![]() ![]() I’d watch for the trains, howling as they came. Corman Railroad runs five hundred feet from us?īefore everything shifted and I aged into this body, my grandparents lived above San Timoteo Canyon, where the Southern Pacific Railroad roared each scorching California summer day. Last night, the fire-engine sirens were so loud they drowned out even the constant bluster of the inbound freight trains. I wish I could write to you from underwater, the warm bath covering my ears- one of which has three marks in the exact shape of a triangle, my own atmosphere’s asterism. This inaugural installment is accompanied by audio recordings and a special edition of our monthly podcast, so you can not only read but hear the complex and consuming voices of these innovative poets and poems. This collaboration also marks a début for The New Yorker of a new recurring poetry feature that will be published exclusively on the Web, where we will present innovative and exciting new work, from longer-form pieces to sequences and collaborations. They chart a deepening friendship, too, the kinship of words and of being women, of being poets and people of color in the early twenty-first century. These epistles chart a world in the throes of change. Throughout the exchange, much of which occurred while the writers separately travelled the country, a rich physical and emotional landscape emerges as the poets navigate their own experiences, they ask questions about heritage, place, nature, the body, language, and dislocation-challenging themselves, one another, and their readers to develop a more nuanced understanding of what home is, and of what it could be. The resulting poem-letters reveal, as most missives do, their writers’ lives, but also a time and a place-one in which the immigration officers of ICE are as present figures as the poets’ partners and lovers-that ultimately expose and explore the American character. As if by magic, it all comes together and for a few glorious minutes I am flying above the water on the closest thing yet to a working hoverboard.From January through September of 2017, the poets Natalie Diaz and Ada Limón conducted an inspired and collaborative correspondence. So that’s why they insist on an impact vest for learners, without it my kidneys would be as bruised and swollen as a pair of aubergines.Īfter several more attempts I manage to get foiling long enough to start to enjoy it but not long enough to master a turn and carve triumphantly past the boat for the camera.Ĭold, exhausted and slightly deflated, I kneel-board back to the boat and let my brother have a turn.Īfter a few tries he’s bombing about on his knees like a human torpedo (which might explain the rusting hulk of a military ship behind us), but is still no closer to mastering sustained flight than the emperor penguin he resembles in his wetsuit.ĭetermined not to be defeated, I jump back in the water for a final attempt on the journey back to base. ![]() Only this time I fall off the side, flat on my back. Much to my relief the standing part isn’t as hard as it sounds, perhaps because I’m a passable waterskier/windsurfer.īut inevitably as soon as I try to get up on the foil it results in the same dunking. Having rinsed and repeated the above five or six times, I finally start to get the hang of foiling on my knees and decide to risk standing up. The board rears up like an angry stallion and in an effort to stop myself being deposited off the back, I shift my weight forward again, instantly causing the board to nosedive and depositing me head first into the drink. Now’s the time to raise the stakes and the ride height by leaning back just a little. Joe has decided to take us right out to the largely unoccupied far side of the harbour, presumably to reduce the chance of us damaging other water users, not to mention his credibility.īy the time we get there I’ve already clambered onto my knees and started scrolling through the gears, if only to stop my face being eroded back to the bone. The good news is that you don’t have to start standing up, for the first few minutes I just lie on the board getting used to the speed while swallowing half the English Channel thanks to the wind-assisted spray jet-washing my face. In theory, you just need to build up to take-off speed in third or fourth gear, shift your weight back a bit so that the foil starts to generate lift and, hey presto, you’ll soon be racking up frequent flyer points faster than Richard Branson. ![]() Once you’ve got the hang of lying and kneeling on the board you can progress to standing up and trying your luck at foiling – or falling! ![]()
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