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Abigail George

Abigail George

Abigail George studied film and television production for a short while, which was followed by a brief stint as a trainee at a production house. She is a writer and poet. She has lived in Johannesburg and Port Elizabeth but she is currently living in Port Elizabeth. She has had poetry published in print and online. She has had short fiction published online. In 2005 and 2008 she was awarded grants from the National Arts Council in Johannesburg. She is not purely devoted to poetry but to pursuing writing fulltime. Storytelling for her has always been a phenomenal way of communicating and making a connection with other people.
 
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 Boarding school in Swaziland and falling in love with my English teacherBoarding school in Swaziland and falling in love with my English teacher by Abigail George
 To Johannesburg, with loveTo Johannesburg, with love by Abigail George
To Johannesburg, with love(for Voldi and his love for opera)
 The handsome stranger at the seasideThe handsome stranger at the seaside by Abigail George
The handsome stranger at the seaside(for my mother and father)    I can smell the hungering seaon my fingers. Your dancingis bittersweet. The royal-
Badboys Radio Show Ovi Gallery Le Meteque Ovi Exhibition Ovi Bookshop
 The taste of summer wineThe taste of summer wine by Abigail George
The taste of summer wine(for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)Human frailties become sharper, at the   
 Visitations from the most primitive womanVisitations from the most primitive woman by Abigail George
Visitations from the most primitive woman(for mum, dad, Vincent, Babs, Max)   Peri-spinach (a constellation/s)   alongside fried onions. Layers.
 LingerLinger by Abigail George
 Voyage into the blue wildVoyage into the blue wild by Abigail George
Voyage into the blue wildKafka had a tyrant for a  father. I had a tyrant for a
 A walk through these empty roomsA walk through these empty rooms by Abigail George
A walk through these empty rooms    Look, it is autumn. Autumn    rain. It is the beginning of a    brave new world. You don
 When a man forgets himself in old ageWhen a man forgets himself in old age by Abigail George
When a man forgets himself in old age(for Ambronese and all the women I have ever truly loved)    I did not know then what     I know now. That I was a   
 HiveHive by Abigail George
Hive(for my mother and father)    Stability sometimes has to make    room for hunger. The spoils of     war.
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