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DALRO New Coin prize winners announced

JT Communication Solutions
09/26/2013 08:48:21

There are three winners of the DALRO poetry prizes awarded each year for the best poems in the literary magazine New Coin.

First prize went to Genna Gardini for her poem The Pot. Genna is a Cape Town writer whose poetry has appeared in several national and international literary journals. DALRO Award judge Colleen Higgs said of The Pot: “I liked its strangeness, and the sharp decisive ending. Genna Gardini’s voice is playful and witty, and while easy to read and follow, further layers of meaning and association rise from the poem, the more times I read it. Her voice is strong and somewhat triumphant here, although there is humour and a slight sense of self-ridicule.”

Genna says that she is “delighted and surprised” to have won. Second and third prizes went to Jim Pascual Agustin for “Village Potter’s Wife”, and Megan Tennant for “On a June day that I spent on the beach with two children”.

The June 2013 edition of New Coin is just out and contains exciting new work from 24 poets including Kobus Moolman, Ari Sitas, Lesego Rampolokeng, Alan Finlay, Nadine Botha, David wa Maahlamela and Kelwyn Sole, as well as international contributors like Saut Situmorang and Raphael Urweider.


Notes for editors:

New Coin is a literary magazine published by the Institute for the Study of English in Africa (ISEA) at Rhodes University. It has been published continuously since 1965, when it was founded by Guy Butler and Ruth Harnett. The editor in 2012 was Crystal Warren.

DALRO is a multi-purpose copyright society established in 1967 and administers (or licenses) various aspects of copyright on behalf of authors, artists and publishers. It provides the link between authors and the licensees who use their works in business or educational institutions.

For more information, contact: Jayne Morgan, 083 450 7060, Jayne@podcart.co.za


The winning poems are reproduced below:


Genna Gardini
The Pot


This is what is sewn into the colon’s brick lining:
I, my own darling, am monstrous marvelous made.

I count out my turns from the curd in dog years.
I am many stamps due, and fixed like a snail
to the spine, fit to bloom.

I, bun-sum, will burn! I, signal, am post!
I’d fill myself fifty before I quash at that trough
which is the pit and the nucleus. Which is the back of your skirt.

I, little meat cleat, have stacked up my genes
like spare business cards. I wrought clean out of knowing
and moved moth-muscles to say:

Of all the strange things time has gurgled from its silt,
I will string this to my collar.
I will lock it to my nape.

Horror’s not the seedling. It’s the pot. It’s the pot!
There are things that I planted. There are things I will not.


Jim Pascual Agustin
Village Potter’s Wife Jaipur, India


crouched
in a corner with no shade

she smashes, pounds
old, broken
pieces of pottery
close to dust

fifty years she never felt
the sensuous dance
of earth and water
on stone wheel

her hands know
cut of shards, lick of flame,
burden of sons,
cling of daughters


Megan Tennant
on a June day that I spent on the beach with two children
After W.G. Sebald


East London’s beach in Winter was never
entirely empty. Straggling surfers, some avid
runners, a dog. On a weekday afternoon
I once watched two girls I knew a little brave
the water in their bikinis. Their squeals reached
me on my dune. That was truly living, I thought
jealously. The will to go out in Winter and
make a memory.

Whereas I would
remember that day – like the sky –
as miserable: the back of my pants,
damp; my toes
stained from titanium in the sand.


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