Today is Ern Malley's birthday and here in the birthplace of this non-existent Australian genius poet, Liverpool, we'll be quietly celebrating. Here's one take (mine): internationaltimes.it/the-ern-mall...
On Tuesday 17th March, we will be welcoming @intergraphiabooks.bsky.social to Royal Holloway’s Bloomsbury Campus for the Small Press Takeover!
intergraphia is a publishing project edited by artist-writers Emma Bolland and Rachel Smith, launched in October 2022 at @smallpublishers.bsky.social🧡
Short corporate poem.
Harry Mathews was born in New York City in 1930 and spent his adult life in the United States and in France. You can learn more about Mathews and his body of work on our website.
His book SINGULAR PLEASURES, will be republished on June 2, 2026. Preorder is available now.
A small and lovely untitled piece out of _Wound Response_ (1974) by renegade balladeer and celestial mechanic J. H. Prynne:
Eugen Gomringer. Untitled (o), 1952
This week’s Gist is about how the U.K. Labour Party unknowingly has been blowing itself up by following Morgan McSweeney’s FG electoral instincts.
They don’t know the patterns, but we do.
www.thegist.ie/the-gist-uk-...
15th century woodcut of a man wearing headgear and tunic but with bare feet and legs warming himself by a cauldron over a fire. His socks? are hanging on a rack above. Honestly it would give you chilblains just looking at it but it is the traditional labour of February, doing nothing.
Happy February, doss-month, month of dossing
REVOLUTIONARY LETTER #14 are you prepared to hide someone in your home indefinitely say, two to six weeks, you going out for food, etc.. so he never hits the street, to keep your friends away coolly, so they ask no questions, to nurse him, or her, as necessary, to know 'first aid' and healing (not to freak out at the sight of torn or half-cooked flesh) to pass him on at the right time to the next station, to cross the canadian border, with a child so that the three of you look like one family, no questions asked, or fewer, to stash letters, guns, or bombs forget about them till they are called for. to KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT not to trust ' even your truelove, that is, lay no more knowledge on him than he needs to do his part of it, a kindness we all must extend to each other in this game
diane di prima
REVOLUTIONARY LETTER #14
54 years ago today ,the British Parachute regiment invaded Derry's Bogside and murdered 14 men and boys .The murderers are protected by their government and the PPS.
The murderers LIED to two inquires,still no justice.
Justice for Palestine Stop EU trade with criminals
For my followers in the EU, there is an European citizens’ initiative you can sign to demand the full suspension of the EU-Israel Association Agreement.
If you are for BDS this would be a huge step up.
eci.ec.europa.eu/055/public/#...
It has the ghost of a 15th century wall painting too: uncovered almost intact from behind an embrasure in in the 19th century, no effort was taken to preserve it and it was probably gone by the 1920s 😭
The handful of typically-2:2 students who still write from scratch are the bravest people in academia, the massive cultural pressure on them to use this crap, in the full knowledge that they're not maybe the most confident writers. goddamn 🫡
Do not let the hunger strikers die! Open Letter to British Government from Irish organisations
#FreeThemAll
www.ipsc.ie/open-letter/...
Congratulations, really enjoyed hearing the work!
Arse-end of a black bus with silver stripe and the words "you are the journery" (sic), the "are the" in an awkward graphic design stepped arrangement. It's regularly parked round my way and they've corrected the typo now but it was more meaningful the way it was
Happy New Year! I think we can all agree
In the world for real—get it here: www.unmpress.com/978082636879...
Sorry to hear that, thinking of you. Congrats on the book nonetheless!
Cat-like foliate head at Ely Cathedral
Merry Christmas! Wishing everyone rest and renewal.
JOHN DONNE (1572-163I) A Nocturnall upon S. Lucies Day, Being the Shortest Day Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes, Lucies, who scarce seaven houres herself unmaskes, The Sunne is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes; The worlds whole sap is sunke: The generall balme th'hydroptique earth hath drunk, Whither, as to the beds-feet life is shrunke, Dead and enterr'd; yet all these seeme to laugh, Compar'd with mee, who am their Epitaph. Study me then, you who shall lovers bee At the next world, that is, at the next Spring: For I am every dead thing, In whom love wrought new Alchimie. For his art did expresse A quintessence even from nothingnesse, From dull privations, and leane emptinesse, He ruin'd mee, and I am re-begot Of absence, darknesse, death; things which are not. All others, from all things, draw all that's good, Life, soule, forme, spirit, whence they beeing have, I, by loves limbecke, am the grave Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood Have wee two wept, and so Drownd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow To be two Chaosses, when we did show Care to ought else; and often absences Withdrew our soules, and made us carcasses.
But I am by her death, (which word wrongs her) Of the first nothing, the Elixer grown; Were I a man, that I were one, I needs must know, I should preferre, If I were any beast, Some ends, some means; Yea plants, yea stones detest, And love; All, all some properties invest, If I an ordinary nothing were, As shadow, a light, and body must be here. But I am None; nor will my Sunne renew. You lovers, for whose sake, the lesser Sunne At this time to the Goat is runne To fetch new lust, and give it you, Enjoy your summer all, Since shee enjoyes her long nights festivall, Let mee prepare towards her, and let mee call This houre her Vigill, and her Eve, since this Both the yeares, and the dayes deep midnight is.
it’s St Lucy’s day, so you know what that means — time for the best John Donne poem
Chuffed for all the people who are posting saying they outsold Nuzzi but even Nuzzi numbers are all but unimaginable for small press poetry, buy my and Harry's new book, help us dream: veer2.org/Kit-Fryatt-H...
"Bounder duty". What a cad.
Unfaithful versions of Irish poems from Amergin to Raftery. veer2.org/Kit-Fryatt-H...
I suspect he was the relief thief too
This one is a cracker, someone before 1834 seems to have nicked a couple of crucifixion reliefs from the nearby medieval monastic site and cemented them on top and circa 1800 the custodian was a Catholic militiaman from Donegal who was involved in suppressing the 98 rebellion
