Dear Universe of Extinct Unicorns,
A new chapbook by Connie Scozzaro is emerging into the world totally unlike the hierophant retreating from his terrifying breakfast meeting with a bear princess. Contrapposto Action Queen is an organic lyric movement towards a smackdown of the unwitting social damage of roleplay, is tender and funny, and resonates with a voice entirely its own. These poems make no sacrifices for their wieldy topics of domesticity, love, and labour, all cast among a troupe of creeps, lovers, mothers, mermaids, Dante & Beatrice, cops, cornflakes, muses, Rousseau, and the EDL.
from ‘Poetic Artifice’:
Thanks to the lovely Erin Morrill, Bad Press has for U.K./E.U. distribution a number of copies of Marianne Morris’ chapbook Iran Documents, published in the U.S. by Trafficker Press last year. These will be available for a limited time, and only to U.K./E.U. customers. More info about the book is available via this interview with Marianne Morris & David Brazil; and Michael Cross has posted some excerpts from the book at his Disinhibitor blog.
They are £5 plus p&p.
And, thanks to the lovely Rosa van Hensbergen, we also have a handful of Marianne’s DSK chapbooks for distribution, again for U.K. customers only. These are £4 plus p&p. More info can be found on the Tipped Press homepage.
There’s a review of Sophie Robinson’s The Institute of Our Love in Disrepair up at For Book’s Sake.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to welcome into the world such material objects as these you see now gathered together in their lump summed mass above, constituting in their congregation The Institute of Our Love in Disrepair, a book of poems by Sophie Robinson, full of blinding one-liners, perfectly formed love lyrics, and kick-ass couplets.
“I love these poems, these scratched accounts of the bars, kitchens and hospitals, bathrooms and bedrooms of East London. Paris is nicer than Hackney, but we’ve got all the decent cologne, all the toothpaste and scissors. If we’re too tired too riot, well, the mixed drinks and melodramatic moments of Sophie’s poems will probably change that. These are love songs to make us crack, gag and hum, wolfishly, all over Dalston Junction. It deserves it. All of this can be seen from the roof of the 243 Waterloo-Hackney bus, if you know how to look. Shall we do shots?” - Sean Bonney
Thrilled to our boots at Bad Press to read Rich Owens’ enthusiastic review of Sam Solomon’s Life of Riley, thinking about the lyric as a space of multiplicity. Bye bye, Ophelia. Get thee to a binary. Etc.
Thinking about Samuel Solomon’s Life of Riley (Bad Press 2012) while reading through Yeats’s “Introduction,” the 1937 prefatory note composed for an edition of his complete works that never appeared, I found myself struck by the following claim: “A poet is justified not by the expression of himself, but by the public he finds or creates; a public made by others ready to his hand if he is a mere popular poet, but a new public, a new form of life, if he is a man of genius.” Beyond calling out the extraordinary belatedness of recent critiques of self-expression at all times linked with an irrepressibly bourgeois desire to recuperate genius as an operative concept, this statement from Yeats is fascinating for its attention to the formation of publics. But rather than imagining a public as a social formation that one participates in building with others, we are offered here one of two options: if we are “mere” poets, we can move blindly along with an uninspired herd; or, if we are artists of genius, we can single-handedly construct a new form of life like some sort of megalomaniacal one-size-fits-all vision of good living. There are unquestionably other possibilities, i.e. aligning oneself with a broader, more lateralized collective effort to construct a “form of life,” or ways of feeling and grasping, capable of meeting the confluence of demands disposed in the present. Solomon’s Life of Riley angles toward such an alignment, each of the poems grounded in a strategic deference that subordinates the narrativized self to a more collective endeavor without surrendering, and arguably by way of, an otherwise self-indulgent lyric excess.
Hot off the press - the second run of Amy De’Ath’s Caribou.