Thanks to Claire Trevien for drawing my attention to Angela Topping's review of my Rack Press pamphlet 'Spring Journal' which has now been published online in Sabotage Reviews .
Showing posts from June, 2012
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Ok, so you're all Joyced out but I've just remembered this I wrote after I last read 'Ulysses' in 2001 when I was living in the North Laines in Brighton. It's absolute rubbish, I know, and deservedly unpublished, but I like it for the fact that it shows I was willing to experiment a little with the style of poetry I was writing back then, and I share it in the spirit of celebrating all things - high and low - Joycean. Just Nipping Out Rain in the air. Face. Cobbles wet. Who’s that? Hannah? No. Girl at school, left bike in her garage. Brother friends with her brother, listened to ska music together. Three saffron rice for price of two. Poor quality olive oil. Wouldn’t sell their best, would they. Perugina. Perugia. Bought selected William Blake there. Simple in Italian. Closed. That aloof young guy unpacking boxes, putting books out. O well. Bit cloudy for sunglasses. Great rack. Tight T-shirt. Wonder about her boyfriend. Could buy body loti
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The First Taste of Freedom For background there’s unbroken blue sky draped with red, white and blue bunting. A trestle table stretches the length of the cul-de-sac, which is unusual, but somehow fits in with the adults hobbling, legs tied, on the playing field. We’re all suntanned and freckled, except Jeffrey, who’s darker, and whose parents have stayed at home. We haven’t even heard of heavy traffic, but we know the rest of the world is celebrating the Jubilee. He takes a piece of cake out of the flag, chews it, and pretends to be sick. Someone’s mum shouts, Don’t do that! He splurts, It tastes of shit, the Union Jack . From 'Waiting for the Sky to Fall', Waterloo Press, 2010. ©2012 Dan Wyke