New Coin on BookSA

 The latest issue of New Coin got a mention on BookSA, listing the poets included in the issue and giving three sample poems.
 BookSA is a vibrant site, giving a lot of interesting information about all aspects of South African literature. It is well worth visiting.  It is great to have New Coin included as one of the literary journals they promote, as poetry needs all the publicity available.

New Coin

New Coin 45 (2), December 2009 is now out.

This journal of South African English poetry contains poems by Mari Ballott, Brett Beiles, Paulette Coetzee, Gail Dendy, John Eppel, Genna Gardini, Dawn Garisch, Basil George, Peter Horn, Anton Krueger, Liam Kruger, Ryan Eric Lamb, Carol Leff, Brent Meersman, Wanda Miles, Mandy Mitchell, M Soga Mlandu, Sabata-Mpho Mokae, Kobus Moolman, Tendai Mwanaka, Andile Ecalpar Nayika, David Priilaid, Dudu Saki, Ben Schermbrucker, Luisa Soares, Marelise van der Merwe, Megan van der Nest, David wa Maahlamela, Lindsay Wagner and Earnest Zitha. In addition there are reviews by Marike Beyers and Moira Richards.

To subscribe, purchase individual copies or submit poems for future issues please write to Up to six unpublished poems can be submitted. I am working on the June issue at the moment and will make final selections at the end of February. Any material received after February will be held for the December issue.

I include three short poems from the December 2009 issue:


on moving house

if only I’d taken up a
hobby like kayaking,
or flying a light aircraft;
instead of collecting books…
you know something easier
to pack up, not as heavy.



silver lining

a silver lining hovered
above the campus lawn and trees,
small figures passing to and from town
in the distance

above the colonial clock tower, edging
military battlements,
it snagged on size and shape
then floated free

(blowing out smoke, watching the dark clouds,
snagging on metaphor, I tried to write a real bright
shining silver nogal lining shining so brightly
no-one else noticed, I swear)



The Love of Trees

It was my grandfather
who taught me to love trees,
bending over my pram
under the great boughs.

“Right up to the top” he’d say,
pointing with work worn hands,
that later would hold mine
across countless streets,
write invisible maths equations
on the kitchen tablecloth
and build bookshelves
to hold future knowledge.

“Right up to the top” he’d say,
and the words filter back
in shafted sunlight
through the green.