Tuesday, 28 December 2010
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.
Monday, 27 December 2010
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:
Andrew C Ferguson
The complete item can be found here in pdf (it's a bit slow, be patient!)
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.
Saturday, 25 December 2010
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...
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
Thursday, 23 December 2010
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.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
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:
Jesús Ge Ana Pérez
(Marta R. Sobrecueva)
Scottish Poetry Library
(and Mairi: http://networkedblogs.com/b5Jkr)
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
Obviously I tried it on my own blog.
Turns out I'm a 50 year old woman who is "happy".
Try it on your own favourite site:
Thursday, 28 October 2010
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.
Well here's a poem about babies on the bus to make you feel warm and fuzzy. Go away.
Saturday, 23 October 2010
Thursday, 7 October 2010
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
Sunday, 26 September 2010
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"
Thursday, 19 August 2010
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.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
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?
Sunday, 1 August 2010
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
Friday, 16 July 2010
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
Caroline Mary Crew - Flotsam
Colin Will - Sunny Dunny
Andrew Philip - Tonguefire
Kevin Cadwallender - Cadwallender
Claire Askew - One Nights Stanzas
Russell Jones - Russell Jones
Alastair Cook - Written in my hand
Martaerre Sobrecueva - de la poesia y otras disciplinas en palabras
Tony Williams - Tony Williams's Poetry Blog
Sunday, 4 July 2010
Sunday, 27 June 2010
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Sunday, 6 June 2010
Sunday, 30 May 2010
- 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.)
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Saturday, 20 March 2010
Is it true that we become alive
not once, but many times? - Edwin Morgan
As your body proves its shift
in a dust of hair, a grain of skin,
in the once-only visitation
to the coffin
you might be new,
not human, not sleek velvet lining,
not dirt and footsteps
on your eternal lawn
but a bright amalgamation.
Before that, however you went:
part haemorrhage, part lung disease,
part broken heart, part syringe;
that contract, the final musics of hearing,
those last minute considerations,
the ultimate reminisce of brain activity
leave you altered.
How people speak about you –
how you speak about you –
how you are known –
are sands and metal filings,
separate but inseparable.
On the way to school
your soul bends.
On the road to work
your head bends.
On love you bend.
Awhile since you were conceived
a life worth living, since cock and heat:
a playground song, rasped knuckles,
conkers cracked, a gentle touch,
a stark word or kind hush -
the repeatedly repeated and the new
are your jigsaw on the carpet.
Quick dash – spermatozoa quick, hormonal quick,
love quick - chances are you’ll be one
in six hundred million (though half decided);
this is where life ends and begins,
where we join and become alive
not once, but many times.
Monday, 15 March 2010
See some of our films here: http://www.youtube.com/use
Poets who'll be reading on Friday 26th from 7-9pm are:
Christine de Luca
Andrew C Fergusson
Rob A Mackenzie
Monday, 8 March 2010
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Tim Crouch (performing My Arm)