A Ruckus of Awkward Stacking by Matt Robinson PDF

By Matt Robinson

ISBN-10: 1895837863

ISBN-13: 9781895837865

This booklet is set reminiscence -- reminiscence as a poetic shape during which refractions of loss, restoration, discovery and identification shape an ingenious reshaping of the earlier. In uncooked brushstrokes, Robinson files the sluggish cascade of occasions and characters slipping during the skinny membrane of expertise, shaping our histories. whilst, he experiments with kind and shape in a perfectly sinuous writing. With this, his first publication, Robinson makes a fantastic debut at the North American literary level.

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Extra resources for A Ruckus of Awkward Stacking

Sample text

Settled. with the beginnings of zinnias' reds, evidence of a comfort in the ground. 59 ij ways of looking at fish, after at another time or place the other dozen might be more readily available, but for now, cooking alone, all her kitchen will allow is this one version, and so i think of fish as simply the way in which my hands become my mother's summer-slick with august, flour, spices, and all the while there is the sizzling mimicry of cast iron and butter; a cool moon fading into the dark heat, so standing at the counter between the sink and the stove, i hesitate, refuse to rinse my hands and instead let the breading cast and harden, but in the interim the butter has melted away, and i can reach only for something transparent and black at the edge, it is only after the slap and sizzle of the fillet that i rediscover the butter and notice the flakes falling away from between my fingers.

With the beginnings of zinnias' reds, evidence of a comfort in the ground. 59 ij ways of looking at fish, after at another time or place the other dozen might be more readily available, but for now, cooking alone, all her kitchen will allow is this one version, and so i think of fish as simply the way in which my hands become my mother's summer-slick with august, flour, spices, and all the while there is the sizzling mimicry of cast iron and butter; a cool moon fading into the dark heat, so standing at the counter between the sink and the stove, i hesitate, refuse to rinse my hands and instead let the breading cast and harden, but in the interim the butter has melted away, and i can reach only for something transparent and black at the edge, it is only after the slap and sizzle of the fillet that i rediscover the butter and notice the flakes falling away from between my fingers.

Ondaatje's "Flight" (though he made no mention of it) — here it is early morning, and in the pink half-light: an air nova dc-8. and there is no seventy-year-old lady, there are no braids, and although the cabin is half-dark, half-way between fredericton and halifax, there is no long white hair, my mother has no hair, or little, the pins (and tubes) not in her mouth, but arms, and what with the nurses and relatives, i wait two hours before reaching — turning instead to pages, to the seeming permanence of print; to a woman who leaves only on my terms, when i am finished; only when i close my eyes or turn a page.

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A Ruckus of Awkward Stacking by Matt Robinson


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