Gumboot Quotes

Inside the words there was magic. I would throw open the dictionary and dive in. Words were undiscovered continents, I would swim in amongst them, hauling them up like treasures found on the seabed. They were curiosities with weight and wonder. They were telescopes and hourglasses, barnacles and periwinkles. The words would slip through my fingers like silk, like sand. There were landlubber words all granite and gumboots and there were words that caught the mystery of air, and sounds that spoke to one another like birds across the sky and I’d go foraging for them like mushrooms, watch them like waterfalls and

She began to take exercise far too late, embarking on tiny cycling tours to music festivals, or flower shows, or doing the rounds of churches – there were so many spires in her uninspiring adopted home. Three kids, one episiotomy, two continents, many phobias, lots of depressions. Old fat lady's underwear. It was all a curse upon cycling, which she'd taken up for what reason? Believe it or not, not even the bulbous seventies there were still bulbous, middle-aged women such as she, who thought that the principle of cycling meant something. They cycled and they ate in health-food restaurants like Cranks or Ceres, their cussedness aimed at appeasing the Earth Goddess herself. They almost fucking overdosed on grated carrot; while sipping fucking prune juice. They invented being environmentally-conscious, with their vegetable-buying co-operatives which gave them an excuse to put gumboots on in town.

Preparation - Poem by Malay Roy Choudhury Who claims I'm ruined? Because I'm without fangs and claws? Are they necessary? How do you forget the knife plunged in abdomen up to the hilt? Green cardamom leaves for the buck, art of hatred and anger and of war, gagged and tied Santhal women, pink of lungs shattered by a restless dagger? Pride of sword pulled back from heart? I don't have songs or music. Only shrieks, when mouth is opened wordless odour of the jungle; corner of kin & sin-sanyas; Didn't pray for a tongue to take back the groans power to gnash and bear it. Fearless gunpowder bleats: stupidity is the sole faith-maimed generosity- I leap on the gambling table, knife in my teeth Encircle me rush in from tea and coffee plateaux in your gumboots of pleasant wages The way Jarasandha's genital is bisected and diamond glow Skill of beating up is the only wisdom in misery I play the burgler's stick like a flute brittle affection of thev wax-skin apple She-ants undress their wings before copulating I thump my thighs with alternate shrieks: VACATE THE UNIVERSE get out you omnicompetent conchshell in scratching monkeyhand lotus and mace and discuss-blade Let there be salt-rebellion of your own saline sweat along the gunpowder let the flint run towards explosion Marketeers of words daubed in darkness in the midnight filled with young dog's grief in the sicknoon of a grasshopper sunk in insecticide I reappear to exhibit the charm of the stiletto. (Translation of Bengali poem 'Prostuti')

It’s just an old fella. Mostly bald. Walking dainty like his feet’s tender. And still singing. With some things in his hand. He puts them down on a drum. Sits on a milk crate in the shade. Pulls on a pair of gumboots. Then he snatches up the things from beside him and shuffles out in the sun and leans against the verandah post and I see him clear enough. Singlet. Baggy arse shorts. Thick specs. He’s short and thick this fella. Red in the face. And that stuff in his hand, it’s a knife and steel. He looks around, kind of slow and lazy. Stops singing then and just hums a minute while he hones the knife. And he knows how to freshen up a blade, that I can see straight up.

Lancelot Delano (that was his actual name, though his friends called him “Gumboot”) was a tall, gawky youth, strong as a mule but sweet as molasses and just about as slow.

A huge blue and white umbrella unfolded out of the vehicle, followed by two legs clad in a masculine-sized pair of gumboots. The driver nudged the door shut and ploughed through the downpour like a striped galleon, only his oilskin coat and denim-clad calves showing.

The Soviet period was a disaster, not least because supply lines were so long and so corrupt that little was left by the time goods reached the Russian Far East except things nobody wanted, such as the fabled ten thousand left-foot gumboots. (On that occasion, transport planning failed to the extent that the 10,000 left boots went in the opposite direction to the same number of right boots, heading nobody knew where).

מי טוען שאני נהרס? ללא שם: מאז אני ללא ניבים ציפורניים? האם הם נחוצים? איך אתה שוכח את הסכין צלל בבטן עד הסוף? ירוק הל בשביל הכסף, אמנות השנאה והכעס ואת המלחמה, קשורה וקשורה אישה Santhal ורוד של הריאות התנפץ על ידי פגיון חסר מנוחה? גאווה של חרב נסוגה מהלב? אין לי שירים או מוסיקה. רק צווחות, כשהפה נפתח ריח חסר גוון של הג'ונגל; פינת חטאים וחטא-סניאס; לא התפלל על לשון לקחת בחזרה את הגניחות כוח לחרוק ולסבול את זה, פעמוני אבק שריפה: טיפשות היא האמונה הבלעדית --- נדיבות --- אני מזנק על שולחן ההימורים, הסכין בין שיני ... מעגלי ממהרים מ רטיבות תה וקפה ב שלך gumboots של שכר נעים האופן שבו איברי המין של יראסאנדה נחצבים ויהלומים זוהרים מיומנות של מכות היא החוכמה היחידה באומללות אני מנגן את המקל של הפורץ כחליל חיבה פריך של תפוח עור שעווה היא נמלה את כנפיהן. .... לפני זיווג אני מכה את ירכי בצווחות חלופיות: לפנות את היקום להוציא אותך omni המוסמכת קונכייה, קליפה, לגרד, קוף, העבר לוטוס ו mace ו דיסקוס להב יש להיות מרד מלח של זיעה מלוחים שלך לאורך אבק השריפה נתנו לצור לרוץ לעבר פיצוץ שוקי מלים מעוטרים בחשיכה בחצות מלאות בצער של כלב צעיר בצהריים החולה של חגב שקוע בחרקים אני מופיע שוב כדי להציג את הקסם של stiletto.

Buzzy Bees and gumboots, pavlovas and pounamu, then we list values and characteristics: a fair go; No. 8 wire; can-do attitude; Jack’s as good as his master; tall-poppy syndrome; laconic humour; love of the land …