Once Long Ago
In Once Long Ago, Jenny Robinson invites us to listen to the “dead tales of old gods long gone” struggling to find their place...
Dresse me my harpe
The speaker in Anna Cowan’s poem herself undertakes a myth-making activity in playing her harp. “It is time”, she declares, as she unshackles the...
Silent Spring
"The river near the house welcomes my anger. A ray of drowned sunlight charges the water with colour. I ritually trace my childhood steps"
The Demolished School
"Spending years of loneliness
sitting on that toilet seat, a haven
from slow lunch times with no friends, I knew the peeling paint
as if it were my own palm, cream cracking, exposing
the avocado green of the seventies."
As the smoke burns down to my fingers
To blink a bloodshot world away
And drink in rough, and burn, and heat
Until she comes to kiss the dark.
“Everywhere else, death is an end. Death comes, and they draw the curtains –”
Death comes, and they draw the curtains – Not in Spain. In Spain they open them.
Ode to an empty Oxford
"The quads no longer echo with passing, light-hearted exchanges or 3am stumbling returns from Hassan's."
Bringing together Oxford’s zines
In light of the current coronavirus situation, we at Cherwell are interested in bringing together student zines to publicise Oxford's writing community.
Many students in...
Remembering Wallace: Biography and Memory
'The End of the Tour' is a powerful biopic, but by all accounts it gets David Foster Wallace wrong. Does that matter?
“I’m scared Charlie please come”
Benedict George takes a trip into the surreal with a phone that refuses to leave its owner in peace
“I was a part of him, nothing more”
Simran Uppal finds inspiration in the recollection of his grandfather’s stories about Jalandhar, India
