by Jo Thompson
Hard to look, hard to understand
the softness of his drowned bones
rocked here by the waters.
How quickly banners can catch alight,
a mumble in the crowd growing up,
becoming certain of itself: the people
want to topple the regime. All’s parched,
and everywhere the green sickens yellow.
Outstretched hands wither into fists.Continue Reading
by Dr. Hayley Pinto
About 18 months ago I had a life changing experience. I read the intergovernmental panel on climate change report. Before that I thought I was reasonably environmentally aware. I wasn’t. The more I have read, the more evident it seems that climate change is the defining issue of our age. We are on the brink of making our planet uninhabitable, for everyone — not just the poor, the vulnerable, people in Africa and Bangladesh, but also for the rich and privileged, those who have contributed to the problem and those who have not.
Climate change is not just a matter of global warming. A hotter planet means drought, floods, storms and sea level rise. These things are already happening. The 11 million people living in Brazil’s Sao Paolo are experiencing a drought so severe they are trying to drill wells through concrete in the city centre. California is in its 5th year of drought.Continue Reading
by Alex Valente, in conversation with Cadi Cliff
This conversation starts in Norwich. The fault is mine, of course, as I start doubting my place within the Norwich Radical, and the role that I, as a translator of poetry, could possibly play in a radical, progressive, critical publication. Enter Cadi Cliff, editor and co-founder, green radical, and a mountain range of humanity.
This conversation, then, is a dialogue of sorts; a voicing of those doubts, translator to editor, reader to reader, uncertain radical to radical, on the place of translation, and poetry, within these virtual walls.
by Jess Howard
The world of fashion and artistic photography are always portrayed as incredibly glamourous. Pre-organised shoots or models dressed in couture to advertise the latest perfume. Photojournalism falls into a slightly different category. Sitting on the boundaries between art and reporting, a photojournalist’s job is to depict the events and suffering that words are unable to convey.
But how does a photojournalist disconnect from the suffering they are capturing, without wanting to help those in the picture?
by Hannah Jerming-Havill.
First inspired by Allen Ginsberg’s Kral Majales.
Originally posted on leonpoetry.
And I am the Sun of Youth round and fat
I am the Sun of Youth lean and boned
boy-shaped man suspended in mourning
and I am the Sun of Youth exploding clouded skies
skimming ozoned minds with UV-waves
sweeping radio faces shock-wave burnt
bored and dry
I am the Sun of Youth bursting balloon
stretched with canister thirst
bursting papered borders dividing
families dividing tolerance collecting
heavy guilted green infected
fat green capitalist dam burst
burst like young bodies ferociously fucking
and comingContinue Reading
by Lesley Grahame
Remembrance is a solemn and moving national event. Even more so this year as we look back on 100 years of wars since the beginning of the war to end all wars. I wear my red poppy with sorrow and my white poppy with hope.
Whatever we feel or know about the horrors of war, Remembrance Day itself day is about a generation who wanted to make a difference, and put their own bodies in mortal and horrific danger to do so. They trusted their leaders, if not to keep them safe, at least to keep them doing the right thing, and perhaps to take care of their families, and themselves if they survived. Community solidarity through shared grief is almost palpable at some Remembrance Events, as we are reminded that no family escapes if war comes to their county.
Few would deny the trauma or tragedy of war, or the need to help survivors, yet these can get lost in the pomp and ceremony, or worse, the glorification of war.Continue Reading
by Alex Valente.
Original Italian by Virgilia D’Andrea (1888 – 1933).
Tall and serious, his brow stark
his face towards the wide sea…
But the eyes now dark
speak of a bitter history.Continue Reading