I adventskalendern presenteras ett bekant ansikte. Laleh Pourkarim har bott i Sverige sedan 10 års ålder. Efter 2005 års debutalbum mottog hon tre Grammisar och fick ett antal priser som årets nykomling. 2011/2012 kom framträdanden i Så mycket bättre och det storsäljande albumet Sjung.
Lalehs musik spänner från visa till poprock, och bland inspirationskällorna märks Cornelis Vreeswijk, The Police och Cat Stevens.
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Deklaration för dagens webbmagasin:
Animal: A Beast of a Literary Magazine is an online lit mag where artists of word and image explore the ephemeral boundary between human and animal. Each month we publish one story, one poem, and one essay that teeter on the divide between wild and domestic. We create a space where readers, viewers, writers, and artists expand the human experience by engaging their imagination with other creatures.
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Still life, by Jade Hurter
(Published in Animal Literary Magazine, february 2016.)
In which I hold a piece of quartz
between my thumb and forefinger
In which the roots of waterlily
hang suspended in my throat
In which I hold a knife
to a whistling duck's dark neck
In which white ibis are stuck
like maggots to my body
In which I pluck them off, one by one
to reveal glowing wounds
In which I wear a crown of orange bills,
curving inward like tusks
In which my belly is swollen with egret blood,
though you cannot tell from looking
In which I am a sculpture of feathers,
dipping my palms in the river
In which I hold a knife -
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För två år sedan publicerade man Animal Best of 2012-2014. Bland de utvalda bidragen fanns nedanstående dikt.
Taxonomy, by Kirsten Holt
(Published in Animal Best of 2012-2014.)
When I was born I was all fawn—
cloven toes, antlered and bent back
throat to the stars—but my tongue
marked me mollusk; my speech full
of brine. I didn’t know whether I was bird
or scaled, would feel around my torso
yoga-bellied in cobra pose. But when a boy
first touched my breasts I became owl-feathered
and my mother could no longer drag a brush
through my feral hair. Wild child,
my hands lost themselves in math equations but curled
around the chalice like a scorpion’s
segmented tail. I would fold my orchid legs at the ankle,
swing my hips like a bell (like my mother’s
maiden name). All my lovers I named like catkins
and my flesh grew tangerine. I came like the bellowing
of bulls, unstrung as snake’s jaws—I thought myself Maenad,
terrible and beautiful, until you tore through me
with wolf teeth, told me I was wooden and damp, hyena-skinned
and libertine. I want you to open me
like the rind of citrus, crack my wicker breastplate
and pluck the walnut heart, my cavities
smooth as almonds. Dissect me, let me know
when you hold my egg in your palm
am I reptile or avian?
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