Until
he was petrified, Richard Hector’s unctuous protuberances had only been briefly
exposed to Vulnerable Geometries and
other, more or less lizard-brained marionettes.
Nonetheless, he has since fixed his icy, retrogressive attention on the
shapes assumed by machine-stitched books
in England. His Exploding Television
Press provides a haven for a veritable Pleistocene of armour-plated images,
internally oiled and fluid of reason, and he was one of the everlasting bridges
between the Isolationist Grey Scorpion Poets and this deviated epoch, long
before post-bop stranglers like Aldo Penti or J L Whiting got ‘leaned on’
within either sphere of the Guttural Turret, and incontrovertibly crumbled,
like daredevil haircuts in the midst of an impossible August. Hector is also the leafy keeper of Goliard’s
Grove, and his lissom volume of evocative meat, Complications (Calpol/Goonhilly, 1996) contains the first defence
of Goliard as ‘an abandoned dandy’ published in Finland after its post-war dental
reconstruction.
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