poetry
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The last post was about Manuscript Bootcamp, a weekend-long workshop where we got to hunker down and work on our manuscripts with several industry professionals and literary figures. As part of the Bootcamp, we had a “Presentation of Works”, where we got to talk about our work and how it has changed after the bootcamp.
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So, over the last weekend I’ve attended Manuscript Bootcamp (see last post), an intensive 3-day programme where your manuscript gets absolutely slaughtered and picked clean by various people in the industry, from writers to editors and beyond. As mentioned, given that the programme comes only once every two years for poetry, and that only 6
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Back in Singapore! A quick note – I think I’ve decided to make blogging at least a bimonthly thing. It’s something to ground my anxieties, to chart my progress, to keep track of my thoughts. And after all it’s kind of therapeutic to just rant/blog once in a while. Not everything has to be a
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It is a miracle for people to love each other, in spite of the fact that people are people. We are so minute and small in this ocean of want. How we part like clouds nobody watches.Is there beauty in what’s unknown?I’m sitting at a cafe, alone, watching filled-out city buses run to death. Heads
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Glad to see that my piece, ‘Odes to Odes to Love’ is published this month in Mistake House. Check it out here: http://mistakehouse.org/article/ode-to-odes-to-love/
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Glad to say that my piece, ‘Ars Poetica as Nested Memory’, has been published in Cathexis Northwest Press. You can check it out here: https://www.cathexisnorthwestpress.com/ars-poetica-as-nested-memory/ https://www.cathexisnorthwestpress.com/may-19-valen-lim
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It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything (for this website, anyway), so I figured I might as well switch it up a little with some blogging. Finally got something accepted somewhere! I’ve gotten a piece in Food Republic, the first (to my knowledge, anyway) food-themed anthology in Singapore, as well as two fun
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If two sameselves make a paradox, then so is my birth;one roll of the die with infinite sides.I oscillate between possibilitieslike a speck of dustcaught in vision. A child of coincidence, one branch of Yggdrasil, born to yearn for fruit. I’d like to reconfirm my own existence, ensure that I was some other unknown in
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Time lies, useless as a swordin the lake. For one, there’s time,and then, there is passage, as income, squeeze the cheeks of this little tragedy. Who will offerthe world their breast? I’m sat, couched deep in tomorrow,hands on the pulse. Tomorrow I willflip onto the pavement and pound itInto confession. Tomorrow I will flip on
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The taste of dish soap lingerson the rim of the teacup. You and I sit at crossroads, legsdangling over cliffs. This isan exercise in communicationby proxy, messages hiddenin the fold of an arm. Coltrane murmurs in the background likea roommate, and the televisionis switched off. This is timeless,this is the way we freeze-frame our lives,
ugly stage 