{"id":9052,"date":"2015-08-20T08:00:01","date_gmt":"2015-08-20T08:00:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=9052"},"modified":"2020-12-09T14:55:31","modified_gmt":"2020-12-09T14:55:31","slug":"josep-chanza","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/josep-chanza\/","title":{"rendered":"Josep Chanz\u00e0"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Conversation<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>The night he was taken<\/p>\n<p>my father&#8217;s fingers danced<\/p>\n<p>like icy spiders:<\/p>\n<p>dab-dab-dab at<\/p>\n<p>his hospital gown.<\/p>\n<p>He talked to his drip<\/p>\n<p>obliged to welcome every drop<\/p>\n<p>to the coven of wild spirits<\/p>\n<p>digging their heels on his skin.<\/p>\n<p>The white sheets<\/p>\n<p>dressed him<\/p>\n<p>with elegant urgency,<\/p>\n<p>trembling robes<\/p>\n<p>for a lord of the gin.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Is this life? I asked<\/p>\n<p>Death, nearby, suggested<\/p>\n<p>answers on a postcard<\/p>\n<p>and dad dictated me many<\/p>\n<p>sat at the tavern of his mind.<\/p>\n<p>I couldn\u2019t keep up.<\/p>\n<p>The ancient matron<\/p>\n<p>cut a smile<\/p>\n<p>when she saw<\/p>\n<p>us holding hands.<\/p>\n<p>She joined in,<\/p>\n<p>holding dad\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>I don&#8217;t think often of that night<\/p>\n<p>I fear if I do<\/p>\n<p>all those short-legged words<\/p>\n<p>will burst out of some cocoon<\/p>\n<p>and stick to me<\/p>\n<p>like glue.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Josep Chanz\u00e0<\/strong> writes poetry in English and Catalan. He reads his work regularly at The <em>Blind<\/em> <em>Poet<\/em> in Edinburgh, where he lives. He keeps a blog (<a href=\"http:\/\/clearlightbulb.tumblr.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">clearlightbulb.tumblr.com<\/a> ) where he writes the imagined lives of some the city&#8217;s inhabitants.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Conversation &nbsp; The night he was taken my father&#8217;s fingers danced like icy spiders: dab-dab-dab at his hospital gown. He talked to his drip obliged to welcome every drop to the coven of wild spirits digging their heels on his skin. The white sheets dressed him with elegant urgency, trembling robes for [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[139,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9052","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2015-poetry-picks","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9052","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9052"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9052\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23783,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9052\/revisions\/23783"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9052"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9052"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9052"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}