transcendentzeropress Nobel Prize won a shaman; Nobel Prize – for the coming year! Nobel Prize?! Is it a dream, a hoax? I would be happy days and away from adversity! Nobel Prize! How miserable, – A false reward of light does not attract me at all! I’d rather have a prize – the name of […]Read Post ›
Pages 34-35 of our Spring 2019 edition have a poem called “Burial of Pain” by the poet Woman. We mistakenly cut the poem short. This is it in full. the pain of this world suffocates Her like the black laced veil worn to cover the empty eyes that blankly watch as the love of […]Read Post ›
Calcutta, July 14, 2018. The weather was whimsical today in Calcutta, but what has ever stopped the city’s booklovers? People turned up in respectable numbers at Gallery Gold, on occasion of the formal launch of Ethos Literary Journal’s debut edition. The journal was launched by the publisher, Hawakal Publishers, in the presence of the editors […]Read Post ›
I wanna drink paint. Gallons of to-die-for lead base. Put color in the old GI. Experience room temperature good ice cream consistency. Taste a spike sledged through the throat, pin ya to the wall. I plan to drink till paint pupils orange pith white; skin gangrene early blackberry green. I wanna die from ochre, from […]Read Post ›
Before the world Went warfare It was womb Comfort cabin Refugees all I appeared Adhering To scar tissue Left by living On untamed land I arrived only After invitation Hand written Selfish sinew A want for control Willing sacrifice Synapse under skin Conquest of flesh Infertile soil Together turning Us to dust This poem […]Read Post ›
Department of English, Suri Vidyasagar College, Birbhum, West Bengal, India Contact: bardhansk@gmail.com Honest criticism and sensitive appreciation is directed not upon the poet but upon the poetry T. S. Eliot in “Tradition and Individual Talent” (1974: 20) Introduction Among the present practicing Indian English poets, Kiriti Sengupta occupies a unique […]Read Post ›
She took me out into the desert on sufferance, for I had learned to please her with my mouth and with my Jewishness, which is not real like her Jewishness, but earned, like a hangover. I made love to her underground, in an old tomb where, the Pharisees presumed, the soul must rot for all eternity with the body until the day of greater dissolution. She cried and told me I had saved her, later on I learned she never loved me, and I wondered, guiltily, if I knew now what it was like to be Jesus. from the forthcoming collection Songs of Crisis, to be published by Angelico Press in the spring of 2018.
New book of Kiriti Sengupta criticism edited by Sunil Sharma and Dustin Pickering To be released soon! Kiriti Sengupta first contacted me after Transcendent Zero Press published Usha Akella’s groundbreaking work, The Rosary of Latitudes. In the two years we have had regular internet discussions and arrangements, I grew to think of Sengupta as […]Read Post ›
Title: A Box of Ticky-Tacky Author: Somdatta Goswami Published by Chitrangi ISBN: 9789385783531(Paperback) First edition: September, 2016 Price: INR 200/- Reviewed by Pranab Ghosh A Box of Ticky-Tacky authored by Somdatta Goswami and published by Chitrangi is an assorted collection of ten prose pieces that many may like to call short stories. The […]Read Post ›
Skybox seat. Feet up Ferris wheel style. Winter sun skates by, brightening up dusty blinds. Fill up the stage. Count the number of instruments which fit in my jaw, at an obtuse angle; asking how jobs, life, husband, and the weather happen to be treating me as if it matters. Like […]Read Post ›
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