The Strongbox E-Book

Sasha Dugdale

• Herausgeber: Carcanet Poetry
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 56

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Winner of the Anglo-Hellenic League Runciman Award 2025 'It began with the sun appearing over the plane wing supernatural orange but no light' The Strongbox opens with the abduction of a woman to a foreign land and ends with the Rape of Europa. Drawing in elements of Greek mythology, epic literature and recent history, this protean work gives shape to a cast of characters both ancient and modern, as they flit in and out of tales, their voices overlapping and interacting. An unnamed girl is persuaded to leave behind her country and her childhood and travel to a warzone. Helen of Sparta, already trapped behind the walls of Ilium, is plagued by dreams about the coming conflict. Gods continue their manipulations, while mortals persist in defying the will of their gods. Through a series of interconnected scenes and dialogues this singular work traces the role of myth in shaping our accounts of both history and contemporary events.

Leseprobe

sasha dugdale

The Strongbox

CARCANET

The Strongbox

Title PageDedicationi. anatomy of an abductionii. in the rehearsal roomiii. the breakers’ yardiv. a lesson in anthropologyv. men & godsvi. the dirty firevii. first & second dreamsviii. an empty stageix. third dreamx. the messenger’s descentxi. gods & menxii. fourth dreamxiii. the limpet gathererxiv. the ticket boothNotes & Acknowledgements Copyright

IcanonlycounttheliceIhavepopped with a candle,said Homer.

Therestarestuckintheseams.

i. anatomy of an abduction

Morning light, crazed like a delft tile.

Three blue figures bent over a frame

coffee on the stove

and repairing

snip

repairing

snip

Heavy shears clatter on the table.

Evenings on the sofa

three old women

in the shapeshifting beam of the telly

poking strands of cloth through a net

to make familiar the stone cold hearth,

rags made from dresses and towels

from sheets and aprons

rags stripped and ripped

from shoulders and hips

far too soon

electric bars

and a relief of heaped plastic coals

through which flames rise

always in the same measure

kindled and consuming

then waning2

so other fires can spring up

always in the same measure

This is where the small children lay

absorbed by the light’s trick

watching the shadows play

the ticking of the electric.

Upstairs landscape of the bedroom,

secret landscape for one:

tiny with a pine shelf of fluffy toys

posters, nail gels, glitter pens

a perspex presentation box for the pink halves

of her birth egg.

Outside the Taygetus, like a dark arcade of shops

old and silent at night

when, after duties, after religious classes

the midnight chats

back and forth

once her friends

but now just him.

It began with the sun

appearing over the plane wing

supernatural orange

but no light

A night of bitter memories

sitting bolt upright

phrase book on her lap

travelling east 3

fire, yes, the opposite of sea

but sea is light, too

cracking open a bright ravine

through the waves

for the rising sun

to pass through

It began on the least good road

late at night, a silent soldier

sent to bring her here

his leather pouch on the passenger seat

his bow slung over his shoulder

The road signs deteriorate

ever smaller

bent and battered

busted

bullet-holed

The roads incline.

They stopped at roadside inns twice,

and twice she waited in the cold and silence

the music abated

the mountain stars above

She’s told not to open the door

so she huddles, draws her furred hood tighter

the chill of leatherette under her thighs

smell of petrol from jerrycans

she need only light a match

and the whole lot whump4

just the blackened skeleton of the pickup

men scattering from the inn door

Not too late to run

but where to?

hadn’t the fates conspired

to weave her bridal shroud

watching her

with their one eye hanging

from the rear-view.

Too late too late

too much has passed

Love came and ripped out her heart

replaced it with a burning coal

folding air tickets into a travel pouch

and promises of gifts

swatches of wedding silk

a garnet brooch

to bleed out in her spongebag

and here she is dabbing wax on her lips

on the cold slippery back seat

in a high altitude layby.

all requites fire and fire requites all

so coins are needed to purchase fine cloth

and cloth given in return for gold

but a woman entwisted in fine cloth

may herself be purchased, or stolen5

We are so close to the ground in childhood

we weave the tiny sappy strings of daisies

gather the broken china of an egg

The worm convulses gently on my palm

lying under the lavender

So bees shake pollen on your cheek

and apples, apples, as many as we can eat

rolling on the lawn

but when I reached out a hand

he saw me

and all was lost.

A huddled pair at the station

at the brazier with their cardboard cases

old woman and a bundled child

(the stranger from the south who promised them a bed)

and no one ever saw them again

The woman’s shoes kick at the bottom of a canal

the buckles reflecting moonlight

through oily shadows.

That could have been you! dark child

blond child in a felt blanket

resting in a manger

make haste innocents

trust no one

your train pulling in on a ghostly platform

last train of the last night

run!6

Or the lure,

a piece of red meat

a chop on a hook

lowered over a wall,

or the snatch

flagrant

from the back of a car

at a shopping mall.

The search party, the single sighting,

the handmade posters. ‘We love her

we know she’s out there

we just want her back.’

Or yelling yelling

in the dark woods at dusk

listening for sounds so intently

(the scrabble on leaves

a sudden patter,

accumulated rain sliding from a branch

to the ground)

that the thud of your own heart

startles you into flight.

She passes long hours rehearsing her bridal vow

with a pillow under her

in place of a man who was just

wow!

all muscles all supple-skinned

heaven-sent

angel-face 7

who threw her an apple

who made her promise—

But does it matter what she promised

or what she turned her back on

to be in his warrior embrace?

Yes, I too have studied the science of parting

there was a press conference, I sat veiled

was asked whether I had given up my rights

that night when with hair loosed

I bent down to examine the wax—

or when I opened my door

and tiptoed by the wan glow of the nightlight

left over from when small children

strayed on the landing

and their mother scooped them up to soothe them—

I slid across the bolt that barred the door

holding to my chest a sports bag

and there outside an unlit car in meagre light

heralded the new.

Did she say goodbye, did she wave

did she genuflect, text—

did she blow a kiss

as she slunk down the stairs

or think of her brothers

still asleep in their bunk

baby fists

resting on superhero sheets 8

did she offer prayers of thanks

did she pass between childhood

and marriage

like a hostage

thrown from one phalanx

onto the sand

in front of the other—

this fire that finds its natural measure

like a lock gate through which

tiny spurts and streams fall

on the rising black water

soon it will be level

on either side

and the heavy gate

swings unhindered

fire not the opposite of water

but its reflection

burns in the great year

and on in the next

so the door between years

swings unhindered

I