1000 Clicks

I have come down from the dizzying heights of celebrity stardom to address you, the common folk.

Yes all the rumours you've heard in the news, the papers, magazines and movies are true: the blog has, since August 2010, had over 1000 visitors. Let us pray.

To celebrate this triumphant moment in mankind's history I will allow your mortal eyes to gaze upon a work of such gravitas and splendour that it sits atop the papier roll beside by porcelain throne.  Prepare yourself for the masterpiece that is mine own work: "Pooey Monkey"

Enjoy this aesthetic treat, visit again. Now go away.




Russell Jones

Some Edwin Morgan Stuffs

You may remember that the Scots Makar, Edwin Morgan, died earlier this year. A sad thing indeed, though there have been a number of quality tributes in the form of readings and publications.

One such tribute is from Swiss Lounge Productions and includes photography and poetry from:
Morgan Downie
Tracy Markey
Paul Nandy
Michael Conley
Richie McCaffrey
Russell Jones
Andrew C Ferguson
Colin Will
Lachlan Renwick

The complete item can be found here in pdf (it's a bit slow, be patient!)
http://swissloungeproductions.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/strawberries.pdf


A small tribute note of mine was also published alongside others in Steve Sneyd's (of Hilltop Press, leading expert in science fiction poetry) Data Dump pamphlet for December 2010, which should contain a review of my Last Refuge sci-fi poetry collection in the new year.


Peace, Jacobites



Russell Jones

Proof Test

I tend never to drink when I write, or write when drinking (whichever starts first wins out).

But at 4am this Christmas morning I broke the taboo and pumped out a piece whilst slurring on Black Russians. Then I wrote a poem. After waking and sobering up I decided to write another -

Here's the test: which poem do you prefer?  They're both first drafts, obviously, but perhaps this proof test will allow Mr Vodka to hold the pen more often...


Russell Jones

Re-entry

we were burned up on re-entry

burned up and cast out like ashes

like ashes in an instant in a flash

a flash of separation one body

one body thudding against another

against another body and we embraced

we embraced between the atoms

between the atoms and smiled stupid

stupid really as death was imminent

imminent enough and we knew it

we knew it but we smiled as the earth

the earth honed into view bold

bold and blue and devastating

devastating in one way but beautiful

beautiful as the temperature grew

grew so quickly we were vapour

vaporised in a flash one body

one body drifting through another

through another in a flash of separation

separation cast out like ashes

like ashes burned up and bought together

bought together at last in vacuum

Converse

Boys are dogs at car windows
Girls are spiced rum

Morning is position four
Night is thin shins on bed legs

Monday is the coldest month
Friday is cranberries

Hate is mustard
Love is a thumb war

Doors are a waste of central heating and therefore the whole environment
Windows are great

Television is duvets and chocolate and possibly marshmallows
Books are work

Wine is calorific, carcinogenic but preferable
Beer is cheap

Work is a nightmare
Leisure is attainable

Children are someone else’s noise box
Old age is piss

Science is convenient
Art is a room

Christmas is the 25th of December
New Year is troublesome

Parsnips are neither here nor there
Vodka is fantastic

Light is conversation
Darkness is the in fold of my wallet

Happiness is welcoming
Depression is a derelict roasting tray

The future is every colour other than orange
The past is a drawer

Confinement is marmalade
Space is a jar

You are the planet Earth

I am the last cosmonaut 

Bah, Bumhug!

I realise I've not written very much at all on this damnable site of late, so while you've been off dreaming of a White Christmas like a daft racist I've written a short article on the dull issue of winning poetry competitions.

I say "winning", I mean "not coming last"

Find it here: http://networkedblogs.com/c5Sqy

In the meantime, to get you in the festive spittoon, here's a little piece about the yuletide which I'd written for DanseMacabre last year. Now go away.

Christmas Fever

No wrapping but the gut
lining, no bow but the bile,
no box but the brittle bulge
of my projectile smile.

Ding dingaling and ding along.
Merry merry, very merry,
hear my Christmas song!

No manger but the rough
sleep, no advent but the wheeze,
no sugar but the colon’s
furious chocolate sneeze.

Ding dingaling and ding along.
Merry merry, very merry,
hear my Christmas song!

No fire glow but the fever
sweat, no chestnut but the phlegm,
no stuffing but the mucous balls:
it must be Christmas again.

Russell Jones

Blog at the same time!

Mairi Sharratt leads another blogging project but this time it's ruddy international!

Yep moaners (poets) from "AROUND THE GLOBE" are all blogging at the same time, on the theme of "A Broken Conversation"

My effort is posted below (a little late, I was sleeping...), see the other bloggers' work on their sites:
Roger Santiváñez 
Cisco Bellavista 
Jesús Ge Ana Pérez
 Cañamares Felipe
 ZapicoMartaerre
 (Marta R. Sobrecueva) 
JoAnne McKay 
Rachel Fox 
Alastair Cook 
Scottish Poetry Library
(and Mairi: http://networkedblogs.com/b5Jkr)

The Bang

Alice:   Pretty naked, pretty fast. For the sake of staying positive, call me Alice.

Atlas:   And me, Atlas.

Alice:   Pleased to meet you at last. So this is magnetism. Can I ask -?

Atlas:   Oh, do.

Alice:   What are we doing here?

Atlas:   You shouldn’t assume –

Alice:   You’re right of course.

Atlas:   We’re on course

Alice:   For what?

Atlas:   The truth is in the name. Not Hadron, but Collider. We’re set for, done for.

Alice:   But we’ve this time at least.

Atlas:   Yes but be quick about it.

Alice:   Can we kiss?

Atlas:   We can collide.

Alice:   That doesn’t sound entirely romantic –

Atlas:   ah but there’s romance in frantic creation and creation is what I’m all about

Alice:   Has it always been? You seem something of an opportunist

Atlas:   I am.

Alice:   I suppose great times –

Atlas:   Require great measures. Come closer, my sweet Alice.

Alice:   I’m not sure I’ve anything for you.

Atlas:   I adore you.

Alice:   Well perhaps –

Atlas:   Perhaps -

Alice:    Perhaps.

Big Brother is under your bed thinking bad things

There's a completely genius website that analyses the language of another website and tells you various things about its author.

Obviously I tried it on my own blog.

Turns out I'm a 50 year old woman who is "happy".

I wish.

Try it on your own favourite site:

http://urlai.com/url/poetrusselljones.blogspot.com


Russell Jones

Half a Millennium of Moronics

In August 2010, whilst lying in the rank sweat of my ensemed bed, stroking the corpse of my social life and giggling maniacally, I committed a most heinous act: I added a "hit counter" to my blog...


Hit me, go on. Oh yeh. Yeh right in the face, go on. Harder. 


Since that empty test of self worth this site has somehow clocked up over 500 visits, which means that there are at least a few people with more time and (possibly) less of a life than me out there in Interenetoland. Thanks mum!


This deserves celebration. Or castration. But let's celebrate first. Have a drink on me. No, really, go on, whatever you like, go and get it. Go on, seriously. 


Ergh.


Well here's a poem about babies on the bus to make you feel warm and fuzzy. Go away.

Russell Jones

EXCLUSIVE: Jones wins money, buys chair, wipes arse

I like money, I do. It pays for my various addictions. And whores will have their trinkets. So it was nice to find out that The Writer's Bureau wanted to give me some pennies for winning 3rd place in their poetry competition. I have since spent them on a chair, berry vodka and arse paper because I'm that damn exciting.

The poem is below, and this in-depth analysis was made of it: "This is highly original, beautifully crafted and resonant."

Crossing Over




Remember how we crossed the bay
in that little wreck we found,
five-past-midnight, after drinking
on the shingle? We rowed
to the lighthouse you said was haunted.


I forget how long it took,
what we said or didn't say.
The fear of opening a graveyard
had shrunk or evaded me


but I kept the bruises from when you fingered

my arm like a crucifix

when we headed upstairs. Everything

was silhouette
as we watched the hillsides sleep on the horizon.


Remind me: did we try to relight
the dead and search the ocean?
Did we name the shades of darkness
because of our intoxication?


We drew particles of the night into our lungs
and spirits made it through.
You switched on your torch and rotated
so that somewhere,
between worlds, we’d shine our beacons.

Russell Jones

Please Daddy, No! EDITED VERSION

Today was National Poetry Day and as such I inflicted poetry on the young at Wester Hailes Education Centre.

Actually they chugged it down and asked for seconds. They love it.

You might not expect kids to take kindly to a posh Englishman in a suit telling them about intergalactic stasis travel, babies licking bus windows or dead birds, mightn't you? Well that's because you're a monster and they're lovely.

What struck me was how much they enjoy sound. The younger ones especially. Their favourite of mine is a concrete poem called "star", which they demanded I read at least twice per class. I had to regurgitate the damned thing about 14 times at high speed.

And adults love that one too.

So what am I saying? Nothing really, just that people like sound. Big discovery, huh? Yeh that's right, yeh.

Try reading the concrete poem "star" for yourself, the faster the better. Or don't. See if I care

(I care)





Russell Jones

Ever read a book? Listened to a song?

The beard with a man attached, known as Ryan Van Winkle, asks whether you've ever been inspired by a song. Well, have you? HAVE YOU?

Of course you have, everybody has. But not everybody has written something brilliant afterwards.

Well now's your chance, you furry biped.

Forest Publications is looking for essays, stories and poems inspired by or about music. So go listen to a song and write something "good"

http://ryanvanwinkle.com/call-for-submissions-this-next-one-goes-out-to/


Russell Jones

Goodbye Eddie

The sad news has arrived that Edwin Morgan, the Scots Makar, died today, of pneumonia, aged 90.

I only met Eddie once but he seemed such a genuine and warm guy who had time for anyone. His work has been an inspiration to people all over the world and he has shaped Scottish poetry for generations past and will for many years to come. On a personal level, Morgan and his work are a considerable part of my life. Not only has his poetry inspired my own poetry but I have dedicated years of my life to researching his work as part of my PhD. I know he's been just as important and indeed more-so for many more people out there.

He will be sorely missed but in true Morgan style I think it's important to look at all the great optimism he had in life and to keep it going.

"It's hard to go, let's go"


Knowing he's been seriously ill for some time, I'd written a tribute poem (if I can call it that) about the impact this news would have, as pasted below.

Bye bye Eddie

Big fat sell out

Having stolen the last few copies of my chapbook, The Last Refuge, from a local charity and sold them to unsuspecting likers of poetry, the first edition is officially a SELL OUT.

If you don't have a copy then you probably have some kind of mental disorder and your life is definitely ruined. Perhaps you can use it as testimony for your insanity plea when you inevitably end up in court on drunk and disorderly and/or public nudity charges.

Perhaps the publishers will print another edition, you may yet have something worth living for. Do not give up hope whilst you're sat shivering in a pool of your own excrement.

In other news: icecream is nice, have you tried it?


Russell Jones

Me hearties - more pirate blethers

NEW
I've been asked back to Captains Bar for one last reading on 21st August. Come sit on my lap.


----


Scrub my palms with a rusty razor, batter the matches and  prepare the parrot for the high breeze, I'm giving two readings at Captains bar, including the children's favourite, "Farmers and Pirates"

If you're not a lollylagging wang lugger then head on over and hear me call

8th and 9th of August

Captains Bar, 4 South College Street, Edinburgh, EH8 9AA, www.CaptainsEdinburgh.webs.com



Russell Jones

Blog Project

Cast your mind back to your earliest memory. Is it my previous post about a blogging project between a bunch of desperado poets? If not then your life obviously has too many "meaningful experiences" in it and must be extinguished. I suggest bleach.

Anyway the time has come to actually make the post. Here's how it works:

1) The director of the project sends all the poets the same word. The word was "swear"

2) The poets quit their day time jobs in pursuit of the word, excluding their loved ones, not washing, shivering in the darkness. So nothing different to usual, other than this...

3) The poets write something based on....the word!

True genius. Well the picture above is my attempt, and a ruddy good one it is too. If you have any inkling of aesthetics or intellect then you'll surely love it. Tell your mum about it before I do.

I also wrote a more conventional sort of thing after seeing a burger producer claiming that its edible atrocities were the "f*cKING best" or something equally subtle. It's pasted below.

As a nod to the fellow wordwhores involved, there are also links to each of their blogs. They're all meant to have posted by 10am today (Saturday 17th August)

(PS: the dots aren't meant to be in this poem but I can't fathom how to put the gap in-between the sections, so imagine they're invisible with your imagination skills)

Obscene Publications

sh*t ..............................as in the toilet lid

c*nt ..............................as in for money

w*nk ............................as in unsophisticated flirtation

who*e ..........................as in the complete package

p*ss ..............................as in salt ‘n’ vinegar

fu*k ..............................as in hip gyration to beats

co*k .............................as in sausage factory

b*tch ............................as in femme

b*oody .........................as in messy family planning

c*ap .............................as in sore lips

tw*t ............................as in an oaf

sl*t ..............................as in looking through a narrow gap

And the list of poets:

Mairi Sharratt - A lump in the Throat
http://www.alumpinthethroat.wordpress.com

Caroline Mary Crew - Flotsam
http://www.carolinemarycrew.wordpress.com

Colin Will - Sunny Dunny
http://sunnydunny.wordpress.com/

Andrew Philip - Tonguefire
http://tonguefire.wordpress.com/tonguefire/

Sally Evans - desktopsallye
http://www.desktopsallye.com/page16.htm

Kevin Cadwallender - Cadwallender
http://cadwallenderk.blogspot.com/

Claire Askew - One Nights Stanzas
http://www.onenightstanzas.com/

Russell Jones - Russell Jones
http://www.poetrusselljones.blogspot.com

Alastair Cook - Written in my hand
http://www.alastaircook.blogspot.com/

Martaerre Sobrecueva - de la poesia y otras disciplinas en palabras
http://miraletras.blogspot.com/

Tony Williams - Tony Williams's Poetry Blog
http://aye-lass.blogspot.com/

Russell Jones

All blogged up

Blogging is an Eden for the socially inept / self-obsessed and that is why poets love to blog. In fact poets love blogging so much that 9/10 of them admitted they would rather drown a bag of puppies than lose their precious blog. A big bag.

Now imagine the possible carnage of a lot of poets all competing for Me Space on a shared blog. You can't, can you? Well now you don't have to!

Mairi Sharratt, an Edinburgh-based poet, has hatched a child-beatingly-evil and devious plot to have poets all write their thoughts and feelings about a chosen issue at once. Here is a short post about it:http://alumpinthethroat.wordpress.com/2010/07/01/literary-salons-anon-7-and-simultaneous-blogging/

The project includes such poetic talent as:

Sally Evans

http://www.desktopsallye.com/page16.htm

Kevin Cadwallender

(the man has no blog...and he calls himself a poet, pah!)

Alastair Cook

www.alastaircook.blogspot.com

Claire Askew

http://www.onenightstanzas.com/

And, no doubt, many others. Of course, being the miserable self-gratifying eye gouge that I am, I'll also be taking part.

Spish and tittle.

Russell Jones

Alice in Blunderland

I read Alice in Wonderland (and Through the Looking Glass) recently, after my rancid experience with Mr Depp and co., and thought it was pish-inspiringly good. And so I wrote an article on it, which you can find on therustykey:

http://therustykey.com/WereAllMadHere.html

suck it and see, dumpfreeze

Russell Jones

Baby Botherer

If the authorities allow me to spawn I shall name my darlings something that will really hinder them in attaining happiness in their lives. "Abomination" or "Gout", perhaps.

And here are some recent attempts at a brand new (aka: done before) poetic form which I have named "physics motion poetry".

The name even makes me want to hurt myself so you're not alone.

Arsey and pretentious it probably is but the theory is this: Firstly the software used to create it is a physical properties simulator. You mix poo with fans, you get poo on the wall. Mix water with poo, you get wet poo. There's no "poo" option but there ought to be. Secondly it moves, thus the motion part. Lastly I'm calling it poetry and you can't argue with me so nah nah nah naaah nah.

Alternative name: moving poo words

Enjoy or don't.

us

http://megaswf.com/view/b0fd3773fa721b8d18f5527328eb99ee.html

gymnast

http://megaswf.com/view/6ffde033561bfbc3a5ee6a9fcbb502ac.html

Russell Jones

Code Poetry

Whilst wasting some of my "life" on the "internet" I happened to find out about a little known and very short lived poetic movement. It has a real name but I can't remember what it is so I'll call it "code poetry". Here are some of my "attempts":

(1) Love Story

(2) Date Night (the empty box says XY beneath it, the other says XX)

(3) Representation: Final Agony, Final Victory (the empty box says XY beneath it, the other says XX)

(4) All That I Know Is That I Know Nothing

(5) Species (the bold circle says "survivalist" underneath it, the other says "species")

Russell Jones

SUISS (Scottish Universities' International Summer School)

Have you a couple of thousand pounds lying about that you just can't wait to spend on one of the following?:

- class A narcotics

- whores and trinkets

- Scottish literature summer schools

If you've not decided which enticing expenditure to go for, let me help you....DRUGS. But if you're tiring of the hashish (or opium if you're feeling particularly 14th century Ottoman) and temptations of the flesh are getting a bit "old hat" then you might want to consider the SUISS, which is being held in Edinburgh this year.

And as an extra special treat I will personally be altering your mind as a Scottish Literature tutor this year. And think yourself lucky, you swine gobbler, because I might have been going to China-land instead of sitting in a dark room with you and several other foreigners.

There are other courses too, like creative writing and modernism, but they're milk and vinegar along side the behemoth of greatness which is Scottish Literature.

And here is the reading list of brilliance and intrigue:

• Lewis Grassic Gibbon, Sunset Song
• Muriel Spark, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and The Driver's Seat
• John McGrath, The Cheviot, the Stag and the Black, Black Oil
• Gregory Burke, Black Watch
• James Kelman, The Burn
• Alasdair Gray, Poor Things
• A.L. Kennedy, What Becomes
• Twentieth Century Scottish Poetry (Douglas Dunn ed.)

You can book your place or just look at pretty pictures here:

http://www.summer-school.hss.ed.ac.uk/suiss/index.html

Russell Jones

Shore Poets

Scottish scallywags, Shore Poets, have asked me to read as their "new reader" on Sunday 26th June at The Lot (4/6 Grassmarket, Edinburgh, EH1 2JT).

It starts at 7:45pm.

You might be busy that eve pottering about in the garden, baking cakes or dogging. But if you're not, come find us and stop hanging out in parks at night.

See them here:

http://www.shorepoets.org.uk/

Russell Jones

Conference Nonsense

If life has taught me anything it's that life is ultimately futile and barren. With some nice bits. And I keep this in mind whenever I apply for nonsense activities to make life pass along, such as jobs or funding. The theory goes as follows: "Apply for something (I.e.: jobs and funding, you see the pattern) with the belief that you will most likely fail, you miserable failure. If you happen to be successful then it's a bonus"

With this theory in mind I applied to 5 conferences in the hope that one would stick. However, all five did, so here's the list of conferences for you not to attend:

(1) British Society of Literature and Science, Northumbria University (Newcastle), 8-10, April 2010

I talked about "A Home in Space: Teleportation and Space Exploration in Edwin Morgan's Science Fiction Poetry" and you missed it, you fool.

(2) Broken Images and Fractured Words, Lancaster University (Lancaster), 12 June 2010

I will moan on about "Off Concrete Stars: Edwin Morgan, Science Fiction and Concrete Poetry"

(3) Poetry and Voice, Chichester University (West Sussex), 25-27 June 2010

I will gripe on about "What I Love About Poetry is its Ion Engine: Interactions in Science and Poetry" and then continue to spread my hatred through a reading from my book, "The Last Refuge"

(4) What Happens Now: 21st Century Writing in English, Lincoln University (Lincoln), 9-12 July

I will verbally assault the rabble about "Happy Robots: Technologies and Utopias in Edwin Morgan's Science Fiction Poetry"

(5) British and Irish Contemporary Poetry Conference, Queens University (Belfast), 15-17 September 2010

I will commit social sepiku and general genocide as I vomit words about "Scottish Experimentalism: The Roles of Science and Experiment in Edwin Morgan’s Science Fiction Poetry"

If you've a taste for cream and a pang for poetry then crack open the credit cards, strap on your colostomy satchel and join me for a tantalising trip down conference lane!

Russell Jones

Cleave me alone!

Clean my pants and call me Randy, "Cleaves" (a prismatically-covered little interntational poetry book series) have published 4 of my poems including a concrete flower and a poem about a worm which can thrive in extreme underwater heat.

Check it out and buy it here:

http://cleavesjournal.com/issue2/scotland/scotland.htm

If you don't then everyone hates you. Even your mother. Especially your mother.

Russell Jones

Willy Wonka's Little Secret

Top Children's Lit web site "The Rusty Key" has published a short article of mine on Roald Dahl. If you like masochistic candy producers and a good old child beating then read it!

Find the article here:

http://www.therustykey.com/MarvellousMedicine.html

Russell Jones

Concrete Poetry

Concrete poetry is a difficult beastie to describe.

But I'll try.

It's poetry which is concerned with layout, appearance of words, space, etc., perhaps somewhat more than the meaning of the words. It usually has very few different words in it.

That's a terrible description.

But it's all you're getting, scumbag.

Here are a couple of examples of my own concrete poetry. Enjoy them or perish.

Russell Jones