Welcome to the webpages of Petra Hilgers winner of the 2021 erbacce-prize for poetry. In 2021 there were no less than 12,500 submissions worldwide and as stated, she emerged as a clear winner. On this page you can contact the author direct to request a signed copy of her prize-winning poetry collection 'The heart neither red nor sweet'. (96pp perfect-bound)
Click on the cover and it will open to a direct link via email to the poet and you can email her to request a signed copy or simply to make contact.
If you click on the 'Buy Now' button below the cover you will be connected to PayPal and a token £2.00 charge will be added to help with p/p world-wide.
You can learn more about Petra by clicking HERE.
Petra Hilgers is something of a travelling poet: she’s currently living in her native Germany again where she moved homes over ten times before living in South Africa for a short period, northern Uganda for much longer and the UK for the past 16 years.
Like in Marie Luise Kaschnitz’ poem ‘The Interviewer’, Petra hasn’t yet made it to her own house nor any securities, stocks or bonds, is at home in many places and languages and left with an array of questions about belonging. Her writing helps her grapple with these and stay in the curious. While writing poetry especially in English isn’t her birthright she appreciates that somehow that’s how things want to be expressed.
Petra is hugely grateful that her poetry has appeared in South Bank Poetry, Pennine Platform, Under The Radar, Structo, Acumen, the forthcoming editions of Stand Magazine and The Dawntreader, and was highly commended in the 2019 Open House Poetry Competition of The Interpreter’s House.
The killing of the dog
Writing wasn’t a birthright
Mama who still resents even just writing a shopping list
the ghost of her father swooning above
his cane ready to beat mistakes out of her hands
etching obedience into her finger prints
The books we read together
Pipi Longstocking Die Rote Zora Ronja the Robber’s Daughter
the one about a little dog who’s owner had died
I don’t remember what happened in the original story
the one I rewrote included a new owner
a large farm friendly cat nearby woods
the wolf the farmer left behind unhappy-ever-after
Mama only ever corrected my spelling mistakes
Republican
“to make yourself one small republic of unconquered spirit”
What d’you know about cunts and survival
on shaky underground trains opposite grey suits
wearing golden wedding rings thin as truth
Your call chase what’s been out-sinned
out-burned out-inked shelved away
Don’t trust that which wants for a letterpress
pillared halls up on the wall for all to bow to
Tree-knowledge song-knowledge river-knowledge
these are yours to run with faster than fear
your heart beating the life out of it
Line by Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the dark: the untold history of people power, 2005
The colour of thirteen years
The egg-blue car you pick me up with
and I want to tell you all about the colours
the greens the greens the oily green
of tea plantations soothing only in that
The wet green of coffee bushes invigorating
until I saw yellowed leaves berries’ blood
spilled under too much sun too early
The green of eucalyptus trees pale
as the palms of our hands greedily
sucking out earth like a cuckoo chick
The paper white of maize corns dried
on their stalk before growing to size
pointing upwards pointless like deaf ears:
their greens unheard an idea too far
where hills glow like a fever-sick babe
breathing red dirt through the valley
around tired lakes into the hearts of women
sitting by the road side hammering rocks
to dust to feed their children
About the colour of clean water sweat
mixed with urgency polyester cooking oil
the haste of finding treasures in rubbish
steaming purple like a city in summer rain
about closeness fused with wood-fire
the knowing of explosions especially at night
shaking the little house the colour of sweet tea
And the colours between our cries and laughter
recognising her across a dusty red schoolyard