A Review of my Pamphlet in Blackbox Manifold

A review of my ‘experimental’ pamphlet of poems,
The Backlists
appeared the other day in Blackbox Manifold
a very fine ‘e-zine’, if that’s the right word.
It’s academically formidable and I’m really proud to be involved.
Other writers in this issue include Carrie Etter, Roy Fisher and Kate Kilalea.
A couple of choice cuts from the review >
“a finely comic invitation to voyage across language surfaces and global experience”
“there is so much driving along here: this is just such juicy work…”
The Backlists is also available here.
The Backlists

The Backlists Poem #5


At the border-house, halfway
up the wall, unexploded Lebanese
devise new harmonies > our singer
flees his lover’s moustache
{&} summer’s disorderly gasp
in the right direction < oriental
melodies raise wallflowers from their beds;
throw pop to the wind, fashionably
alive because there is no elegance
in waiting for strings of pearl
to light a room > if I was young
I’d still love (your exploding face)
entirely, we’d raise apples under
a waterfall of TVs / dancing
strips of sun inside their peace
{&} no freedom but these temporarily
complete partings of sea >^>^>

carry on


The Backlists Poem #4


This man has a stuffed mouse taped to his head.

The lobby’s ever-changing guard of attention-seekers
click into focus:

These fashionable diagnoses keep chipping away at our penchant
for the accurate: here is a clump of badger hair, bathing
in a pool of neon. Here is the invisible man projecting films
of his absence onto a wall.

Other convoluted gasps in the rosy dark of a fontanel:
A dreaming surgeon strips the skin from his thumbs.

Having already broken, rebuilt & enshrined the heart
in a heart-shaped estuary, Maddy will charge Japanese tourists
£15 apiece to admire / ridicule it using kaleidoscopic goggles.

‘All art tries to swindle death.’ The drunken doctor hands out
freebies: charcoal, pastels, massive blank X-Ray cards
& sends his ladies trundling off, nursing delusions of artistry.

We are informed of the season’s whereabouts by
a series of effective illustrations. We are quietly influenced by
the distant quack of a car alarm / every single thing
we see

The Backlists Poem #3

Two Step

glad to indulge a hefty drinks order the lady pays in kind?
judging by her trail of disregard climbing window {&} pen
I assume wetness evades fat {&} heads tally tails moving
in circular diction I replenish friends of online strangers
approach waving glass models money counts for less in
trash talking of isms my watch forms a basic accord polite
{&} repulsive equally she wins > clap hands > light switch