Monday, June 30, 2008
And then Heroin Love Songs, a lot of poetry there, in particular me, of course, but even Puma Perl, Misti Rainwater-Lites, Lester Allen, Craig Sernotti, Thamyris Jones, Amanda Boschetto, George Wallace, Simon Philbrook, and, the highlight of the issue, one of Pablo Vision's absolute best shorts. Lots of other great poets, it can be ordered here and should be. Just a pity Jack Henry didn't include any of his own work. I've heard otherwise too, bit I think it looks nice and it's only $5.73 here at Lulu. There's a free download too, and it's online as well, equally free, here, poems by me here. I can recommend like fuck Pablo's piece "breaking the boy" here.
And also I got my copy of Pretty Red Berries by the brilliant poet Misti Rainwater-Lites, buy that sucker here and read my review here. She is going to be huge - and not just from all the tacos and burritos.
And I must again mention that Whistling Shade did a great job with my first full length Cadaver's dance, that book can, and should, be bought at Amazon.com at this link, or at Alibris here if it's out of stock at Amazon.
Not to forget a pretty good collection by me at Lulu with around 100 poems, and people have said there are no obvious faults with my layout etc. This is a button below here. It's reviewed by Misti here.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Ten Poems about East Asia and Kitsch Nebula Ampersands and
Coatalism Press 2008
Though Chiaia is an experimental writer, some of the work here seems timeless, the poems about East Asia, like Lian Penang, ending with the separate observation “An old Malay, he fishes” and Kula Lumpur with the presence of religion in the two short verses both ending “The Imam sings.” They are full of observation that lets you feel the essence of the place, and a regret too, for the violence and the decay of the ancient, the escape of traditional values “How could Malaysia let it get away?” I can read poems about the UK, where i lived the first 27 years of my life and think, “Where is this place? Who are these people?.” But in Chiaia's East Asia poems one believes one knows. The language is elegant and English but smells like Asia.
The second half, “Kitsch Nebula Ampersands and” is much weirder and heavier, it includes several conversations between a person and a mushroom about access to said person's Central Nervous System, and this is appropriate, these are hallucinatory poems but full of acerbic wit, broad humor, and a certain exile's nostalgia for the homeland that may or may not exist. There's a rude Ode to Americans, an exquisite Ode to Ampersands, and, my favorite in this second part, a brilliant two part Daiku (death haiku) that ends
butterfly slain here
beside raped caterpillar
This is a book you need, it's great poetry, it's very worth reading.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Also happy to see that it is now possible to buy Cadaver's dance online at Alibris here. It will appear on Amazon in a day or two. It ships from the USA on Alibris but only costs 72 crowns, I see, according to a search I did. It will be on the co.uk versions of Amazon and Alibris soon but it's just as easy to order from the states. In the USA i beklieve it comes out as $11 on Alibris, though the price is $12 really. I shall receive copies soon that people who know me can order from me. (Soon is obviously relative to mail from the US to Sweden.)
Very nice write up from Jack Henry here.
The ISBN is 9780980037531.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Free download as pdf, very nicely done.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Review Pretty Red Berries
Buy at Lulu
This is one of Misti Rainwater-Lites' books she put together herself, as a foretaste of the two forthcoming full lengths she has in the pipeline, and it's a big bastard. It's begin reviewed on the basis of a doc file since the post is so slow and I am in Thule.
There are classic MR-W lines here, very tasty, like
On the Virgin Mary postcard I scribbled that God is spitting in my cunt soup and pissing in my sea of free. I am free like any big tit turquoise tress sailor tease mermaid.
Classic elements are here like the Evan Stone obsession, and an obsession like a lingering touch over icons of seedy American pop culture, the attributes of a Lites poem, bands and bidets, the whole measured immesurability of the enumerated candies and perversities that constitute life today.
The emptiness in Misti's poems is the void that probably hangs out in palaces as much a sin trailers, but it is sometimes filled in trailers, if not in palaces, with a lot of love – this is from a poem to her ankle-biter Jackson:
someday you will hate me, I know
for loving you too much
or not nearly enough
for showing pictures of you in bunny ears
and a diaper
to whoever makes your tummy flop
for not being the one who can save you
from anonymous motel room
empty vodka bottle agony
my womb could only hold you
for nine months
and that is
but today you love me
because I am the first face
when you cry for comfort
and I am the bearer of bottles
and teething tablets
and toys that make funny noises
today our love is perfect
in its fullness
and I hope someday the old man you
will somehow remember the baby you
wrapped up in an imperfect woman’s
Lots of the book are raw like life is, there are very cool sex poems, since fucking is only gross when properly executed, and i notice that she has dead voyeurs too
voyeurs make me exceedingly nervous.
especially the ones i cannot see.
i am talking about ghosts.
i can smell them.
what scares me
is that they
can smell me
The point of the book is that there's not enoughs sunshine for all of us, but the insanity and the misery, the frenzied cunt-hunting and drink and drugs are at least a distraction, they are keeping your ghoulish mind alive, it's not heaven but it's fine for a few decades, then you die. Misti is not actually negative about this, the darkest parts are those that reflect the religion that suckered her for a while.
In conclusion, Misti at one point asks us “categorize my poems” - that's easy, they're fucking masterpieces.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
It has opened for submissions from various cocks before, and the progeny of those openings, copiously seeded by me and many other studs (not to forget to parenthetically mention our prosthetically seeding sisters) are on sale here and here, the little sluts. They're such sluts you can not only buy them (hard copy) but they give themselves to you for nothing, but only virtually, as various insalubrious and poxy pixels.
Submit and be the Pussy's bitches!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
You know you want pussy, motherfuckers, so pay for it! It's moist from the presses and waiting for you to part the trembling covers and plunge in. Read it hard!
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Happy to say four poems just posted by me in the new section of Lit Up magazine. Including one about my absolute stone cold hero. Leopold Butters Stotch. Now it's time to watch Butters' very own episode to celebrate.
edit: The poems are now part of the normal magazine here.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
You can download your pussy for free or purchase it here at Lulu.
There is an absolutely extraordinary she-male too, for some reason attached to an advert for d/e/a/d/b/e/a/t press. Jack gets so many more things published after the surgery.
Check the press here. Many books to buy there.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
chapbook by Richard Wink
review by David McLean
This, I believe, is Richard Wink's third chapbook and it is truly exceptional. The language and poetic maturity is that of someone older than Richard actually is, he's just a lad in his mid-twenties, but reminds me at least of a middle-aged Larkin facing futility with the equanimity of desperation and a hangover.
The poems are the sort of perfect slice of reality poems that feel like noticing something in a club at about two am and feeling suddenly soberer and wise, though all epiphanies are tangential and don't remain. I write this listening to Winehouse and nursing a beer hangover, and the poems suit that mood, though they are much more incisive and much more “poetic” than that observation may lead one to expect -
“Two weeks ago I went on an anti-war march.
I gave up halfway because my legs were tired,
Took the tube down to Camden and bought myself a nice bullet belt”
I know what he means, though when I went to Camden in the eighties it was to buy bootleg cassettes and things at Camden Lock Market. Bullet belts were trendy then, too.
These are poems written to give a clear perspective on what we tend to call our lives, Everyman nowadays, looking half-heartedly for drugs they might synthesize in a few decades. Waiting for the innocence of meaning to shoot a hole in the veins of night. The poems reference a lot of pop culture, though not too strictly English in the sense that they would be obscure to an American. Clint Eastwood is there as well as Suede. They concern everything from having a wank to being irritated by vacuous coke-heads, and they touch on Richard's insecurity about his dancing, his body, his character, doing so in a way that people can relate to if they aren't arrogant tossers - He might well not want arrogant tossers to relate to them.
A lot of the motivation behind this book, he tells me, and it is apparent, is to critique the sort of lives people live when some of our fellow hominids seriously consider that people like Jordan and Peter André are human beings too, and not only that, interesting human beings whose lives somehow enrich ours. (Those who read my poems may be surprised that I even know who these people are. Well i don't, I saw them on TV, expressed contempt, and was told why i was right.)
“I tell this story to the lazy
Who start life like foals
Flung from one year to the next
Without the depth of soul
Or the tools needed for fixation”
The poems are about finding balance among missed opportunities and absences, being able to negotiate life, climb over the invisible dead bodies on the pavement, and nevertheless be able to sit down to eat dinner and forget it a few minutes. Or that's what I say they are about.
The last poem is worthy of special note. It's pretty obviously about his parents, and ends in a note of restrained optimism that expresses something I think is important.
“Tears form when I watch you struggle
Long hours of nothing but dirty dishes
And factory lines
Running hand in hand
When I get the chance to pay you back in riches
And for all my thoughts I will remain hesitant forever I'm sure
But do not despair
For I am on the path and that has to be worth something I'm sure”
I think it's worth something too, though I don't know why. The anacoluthon at the start of the last stanza expresses it perfectly, the transfer then to the still hesitant sense of certainty which is confident but almost questions itself rather than affirming itself by the “I'm sure” makes this a truly exquisite poem his parents are probably very justifiably pleased by.
All in all this chapbook is very worth the four quid it costs. Buy it and support the independent press at www.erbacce-press.com. The direct link to the sales page is here.
Monday, June 2, 2008
chapbook by Alan Corkish
This is the first chapbook produced by Liverpool poet Alan Corkish. He says that these are poems for him, poems designed to satisfy him, his own favorites. Luckily for him, I think his tastes may well match the taste of other readers than me.
Alan is very varied in the sort of subjects with which he deals here. The book contains some exquisite nature poems and very well-done love poems, though love poems in general tend to be tacky, not so Alan's. And there are, perhaps most notably, a few politically very committed pieces, including a few where religion gets what it deserves, very much according to my personal predilections, of course.
I was actually, being very cultured, totally unaware of the existence of this Felix Dennis person whom Alan takes delight in savaging. I must say that I'm sorry that curiosity made me read a couple of this person's poems on the Internet.
My favorite would have to be “the sea of absolute vanity” where Corkish leads through a Biblically presented list of our vanities to a conclusion that life is totally meaningless, a conclusion belied by a grinning fish in the artwork under. And yet the nature poems give life a worth, the last poem implying a Sisyphean acceptance of the fundamental emptiness and a will to persist at least a few tomorrows more. Interestingly, this and several poems in the collection reveal an attentive awareness of Shakespeare.
To live with the meaninglessness we need to pay attention to details and delight in them. This Corkish does in poems such as “Ainsdale forest” and others here -
“This stillness is as empty
as the space between atoms
as vacant as worn pews
in a deserted church”
- And even to delight in the play of human relations, which he does with humor that varies from bittersweet to ribald to acerbic, depending on the deserts of the relationship.
The most moving poems here are about death, the pointlessness and unfairness of death as in
“the child's passing
was as pointless
as that of the dull grey
bone gaunt pigeon
that lies now on the
litter strewn rail-track
on exactly the same spot
where the child died”
The collection really includes a whole array of levels and topics, the profoundest regret and sorrowful nostalgia, as in “father,” to the tenderest emotion, as in “Good Friday 2006.” Corkish holds back excesses of sentimentality pretty well and stops at the effective, and he avoids being holier than thou when he is being politically correct. I mean, what's wrong with PC really, when it's not holier than thou?
All in all, this book, which is on sale at erbacce at their website, is excellent. Buy the book, it's really worth the effort. And really, don't annoy the fucker – you wouldn't want a poem like “Felix Dennis UK Poetry Tour” to be about you.
Also received Decanto's June issue with poems by me, the hugely talented AD Winans, Michale Lee Johnson, and Dylan Garcia-Wahl. Buy that one here.
You know you should.