About

I am the author of Eighth Habitation and other poetry books, plus a few non-fiction pieces, the odd academic article, and reviews. Now I'm teaching Creative Writing in Hawai'i.

One begins to write about a country before one gets there. Isn't that the way it has always been?

For critical reviews: Poetry International.org / Jacket Magazine // bibliography: April // publishers: Giramondo Publishing / Brandl & Schlesinger //

Thursday, 17 November 2011

Prose Poems - Suneeta Perez da Costa


Bedroom, Saint Victor des Oules France
Check out the latest Mascara Literary Review for a great selection of prose poetry edited by Keri Glastonbury.
Includes Jill Jones, Jaimie Gusman, Susan Schultz, Tim Wright, Bella Li, Michael Farell and  other great poets.

 
Here is one by Suneeta Perez da Costa, an Australian writer who shows the strong influence of French modernism/post modernism. 

The Changed Woman

Had she changed, she wondered? For though there were some visible signs of her transformation what was difficult was that the more significant changes had happened inside her and therefore could not really be seen at all. Often she tried to remember and make the gestures of her old self, and while this might have reassured the others, she herself knew this old self was merely a sheath, an elaborate and outmoded disguise. When she discarded it, however, it seemed these people, much beloved by her, could not recognise her and spoke disapprovingly of her new ways. Despite her efforts to win them over, they were unwilling, or else incapable, of understanding her. They went about their lives, faithful to their old habits, while she grew restive and weary of it all, dreaming of circuses and caravans and distant lands. Eventually she devised an escape plan. The heartbreaking thing was she could not say goodbye for if she so much as looked into the eyes of these familiar people, now virtual strangers, she was sure her resolve to leave would itself break forever. So on the appointed day, she rose at dawn, placed a few possessions—heirlooms and relics as she already considered them—in a bag and made her way to the end of the valley and up through the mountain pass. The sky changed, the vegetation changed, but somehow, despite the heavy cloak she wore for protection from the elements, she felt a sure-footed lightheartedness.
  





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