Experimental prose-poems and poems and proems from a German writer, written for the most in the 50s and 60s. These pieces thrive on repetition, whetheExperimental prose-poems and poems and proems from a German writer, written for the most in the 50s and 60s. These pieces thrive on repetition, whether phrases recast synonymically, assonant soundalikes, or actual passages repeated several times throughout each story, all in breathless run-on sentences. The closest analogue is probably the later prose works of Samuel Beckett, whose sentences evaporated into a form of profound vagueness, casting themselves loose from tangible meaning into an ethereal realm of pure language, with frustrating and incredible results. These pieces are less successful and tend to the more impish or winkingly abstract, but there are some pearls amid the swine, like this example I screenshotted for you on Twitter. ...more
Billy Childish is an artist of immense self-belief and restlessness, prolific in music, painting, woodcutting, and literature. He is also the epitome Billy Childish is an artist of immense self-belief and restlessness, prolific in music, painting, woodcutting, and literature. He is also the epitome of the bish-bash-bosh school of creativity, where the explosive act of creation is unsullied by the finicky ick of revision. Those familiar with the copious canon of garage rock albums recorded under various names (The Milkshakes, Thee Headcoats, CTMF, etc) will have encountered a slew of patchy filler-filled records that Childish likes to record in inspired bursts, and the same applies to these poems, written in his dyslexic English with no spelling or grammar corrections. The poems explore Childish’s violent childhood and strained relationship with his father, his sexual gaucheries and encounters, more poet-ish ramblings on nature and time, and his moving conversion to fatherhood. The myth-making narcissism of Childish and this inflated sense of greatness feeds into the slapdash approach of these poems, and in that sense their potency is undone by their very own defiant (non-)aesthetic. But it is impossible not to warm to Childish’s energy, compassion, and commitment to an unpretentious, DIY-4-Life approach to making art, and these poems illuminate that impish spirit. ...more
A mere twenty-seven years after Dalkey Archive shelved their plans to publish Theroux’s Fables, the collection is finally available from the unstoppabA mere twenty-seven years after Dalkey Archive shelved their plans to publish Theroux’s Fables, the collection is finally available from the unstoppable Tough Poets Press, among the finest unburyers of lost classics active today. Opening with the fables previously published in illustrated volumes such as ‘The Great Wheadle Tragedy’—short fancies of doggerel less charming when stripped of their artistic accompaniment—the volume travels mainly to Europe for a series of character studies similarly rich in accumulated detail and Jamesian perceptivity as those in Early Stories. The novella ‘The Curse of the White Cartonnage’ sees two scheming antique hunters seeking to snaffle precious cartonnage from newly arrived neighbours, with invariably parlous consequences. One recurring feature in these stories is Theroux’s love for trivia, ribboning every story with a blizzard of knowledge woven into the tapestry of the characters’ histories, a technique that occasionally detracts from the story, but makes for a truly encyclopaedic and incredibly rich reading adventure in the manner of the sexiest Victorian prolixers. The volume also features several fantastical poems in the fable mould....more
This debut from Glaswegian writer (and former classmate of mine) is an insightful and unique mixture of evocative prose-poems and autobiography. FaganThis debut from Glaswegian writer (and former classmate of mine) is an insightful and unique mixture of evocative prose-poems and autobiography. Fagan manages to distil a momentous period—leaving Glasgow to teach English in a small Japanese fishing village—into short, meaningful pieces, and captures a strong sense of sadness and alienation. There are parallels here with the Japanese haiku, the art of packing meaningful imagery into the teensiest of syllables, and vibrant portraits of nature. The experience of utterly uprooting yourself and surviving in a completely alien culture for so long is a fascinating one, and this gentle, unflinchingly honest, and original anti-memoir brings the goods....more
Gilbert Sorrentino took the title of his novel Imaginative Qualities of Actual Things from this sequence of recondite, inscrutable, fleet-of-phrase prGilbert Sorrentino took the title of his novel Imaginative Qualities of Actual Things from this sequence of recondite, inscrutable, fleet-of-phrase prose-poems, a fact that pleased me enough to take the plunge. The cryptic, nonsensical nature of these made a wholly painless reading impossible, but for the isolate flecks of stunning phrase-making, this forgotten volume cannot accept upturned noses....more
Exacting Clam is the paramilitary wing of Sagging Meniscus Press, America’s foremost independent press for underappreciated geniuses. The maiden issueExacting Clam is the paramilitary wing of Sagging Meniscus Press, America’s foremost independent press for underappreciated geniuses. The maiden issue features reviews from Steven Moore, Venetia Welby, M.J. Nicholls and Richard Kostelanetz, and sublime short fictions from Guillermo Stitch, Dan Tremaglio, and Jack Foley, among many others. Why not take a peek at the Clam’s online shack, and shuck a few clams before ordering this flamboyant debut? Click on this sexy link to see Exacting Clam online...more
The ponderous travails of Archibald O. Barnabooth, one of the alter egos of Valery Larbaud take place mainly in Florence, eventually migrating to RussThe ponderous travails of Archibald O. Barnabooth, one of the alter egos of Valery Larbaud take place mainly in Florence, eventually migrating to Russia and Denmark as the titular diarist laments the life of endless luxury and riches with which he has been burdened. His naïve affairs with prostitutes and run-ins with other lesser females are chronicled, along with his friend P.’s equally semi-interesting peripatetic romps. The writing is peppered with formidable wit, hefty observational ruminations, and exquisite travelogue of early 20th century Europe, before the onsigh of bombtime. The thoughts and movements of very wealthy people, whose attitudes to the poor verge on aristocratic contempt, is seriously unappealing . . . somehow the sterling prose and bristling colloquies keep the reader from sneering their noses off. This musty translation from Gilbert Canaan circa 1924 is the only available, long in need of an update....more
The fact that this collection fails to turn the insipid, turd-tongued ramblings of the Worst President Ever into an amusing poetry-parody is evidence The fact that this collection fails to turn the insipid, turd-tongued ramblings of the Worst President Ever into an amusing poetry-parody is evidence that there is nothing whatsoever remarkable, amusing, or interesting about Trump and his words. He’s merely an overinflated orange cockwomble who hates everyone and everything not Trump, and the rest is babble. He’s a complete mediocrity, the living, walking, wheezing embodiment of meh. He’s a background irritant. He’s white noise, he’s radio static. He’s a whiff of manure in the wind. He’s the green mould on your potato chip. He’s a Covid-19 particle sneakily wafting up your granny’s nose. He’s the residuum at the bottom of a bin. He’s the unending, unrelenting drip of your bathroom tap, slowly driving you insane with the same repetitive sound, drip-drip-dripping in your head until you want to scream. Trump’s words cannot become the stuff of comedy, because Trump’s words are utterly devoid of any linguistic value whatsoever. There can never be any art squeezed from Trump. Trump is where everything wonderful goes to die. ...more
A knockout selection of Argentine poems with a shedload of memorable lines. i.e.
“My rubber-soled happiness makes me bounce over the sand.” “When I arrA knockout selection of Argentine poems with a shedload of memorable lines. i.e.
“My rubber-soled happiness makes me bounce over the sand.” “When I arrive at the corner, my shadow separates from me and suddenly throws itself under the wheels of a streetcar.” “Females with fidgety haunches, a little foam in their armpits and over-oiled eyes.” “The casino sips the last drops of dusk.”
At the forefront of British comedy for three decades, anticipating or creating entire styles and trends of humour, Peter Cook was rightly venerated asAt the forefront of British comedy for three decades, anticipating or creating entire styles and trends of humour, Peter Cook was rightly venerated as a master of comic performance. The scripts presented here, shorn of the accents, pauses, inflections, and Cook’s naturally hilarious presence, still succeed in raising more than a lungful of lols. The Pete & Dud sketches (most of which are lost) from the 1960s are among the strongest, with his second best creation Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling following behind with two late-career masterpieces. Most Peter Cook is available to view on Youtube now, including the chat show appearances where he provided hours of off-the-cuff mirth, making this collection redundant apart from those interested in how humour works on the page, or those who want to read a series of uninspired columns for The Daily Mail (!) (not Cook’s finest hour). ‘A Life in Pieces’ is unmissable, and ‘Why Bother?’ with Chris Morris must be entered into one’s ears without pause. This compendium is lovingly edited with informative and adoring notes from William Cook (no relation)....more
A captivating non-linear historical novel concerned with the Bulgarian poet Geo Milov, writer of seminal anti-fascist epic ‘September’ (appended here A captivating non-linear historical novel concerned with the Bulgarian poet Geo Milov, writer of seminal anti-fascist epic ‘September’ (appended here as appendix), the anarchist Georgi Sheytanov, and their wives and workings. The novel is structured in chronological fragments, the dates of composition forming the “chapter” headings, while the events depicted take place over decades, swooping back to the period 1923-25, when fascist Tsankov seized power and enacted a spate of mass killings. The formation of the magazine Plamuk, and the protagonists’ reckless swagger (Milov was a poet of immense self-confidence, Sheytanov a fearless anarchist) in assembling the six issues, drives the exciting episodic plot, in a novel that is fast-paced, humorous, and keeps the horrors at remove, sparing us from staring too long into the abyss. A little more insight into the wives’ lives, esp. Mila (an email exchange between the author and an academic shows this woman a remarkable survivor), might have moved the novel from the machismic to the orgasmic, otherwise, a tremendous offering....more
Alongside the equally splendid Brains Confounded by the Ode of Abu Shaduf Expounded in two volumes, Leg Over Leg (in four), is tremendous feat of tranAlongside the equally splendid Brains Confounded by the Ode of Abu Shaduf Expounded in two volumes, Leg Over Leg (in four), is tremendous feat of translation by Humphrey Davis. This scatty encyclopedic epic, a huge proportion of which is written in rhyming prose, and constitutes lists of obscure Arabic words or phrases, is clearly something that only the most ambitious and unhinged translator would take on, and thankfully, Davis was the man. Following the adventures of a semi-autobiographical character as he widely traverses various terrains and takes on many occupations, ruminating on the anatomies and pleasures of women, the sore points of Arabic grammar, the manners of the English, and all kinds of amusing and sometimes tedious matters of deportment on the way, the book is a fairly sprawling and maddening effort, serving up hundreds of pages of ribald, repetitious, rumbustious prose, rendered in heroic English with more endnotes than anyone could possibly stand. Brains Confounded is perhaps the more hilarious and entertaining of the two, this the more innovative and layered masterwork....more
I purchased this beautiful artefact for my girlfriend last Xmas and received not the rapturous response required. A year later, I had a look. Too manyI purchased this beautiful artefact for my girlfriend last Xmas and received not the rapturous response required. A year later, I had a look. Too many verso entries from the Latin dictionary fail to spoil this quietly affecting and visually calorific tribute to a mercurial dead brother. It is the sort of thing that one might appreciate more in the wake of a loss, as Michael Silverblatt explains in this Bookworm episode, on which Anne Carson reads a poem from the book in Latin....more
