marketing Manager

Vanessa Schipani Danielle Janess Alex Bodine

Distribution Manager Contributing Editor Distribution & Copyediting Printing: Solid Earth SAND Journal Rödelstr. 8 10318 Berlin info@sandjournal.com www.sandjournal.com

Connect with us on facebook for events:

www.facebook.com/sandjournal

ISSN 2191-429X • Published in Berlin • Copyright Spring 2012

www.sandjournal.com