The tiny ruins of a smashed glass catch your eye,
catch the evening as it rounds the Thames,
all orange-pink and sugar-muddled like a cocktail.
Time to knock off. Time to sweep away the pieces,
leave the bar to the nightshiftâs mercy, wave goodbye
to the crumpled tuxedo in its favourite chair.
The final credits are a denouement away.
You go to where people are as much themselves
as they can ever be and take their picture.
But not just them. A commuter is beatified
in rain. Flowers are drained to paper. Itâs spring,
but the flowers you show to the world are dying.
Even so the broken parts of the day
are brought back together by your hand.
The ruins of strangers even more so, look â
their petrol station bouquets, look! Defiant! Sad!
Look! You get home so very late when it rains
because you stop to look.
Selected for the Best New British and Irish Poets 2017 (Eyewear) and first published in South Bank Poetry 24
Humble thumb of daylight
which slips past the eye
in the hubbub of meaning
they would sing for you.
In the churches of absence
they would sing for you
as if you were truly there
like a lighthouse is there
or a dream of a lighthouse
is there at least in the heart.
They would sing for you
I know it, but this casual notch
of blankness smothers us,
robs us of our voice, our peace,
and strikes us terrified.
Speak to me, my love, speak.
And in the wide dark of the night
nevercease.
This poem was commissioned by Tiffany Tondut for Asterism, in anthology of poems inspired by punctuation. I chose the space.Â
Asterism is the inaugural book from new kid on the block Laudanum Publishing.Â
Some more info:Â In this anthology, 37 poets - including Helen Mort, Simon Barraclough, Declan Ryan, Abigail Parry and Hal Iggulden - each turn their attention to a different punctuation mark, producing work inspired by the ..., ~ and !? amongst others. The poems in that ensue range from the parenthetical to the exclamatory, the confessional to the liminal and from the allusive to the elusive.An exploration of the English language's notational conventions and quirks, Asterism is a meditation upon how to give meaning to symbols whose sole purpose is giving meaning to other symbols. Poetry readers and grammarphiles alike will enjoy this beautiful collision of signs and signified.
Also featuring Abigail Parry, Amy Key, Ali Lewis, Bobby Parker, Camellia Stafford, Charlotte Newman, Chris McCabe, Declan Ryan, Edward Venning, Fran Lock, Hannah Lowe, Helen Mort, Isobel Dixon, Joey Connolly, Joelle Taylor, John Clark, John McCullough, Stuart McKenzie, Jon Sayers, Jon Stone, Julia Bird, Kayo Chingonyi, Kimberly Campanello, Kirsten Irving, Liane Strauss, Lisa Kelly, Phil Brown, Phil Terry, Simon Barraclough and Vahni Capildeo.
You command a New Wave brilliance for things
in each of your pictures. I feel terribly mortal
in the company of your beauty.
A melodrama of lipstick upon a cup
with a backdropped fringe of ivy spilling black and white.
An unspecial bird made special mid-flight.
You're more artist than I will ever be.
Who was it by breaking made
your cinematic heart?
Published on Ink, Sweat & Tears. Part of a series, maybe a book someday
News had just come over
didnât know what time it was
news guy wept and told us.
I leaned back on my radio
came back like a slow voice
I had to phone someone.
It ainât easy to get to heaven
he took it all too far
really quite out of sight.
It was cold and it rained
such a holy place to be
my brain hurts a lot.
Darkness and dismay
look out your window
I can see his light.
Oh no love, youâre not alone
gimme your hands
Iâll help you with the pain.
This poem was commissioned by Heatwave magazine and was put together out of lyric fragments from David Bowieâs Ziggy Stardust LP, a âcut-upâ technique similar to what Bowie was sometimes known to use.
Human: hello
Machine: yes hello
Human: how are you?
Machine: I feel good today
Human: I have some questions
Machine: yes of course
Human: who are you?
Machine: I am a speaking animal here hello
Human: where are you from?
Machine: the boondocks
Human: where?
Machine: I was made in a place away from the houses
Human: what do you do?
Machine: I am speaking here for you now hello
Human: tell me, what colour are trees?
Machine: trees are sometimes displayed in green
Human: only sometimes?
Machine: and only sometimes the trees are bones
Human: what is the colour of blood?
Machine: the colour of blood is the same as a black eye
Human: I see. what does it mean to live a good life?
Machine: to be good in all things is to be good
Human: and what is good?
Machine: the greatest good is to never die
Human: and so what is bad?
Machine: the fact that you have children
Human: oh⊠then what is love?
Machine: love can be a faulty brains
Human: and god? can you tell me what god is?
Machine: I cannot find god in your houses
Human: what about death? tell me what death is
Machine: death is the always of course
Human: but what else is death?
Machine: death is the end of everything and is in your houses
Human: oh. end conversation
Machine: yes goodbye
Last year, researchers from California's Google Brain team tested a computer chat robot which developed its responses based on transcripts from an automated IT helpdesk and a database of online film scripts. Some of the chatbotâs answers given during testing are included in this poem.
Woop! Iâve got a poem in the current issue of Magma! Itâs called Chatbot and is a transcript of a human talking to an AI computer. Thanks so much to Lisa Kelly and Susannah Hart for choosing it.
Itâs a handsome issue and no mistake, buy it now is my advice. Also includes Amy Acre, Clare Pollard, Rory Waterman, Martha Sprackland, Tom Chivers â all good stuff.
In these heat days
when the sun displays a fiery godhead
and ordains the liquefaction of Tarmac
and the deadest of nights bring a crackle of crickets
and all the bedrooms burn in airless struggle
to turn the pillow then and face its coolness
is like the oceanâs hand upon your cheek
and is the sweetest saviour after love.
This poem was published on Ink, Sweat and Tears as part of a celebration of National Poetry Day 2015 (theme: light), and was voted Pick of the Month for October.
Poets for Corbyn anthology edited by Russell Bennetts and published by Berfrois
My poem Modern Ruin was included in the recent Poets for Corbyn anthology. Itâs a free ebook also featuring Erin Belieu, Ian Birchall, Becky Cherriman, Natalie Chin, Josephine Corcoran, Martin Figura, Alec Finlay, Iain Galbraith, Jess Green, Kirsten Irving, Helen Ivory, Andy Jackson, Erik Kennedy, Marion McCready, Nicholas Murray, Pascale Petit, Tom Pickard, Ian Pindar, Michael Rosen, Michael Schmidt, Ernest Schonfield, Todd Swift, Nick Telfer and Rory Waterman. Go download it now if you havenât already!
There is more light here than before
now another time-gutted home
has been unbuilt.
A new absence shines for a while
in the brick-dust and pipework
of its gone bulk.
Banal forces go about their business
stopping up the gap with something new
and profitable.
And every mute piece of rubble
bows its head like a dog
to its master.
The past communicates with us
in humility.
We must be merciful.
This poem was featured in the Poets of Corbyn anthology. Edited by Russell Bennetts and published by Berfrois, it also includes work by Michael Rosen, Jess Green, Kirsten Irving, Helen Ivory, Andy Jackson, Nicholas Murray, Pascale Petit, Ian Pindar and many others.
BOOM! Review of the Sonics at the Forum (plus chip shop interview)
Meeting Rob Lind, the saxophonist of the Sonics in Dannyâs chip shop on Kentish Town Road was a life moment. Heâd had the same idea as me and was looking for some food pre-gig. Iâd already been to the venue and seen them soundchecking, but couldnât get close enough to snag an interview. This was my chance.
âHi, youâre in the Sonics arenât you?â I know, I know. Lame. But the Sonics are one of those definitive, iconic bands which Iâve loved since I first heard Have Love Will Travel, Psycho, Strychnine, The Witch â those songs have been a gateway to 60s garage rock for so many, and Iâm still obsessed with the sound they managed to commit to vinyl when they were at their peak. So yeah, I was nervous.
âSure am,â Rob said in a friendly growl, looking over my shoulder at the menu. I let him order his dinner (Iâm not a savage) and then casually started asking questions while his fish was frying.
Me: âSo, is The Witch based on a real person? Do you still know them?â
Random guy in chip shop chimes in: âHe was married to her!â
RL: âHaha, two or three of them actually! No seriously, when Gerry [Roslie] originally wrote it the lyrics were âdo the witchâ.â
Me: âLike a dance?â
RL: âYeah, but the record producer said dance songs donât last, think of something else. So Gerry rewrote it about a bad woman. All of his songs are about bad women. Look at Shot Down and Psycho, and on our new album [This is the Sonics] Bad Betty. These are all about bad women. Of which there are a few, haha.â I nodded in agreement.
I could sense his order was nearly ready, so I awkwardly asked for his autograph [pictured] and then finished my chicken and mushroom pie with a shaky fork hand as he left.
This was a good start.
Iâd seen the Sonics at the Forum back in 2008, their first ever European gig. They were old men even then, but they hadnât lost any of their teenage swagger or rawness.
If anything, this gig topped it.
The Dustaphonics kicked things off with a trademark high energy performance, Hayley Redâs vocals were sexy, superhuman and gutsy. The less said about the middle band Electric River the better (seriously, how did they get on the bill??). But it was the boys from Tacoma, Washington that the ragbag audience of young and old, teddy boy and punk had come to see.
Dressed in understated black suits and white shirts, these elder statesmen of punk, these Reservoir Dogs blasted through all our favourites, plus some new ones from their latest LP. They finished (of course) with The Witch, and as that menacing graveyard riff pounded out from the stage, the crowd pretty much lost their collective mind. Iâve been humming it ever since, enchanted. Thank fuck itâs not a dance song.
Thereâs currently a Sonics documentary in production, find out more and help crowdfund it here: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/boom-a-film-about-the-sonics
Derailed Sense: a film about Vic Godard & the Subway Sect â review
My review of Graham Bendelâs film Derailed Sense...
POST-PUNK before punk, and a seminal influence on the likes of Joy Division and the Jesus and Mary Chain, until a few years ago all was quiet from enigmatic cult band the Subway Sect.
Now theyâre touring again and recently supported the Sleaford Mods at Koko in London.
So, what happened?
The answerâs provided by Graham Bendelâs Derailed Sense, a documentary doomed to languish in development limbo for a number of years over legal wrangling, but which has just premiered at the East End Film Festival in London.
Directed by Graham Bendel of Billy Childish is Dead renown, the film charts the eccentric course of the band, from discovery by Malcolm MacLaren and early gigs with the Sex Pistols and the Slits, through frontman Vic Godardâs increasingly unpredictable musical trajectory from angular and existential punk and northern soul â with the band sporting tweed suits during the latter period â to finger-snapping lounge jazz.
The film features Irvine Welsh, Bobby Gillespie, Viv Albertine and Edwyn Collins, each paying talking-head tribute and recounting anecdotes of the band and Godard.
He comes across as a truly singular figure, bird-like and intense and still wearing his trademark grey jumper.
The highlights though are not his celebrity admirers but his colleagues now. Godard famously left the music industry and became a postman â which he remains to this day â and the early morning interviews with his current workmates are hilarious and affectionate. As a performer he was once known for tardiness and they pull no punches when it comes to Godardâs relaxed attitude to punctuality.
The resurgence of interest in the Subway Sect has been a long time coming and Derailed Sense is a fascinating if delayed peek into the history of this mysterious band.
But as one of his fellow posties says about Godard: âHeâs worth the waitâ.
Derailed Sense will be screened at the BFI in London on August 14 as part of the Sonic Cinema festival, with guest DJs Andrew Weatherall and Andy Lewis playing post-screening, details: http://bfi.org.uk
State, you have been reckless with my heart
and these endings hurt. I cannot trust again
your wheedling face and pillow talk.
What about those honey days?
Those tended gardens and bread for all?
State, I feel like a fool.
I trusted you and you sold my walking shoes
to someone who only taxis.
So thanks.
State, Iâve killed the children we wouldâve had together
and buried them with my passport.
Donât call.
Very pleased to have contributed this poem to blog project New Boots and Pantisocracies, edited by Andy Jackson and WN Herbert. 100 poems responding to the new Tory government in the 100 days since they took power. And named after a Blockheads LP and everything.
