(No football this week.)
It’s very rare these posts are that far planned out behind knowing roughly why I chose the poem for the week, but this week my thinking was directed by the following
1. A desire to promote the two poets YES, TWO!!) because they are incredible poets
2. A desire to promote the work of these two (YES, TWO) incredible poets because I get the chance to read with them (and two other incredible poets) on 7th November. Have I mentioned I have a book coming out? Well, I have and there’s more details about the launch here.
3. The poems I’ve chosen are sort of seasonal and sort of speak to each other
4. In the paraphrased words of the sage that is Billie, “because I want to“
When I asked one of the poets for permissions to publish their poem they asked why I’d chosen that one, and at the risk of showing you too much behind the curtain, it came down to the fact that it’s mainly because it’s the right time of year. I say this not because that was the only poem I wanted to chose. I could very easily have chosen any from it’s parent book, but as I knew I wanted to publish poems by two (YES, TWO!!) poets it became a no-brainer (Irony-alert) as soon as I alighted on a poem by the other of the two poets (YES, TWO).
The two poets (YES, TWO) are Hilary Menos and Maria Taylor. I’ve featured poems by Eleanor here and I’m not giving that Stewart bloke more shout outs, although he did have a lovely poem published over at Wild Court yesterday, but I didn’t tell you that…
It’s bonkers that I’ve not put poems by these two up before. I’ve known of their work for ages. I used to follow blogs by both, but both seem to have gone dormant. I’ve followed Maria’s work since I bought her first collection, Melanchrini **coughs** years ago through her HappenStance pamphlet, Instructions For Making Me and all the way through the patient wait for he second collection, Dressing For The Afterlife, from which the poem below is taken. I nearly chose one of the poems from IFMM that was also in DFTA, but once I had my theme I could’nt make it work. You’ll have to buy both and see for yourself what you could have won. (HEY SIRI, INSERT JIM BOWEN GIF).
How to Survive a Disaster Movie
Stay away from landmarks.
Stay away from New York, Paris and London,
under no account visit San Francisco.
Own a dog. Do not get fat.
Have a child by your side, ideally an orphan.
Carry a tin-opener. Learn to appreciate
the taste of asphalt after fall-out.
Ensure your life skills are plot-dependent –
it’s possible to kill zombies with a skewer
once used to spatchcock a quail.
Be the President of the United States.
Do not be the President of the United States.
Do not assume your head is safe
from the jaws of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Sweat. Let your huge muscles gleam.
If you must have sex, be quick.
Be attentive to the fluctuations of incidental music.
Lick your thumb and read the weather.
Ensure you’re with the right survivors.
On the face of it, hold nothing dear.
+ + + +
Published with permission of the poet. Taken from Dressing For The Afterlife, published by Nine Arches Press, 2020
There a million things about Maria’s work that I love, and as I mentioned, I could have chosen many more poems from the book—including some you might consider “more serious”, whatever that means, but they also carry the sense of humour that runs through the poem above. There’s a lot of work that’s gone into the above. You don’t get the insights above without putting in the hours, and you don’t get the poem above without putting in the work elsewhere.
The rhythm’s of the lines are spot on, and have you jumping with some of the jump cuts of punctuation. And the lines below are a perfect surprise in the middle of the poem…the second act of the poem.
Ensure your life skills are plot-dependent –
it’s possible to kill zombies with a skewer
once used to spatchcock a quail.
I came to Hilary’s work about 6 years ago—possibly a bit longer, but I recall taking a pile of her collections and pamphlets with me on holiday, and ploughing through them (and quite probably a significant number of bottles of Efes). That got me caught up, and allowed me to then be ready for Human Tissue and then Fear of Forks (reviewed by some goon here.
It’s been 10 years now since Hilary’s last full collection and a new one really should be something we see very soon. In the mean time, you will be well aware, I’m sure, of the work Hilary is doing elsewhere. I’m not going to mention it here as I have mentioned it before and I’d rather concentrate on her poem.
DARYL DIXON IN THE VEGETABLE GARDEN
I’m digging spuds and suddenly he’s there in the field
just yards away, his crossbow hooked casually over his shoulder
looking (frankly) rough as fuck. He nods to me silently
then climbs up onto the roof of the old well and sits
scanning the horizon for zombies and whittling a stick.
The asparagus crowns fascinate him. He picks one up
and put it on his head. ‘King Asparagus,’ he says with a grin
and starts dancing and prancing about in his redneck way,
I just sit back on my heels and watch. I can’t believe it.
Daryl Dixon, dancing, in my vegetable garden.
After that he’s there every day. I show him how to train
gherkins up a wigwam frame, pinch out gourds, dib in leeks.
He makes his rows tidy and puddles them in with care.
Sometimes he leans his crossbow against the wheelbarrow
and I stand guard for him, he’s so absorbed.
We don’t talk much. I ask him about the zombies once.
‘Sometimes people see zombies where there aren’t any,’ he says,
‘and sometimes people don’t see the zombies at their door
because they’ve been there all their lives.’
I have no idea what he meant.
I can see him now, lying in the shade of the plum tree
between the kale and the lettuce, eating peas from the pod,
his leather vest with angel wings draped over a currant bush.
He stays until you come out to call me for supper
with the world tightly wrapped around your face.
+ + + +
Published with permission of the poet. Taken from Fear of Forks, published by HappenStance Press, 2022
The goon that reviewed FoF said of the poem:
“You can read this whole poem as an idle fantasy, a flight of fancy, a paean to self-sufficiency (both in terms of existing and mentally); and you could chuck in some existential commentary about the nature of humankind’s tendency towards self-absorption as well. While you can argue The Walking Dead is, at the time of writing, limping towards a conclusion, the same cannot be said of Menos. She’s only getting stronger as time goes by“.
I knew a thing or two back then, and I know one thing now…
I can’t wait to see these two reading. There’s something very wrong about them being the ‘support acts’ for my launch (and the other lad), but it’s an honour to see them. I’m looking forward to it.
PS. Zombie Apocalypse is the nickname for one of the routes I run with my fellow Beckenham running group—the Sexy Pacers.
THE LAST TWO WEEKS IN STATS
HEALTH STATS
14K running. Very little due to time, tiredness and the like. The next weeks will be better.
2 days without cigarettes…
0 day since drinking
LIFE STATS
1 dad’s curry night
18 million meetings
16 of them stressful
1 night on the sauce
2 coats of paint on hallway walls
1 coat of gloss on the hallway woodwork
POET STATS
0 loose ideas/articles gathered
0 poem finished:
1 poem worked on: Last Dance
0 poems committed to the reject pile
0 submissions:
0 withdrawal:
0 acceptances:
0 Longlisting:
0 readings:
2 rejection: And Other Poems, Strix
1 1 poems are currently out for submission. No simultaneous subs
96 Published poems
Reviews
0 review finished: None
0 reviews started:
1 review submitted:
2 reviews to write:
READ/SEEN/HEARD/ETC
Music
r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music
Pip Blom: Bobbie
My Morning Jacket: Live 15/08/2023
Thee Oh Sees: Singes Collection Vol 1&2
Explosions In The Sky: End
Beth Orton: Trailer Park, Weather Diaries
Tindersticks; Simple Pleasures, Stars at Noon
Goat: Medicine
Clark Terry With Thelonius Monk; in Orbit
Thelonius Monk: ‘Round Midnight
Taylor Swift: 1989 (Taylor’s version), Lover, midnights
Ali Awan: Moon Mode
Poet Laureate Goes To The Arctic Part 3
Nick Drake: Five Leaves left
Read
The North
Watched
Invasion
Taskmaster
Ordered/Bought
Hold Steady Tickets
Arrived
Poetry Scotland
Wear The Fox Hat 