By the time their sons learn the meaning of sunset,
only father’s hands remain,
and the plow and the field.
Today I raked a melody
with syllables culled from your lips.
But I miss you when you gather
chrysanthemums each morning;
Every month, The Reading Room showcases a short story, or excerpts of a book, from some of the greatest writers the world has ever seen.
The Editorial Team wishes all readers a great year ahead. Happy New Year. Image: Gerrit Dou’s Still Life with Globe, Lute, and Books
Robert Boucheron takes the reader down memory lane to another peek into the trove of poetry, The Golden Treasury
Every month, The Bangalore Review recommends a reading list, also mentioning in brief why each book must be read. This month’s list has been compiled by writer, Suneetha Balakrishnan.
Deval Maniar explores Zinabhai Desai’s haikus in Gujarati script through experimental typography.
This non-fiction essay is an experience from Bob Tomolillo’s days at Piet Clement’s Printshop in Amsterdam.
“… I remembered from the movie that at the end Kiera Knightly keeps getting called ‘Mrs. Darcy’ by the dark brooding guy. So I just looked up that and I got something called Mr. Darcy’s Daughters but apparently he’s not supposed to have daughters yet either.”
He led her to the Austen section, in Fiction, in the A’s. How difficult could it be, really? He had heard of that new film from several years ago. But who had two hours to sit in a dark theater, can’t hear anything, can’t talk to anyone, and besides, that is valuable reading time.
“This yellow flower, is called Josephine’s Passion,” she told me, picking a blossom, “did you know she lived on the island, before she went to France, and met Napoleon? So, the flower is named after her, sweet, don’t you think?”
They all knew who she was. The only question was who was going to do it. No one wanted to do it. No one wanted to say it.
On the eight hour lorry ride from El Fashir to Nyala, perched
on potato sacks, I am stripped of the constant bickering
