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M Sarki
Besides being a poet with four collections published, M Sarki is a painter, film maker, and photographer. He likes fine coffee and long walks.
M Sarki has written, directed, and produced six short films titled Gnoman's Bois de Rose, Biscuits and Striola , The Tools of Migrant Hunters, My Father's Kitchen, GL, and Cropped Out 2010. More details to follow. Also the author of the feature film screenplay, Alphonso Bow.
Currently reading
L'Appart: The Delights and Disasters of Making My Paris Home
We Learn Nothing: Essays
Elmet: LONGLISTED FOR THE MAN BOOKER PRIZE 2017
Limbo, and Other Places I Have Lived: Short Stories
The Double Life of Liliane
At Home with the Armadillo
American Witness: The Art and Life of Robert Frank
Autumn
Inside Out: A Personal History of Pink Floyd (Reading Edition)
American Witness: The Art and Life of Robert Frank
Morning, 1908 (Electric Literature's Recommended Reading)
http://msarki.tumblr.com/post/140693225343/morning-1908-by-claire-louise-bennettIn her short story Morning, 1908 Claire-Louise Bennett writes masterly of what it feels like to find oneself in a potentially compromising situation and then realize it may have been what she wanted in the first place. Wandering outside in a summer evening in only her nightgown with a coat thrown over, and meandering downgrade from her cottage door to the edge of a fence and gate containing several grazing cows, the narrator is startled to see a young man with a back pack making his way on her remote road towards her. She is immediately taken by the fear that it is she he has eyed and comes for. After considering the consequences of being possibly raped she decides it might not be the worst outcome for her, almost recreational, and something dogs do. And that it is possible that this young man is what she wants anyway, and she well-suited for the adventure just as she dreamily entered into her present situation dressed as well, in her eyes, naked. She knew her stupid overcoat would offer little protection for her. But every forward movement the young man proves to make, as a result, keeps himself a certain distance from her, and finally her imagination of a sexual fantasy is all that remains.
Just for a moment everything gathered in dreadful suspension, my eyes gaped, cold and enormous — and then it all glided backwards into an atmosphere of broadening redundancy, intersected by a vertical and rather searing sense of abnegation. And then she adds, Remote sensations really, hardly mine at all — nothing to take personally.