Rebecca is in every picture we hang on our wall, every shirt we slide from the hanger, every meal we lift to our mouths. The rooted tradition. The gripping convention. The language we find on our tongues. The shimmer of nostalgia. Rebecca is the hands of the past around the present, intoxicatingly assured, especially when we’re not. Rebecca knows. Rebecca was here first. The conspicuous absence. The room we can’t escape. Rebecca is the double, the other, the could have been. Rebecca made the footsteps we’re walking in. The mask and the masked. If we think too much about Rebecca, we’ll start to wonder who we are. In place of our own names, we write ‘Rebecca’.
Remember Rebecca. Bury Rebecca. Love Rebecca. Fear Rebecca. Resist Rebecca. Fall into Rebecca. Wear Rebecca. Become Rebecca. Not just a person but personification. Not just a queen but a kingdom. Nobody’s mother but mother to millions. Rebecca waits in the dark and under the surface. Rebecca is the power of expectation and envy. Rebecca is the feared and desired. Rebecca is the rule and the resistance. Rebecca is wild in every attic. Rebecca is not what she seems. The skeleton in the cupboard. The corset in the drawer. The strings around our wrists. Rebecca is both the gate and the break-out. Rebecca’s sins cannot be spoken. Rebecca is our own unspoken sin. Rebecca made you do it. Rebecca won’t forget. Rebecca returns and returns. The house we exist in, the house we keep running from, the house that calls us back, and the lit match that could burn it all down.
Official memory is used to sanitise, exclude and forget. Who remembers the tenant farmers, who rebelled against the tollgates, the Poor Laws and the Landowners in 19th Century Wales? Men, dressed as women, called themselves the Daughters of Rebecca (referencing Rebecca of biblical fame who talked about taking the gates of those who hate them) and destroyed toll-gates and attacked work-houses. The authorities called out the army was to quell the riots. This ‘official’ memory is still used as a weapon to attack the vulnerable, the weak and the lost. From the smoky stacks of Merthyr…to a crumbling Manderlay.
Abridged 0-101 ‘Rebecca’ invites poetry and/or art submissions on the conflicting themes of haunting, convention, repression and resistance. You may submit up to three poems to abridged@ymail.com which must be in a Word or PDF format. Unusually formatted poems we prefer in an PDF format, material that is more straightforward in Word. Art should be in JPEG or similar format and at least 300dpi. Please note that this issue is A5 landscape shaped. Please also send a short bio and put your name and address on the email or it might get lost in the Spam folder. We can’t send proofs so please send the final version of your poem. The deadline for submissions is the 31st of May 2024.
‘From the smoky stacks of Merthyr…to a crumbling Manderlay’
Rebecca is in every picture we hang on our wall, every shirt we slide from the hanger, every meal we lift to our mouths. The rooted tradition. The gripping convention. The language we find on our tongues. The shimmer of nostalgia. Rebecca is the hands of the past around the present, intoxicatingly assured, especially when we’re not. Rebecca knows. Rebecca was here first. The conspicuous absence. The room we can’t escape. Rebecca is the double, the other, the could have been. Rebecca made the footsteps we’re walking in. The mask and the masked. If we think too much about Rebecca, we’ll start to wonder who we are. In place of our own names, we write ‘Rebecca’.
Remember Rebecca. Bury Rebecca. Love Rebecca. Fear Rebecca. Resist Rebecca. Fall into Rebecca. Wear Rebecca. Become Rebecca. Not just a person but personification. Not just a queen but a kingdom. Nobody’s mother but mother to millions. Rebecca waits in the dark and under the surface. Rebecca is the power of expectation and envy. Rebecca is the feared and desired. Rebecca is the rule and the resistance. Rebecca is wild in every attic. Rebecca is not what she seems. The skeleton in the cupboard. The corset in the drawer. The strings around our wrists. Rebecca is both the gate and the break-out. Rebecca’s sins cannot be spoken. Rebecca is our own unspoken sin. Rebecca made you do it. Rebecca won’t forget. Rebecca returns and returns. The house we exist in, the house we keep running from, the house that calls us back, and the lit match that could burn it all down.
Official memory is used to sanitise, exclude and forget. Who remembers the tenant farmers, who rebelled against the tollgates, the Poor Laws and the Landowners in 19th Century Wales? Men, dressed as women, called themselves the Daughters of Rebecca (referencing Rebecca of biblical fame who talked about taking the gates of those who hate them) and destroyed toll-gates and attacked work-houses. The authorities called out the army was to quell the riots. This ‘official’ memory is still used as a weapon to attack the vulnerable, the weak and the lost. From the smoky stacks of Merthyr…to a crumbling Manderlay.
Abridged 0-101 ‘Rebecca’ invites poetry submissions on the conflicting themes of haunting, convention, repression and resistance. You may submit up to three poems to abridged@ymail.com which must be in a Word or PDF format. Unusually formatted poems we prefer in an PDF format, material that is more straightforward in Word. Please note that this issue is A5 landscape shaped. Please also send a short bio and put your name and address on the email or it might get lost in the Spam folder. We can’t send proofs so please send the final version of your poem. The deadline for submissions is the 31st of May 2024.