Anne Laure Coxam

Anne Laure Coxam is a foreigner living and writing in Edinburgh. She has had work published in Local Tongue, LIT, Valve, Zarf, DATABLEED, Poetry Scotland and in the anthology Umbrellas of Edinburgh. Her first pamphlet, Toolbox Therapy, was published by Sad Press in the autumn of 2016.

Events

12 Showcase »

Reading and performance by members of the 12 collective

Sat 10 March | 13:00 - 14:00 | £4.50/£3.50 | The Town Hall, Queens Gardens, Council Chamber

Poem

The male and the female poet go to the surgery in exciting times

 

the female poet reads a book
and while she’s reading the book
she’s thinking she wants to read it again

 

the female poet sees doctor Cash
the male poet sees doctor Penny
see the chart in the surgery hall
the chances were not very high

 

this afternoon the female poet is reading
bits of Jennifer
‘s book

 

it’s nice to read a book
by someone you know

the male poet agrees

 

the pain is there
and there
and there

the female poet sees doctor Cash
because of a fungal infection
on her toe nail
the male poet sees doctor Penny
because of a muffled pain
in his testicles

        where are you from?
asks doctor Cash
she answers

         exciting times
he says

        yes
she should probably say
something else something more
he expects more
typing on his old computer
in his little office
which looks untouched
like a film set

        oh by the way
        there’s something else
doctor Cash looks tired
        pain in my elbow
doctor Cash sighs and shrugs his shoulders
the female poet sighs too
och

the temperature’s rising 
fever is high
can’t see no future
can’t see no sky

 

watching Masterchef

cold turkey
has got me

oh my god!
there are 4 critics this time
same comments
again and again
can we stop repetition?
it doesn’t take us
closer to nature

the female poet says to the male poet
she’s writing a poem with songs
he says           you’re ripping me off!
                        you’re ripping off ABBODIES
she says         shit yeah that’s what I thought

 

that night
the female poet declares herself
the Queen of France
she looks for Anja’s cut
yellow paper crown
and puts it on

she cries and declares
she’ll be lying on the floor
listening to the 4 seasons
until until

she cries and sings high
but hush-hush
what kind of Queen drinks so much coffee
(raging                       the pain is there and there)

what kind of Queen reads the newspapers
speaking of which
what newspapers does the Queen of England read?
because guys                        British people
my brothers my sisters
Brexiters too
        can you seriously have such bad press?

how democratic is this place?
asks the female poet
waking up from a nightmare
in her pine Ikea royal bed

the female poet comes back to the nest at night
all is lit
c’est Versailles!

the male poet says

what?

yes dear
I’m writing in a language
I don’t speak

I come back at night to the nest
on the forth floor of a tenement cliff

we’re living on the edge

the male poet says
impersonating Ewan McGregor
narrating a Scottish nature programme

the nest
the royal edge
buckingnest palace
better than Buckingham
buckingchorizo
buckingpastrami

 

no no I shall lie and wait with music
I read the news today, oh boy 
about a lucky man who made the grade 
and though the news was rather sad 
well I just had to laugh

no no wake up
fascism sewed the anger
harvested ploughmen
fattened rich fat so called patriots
they do
they are not joking
war is upon us
wake up my people
my people where are you?

I cultivated my insignificance in exile but 

this is home
(Royal Bank of Scotland)
it’s good to be home

where is it      home?

what is the taste of nostalgia?
cherries on your ears
scent of African meals
on a hot summer night
colourful lights
breakfasts of black coffee 
in large bowls
an open window 
         lilac

 

Master-nostalgia-chef

I love that nostalgia mate
that’s delicious
however
it is simple
not a great deal of technique here
it lacks a bit of heart
of fat heavy juicy heart

the land of exile
one chance out of 28
ah! it was the one
how the seagulls sneered on the roofs
         You never give me your money
        You only give me your funny papers
       And in the middle of negotiations
       You break down

I am your Queen
you are not my subjects
you are my friends
friends            do you watch nature on TV
do you feel the call?

of the living room 
on a rainy day
on the screen             eagles
blackbirds
toucans
humming birds
all the royal family!

the pain is there and there
in my elbow and here 
doctor Penny said to the male poet
he can have intercourse
intercourse?
Canada? (Ivor Cutler)

 

I am your Queen
I am a citizen of nowhere
please listen
I call for a cry
for a song 
a response
dressed up and standing
in my iridescent 
summer plumage

 

Anne Laure Coxam

Written between the two rounds of the French presidential election in April-May 2017. The first round left the French people with the choice of the candidate of the extreme-right party or  the "neither left nor right" candidate seen as ultraliberal.