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Robert Edward (Rob) Bolton

Rob Bolton

Architect and Poet

Poet For Sale Or Rent. Fully House-Trained.

Robert Edward Bolton's work has appeared in the journals Carapace, Vlerk, Penorent and Sharp! and online at litnet.co.za and hedgewood.blogspot.com, as well as in the collections Honest Betrayals (Fenomeen Publikasies 2000), Small Freedoms (Suider Kollege Uitgewers 2000), By Word of Mouth: Seven Stellenbosch Sonnets (Stellenbosch Museum 2001) and uit die stof die see die skald se handevuurvoet tracks en die verstuite trein van wat verlange (Fenomeen Publikasies 2001). It has also been published in New Contrast, which is the oldest of the existing SA literary journals and some of his texts have been set to music.
He is a partner in an architectural practice.
Interests: literature, poetry, music, science, mathematics, language, bow-hunting

“Klanktitels /Edging & Seaming”  takes place in the Fismer Hall of the University of Stellenbosch Music Conservatorium at 17:30 on Monday 1 March and
"Klanktitels /Edging & Seaming" at the Fismer Hall of Stellenbosch University Music Conservatorium at 17:30 on Monday 1 March 2010


.small freedoms, Suider Kollege Uitgewers, 2000
Late Quatrains, Exercises and Complaints, Garagiste Press, 2010

Tuesday night at the Red Café
[from "Red Quartet"]

Comrade, if my way were left (to be
or not) to me, then you and I would fall
to local Avignons. The holy, see,
have cornered every vacant throne, and all

the architects have gone to make their saintly
marks on English, Swiss, Croatian soil,
to ring, with distant Esmeraldas, faintly,
distant bells from which in faith recoil

our ladies' faithless and unRoman backs,
and yet to which unfold the (un- and working)
spines of honest parents. She who lacks
the bending-will, who stands (day's duties shirking)

backboned, tongued, and tasting of the salt
of steppes: she whistles-in the Soft Revolt.
The Man That Never Was

tell the mothers and the fathers goodbye from him.
whisper at the prayer-heavy bedsteads of the sons
and at the daughters' sleeping keyhole ears

a harmless good night's goodnight
and a lullaby of soft betrayals.

and tell the doves sweep clean the sky
of every any once-shared scrap,
the moon and the fragments of the moon.
and the stains of its spilled stilled storms
on the tousled ballgowns of the night scrub out:
then bid the saints and cinderellas all

a fond forgetting.
the man that never was.

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