Friday, 12 October 2007

Last Night at the Foundry

Harry Gilonis wasn’t fucking kidding when he blurbed that Sean Bonney “sometimes parties as though he were [Rimbaud],” it’s this daft totally unembellished channelling event, I hate it, because I don’t speak French, and besides which it’s weird, and astral Ménilmontant or whatever superimposes really badly onto Shoreditch so it’s most of the evening stuck walking onto a bollard (see note 1); the point is now I am bad wrack, crotsom, a sleepy little turd slipped into my Toilette & Douche U-bend cubicle for another three hours during which I will try to print some little signs saying YT and BAD and BARQUE and OPENNED and LES FIGUES and FABER & FABER and then round the corner to RED LION SQUARE and maybe Geraldine Monk and Sophie Robinson and things like that. The Clarke / VEER AWAY launch last night was good; Adrian’s exacting “post-borders,” strictly “under ratified suns” & then sort of about ten readers in under an hour. Some pieces did it for me more than others & some readers did it for me more than others but there was nothing intolerable. Most readers read from VEER AWAY, so you could play with following along or not. John Sparrow’s, along. Jeff Hilson’s, not. Ways to agree to attend. This classic-liberalist damage-limitation approach to even the paramount “tinpot elsewhere” (A.C.) is a bit miserabilist but I don’t feel very well. Paul Sutton characterised Jeff’s poetics as “fractal complaining” & later said something about a weird apocalyptic SF background to the In the Assarts / naïve sonnets sequence; I get that too: nowhere is the sight of a flayed mutant explicitly mentioned; Stephen Thompson may soon be claiming in print Jeff makes "good use of the things that he finds / the things that the every day folks leave behind" or maybe I misunderstood; here some bits:

[...]

"as if we are walking in a Norman forest."

[...]

"Or let them roam on lonely moats.
A vast moat beautifies
where she is going.
Is where she is going far?"

[...]

"I love thee castration & often tell
maidens.
The maiden tries it & goes away."

[...]

"I know a man he pulls his mittens off
to tie the faggot up."

[...]

"But he was pre-radar
& she already spigot mortar.
They used to play
'she got the gun knowledge
I got the original caput she evolved from.'"

[...]

"Are they medieval people talking
oh Barbara
do you think we'll ever
move normally?
and the space between them.
My sonnet is
just the two of us surviving on a borders franchise
when you rang.
About the tower cranes on the estate."

Note 1: Cf. Steve Willey’s Battersea project, an attempt to -- which consumed his mind and body.

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