Linda Hadley and Edwin Hak, 6 London Fountains (Canterbury: Panda Press, 2008), 8pp.
One ragged sheet they complicate down, a small hand-inked dribbler, of slit and fold and press within the pages. 13 spumante pencils, the central higher than the rest.
The “rational fountain”, bisected by the shadows of financial courts, turns water to a fabric draped unwrinkled over marble slabs. But a wobble turns a ravel, and it seams.
The dampened husk and scaffold of a civic flow: the blocked stone fountain gathers surplus, of material, of rainspots, in the park.
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This review is forthcoming in City State: New London Poetry, which is published today by penned in the margins. Interior Traces will be serialised in three parts on Resonance FM, beginning Friday May 29th, 15:30 to 17:00.
Showing posts with label Resonance FM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Resonance FM. Show all posts
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
James Wilkes: Reviews (3)
Griet Hannay, 8 Little Curtain Rings, (Strasbourg: Ed. de Carnard, 1989), 16pp.
A psychotropic longhouse becomes the locus for this eminent rehash. Its structure is cantilevered thus, so the balcony’s long shadow bunches at my throat. The entrance is a revolving door, a kind of promiscuous lock. Inside many young Belgians bodypop their continental ennui.
This becomes a poetry of lampposts, dogwalkers, poplars, theodolytes, bus stops, municipal statues and radio masts. All the lonely civil spikes. Here is everything to do with comfort, acoustics, light and shade. I was magnificently bored.
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This review was previously published in Openned. You can read other reviews by James Wilkes there, and at Intercapillary Space and Readings (here and here). James Wilkes is currently involved in Interior Traces, which will be on Resonance FM soon.
A psychotropic longhouse becomes the locus for this eminent rehash. Its structure is cantilevered thus, so the balcony’s long shadow bunches at my throat. The entrance is a revolving door, a kind of promiscuous lock. Inside many young Belgians bodypop their continental ennui.
This becomes a poetry of lampposts, dogwalkers, poplars, theodolytes, bus stops, municipal statues and radio masts. All the lonely civil spikes. Here is everything to do with comfort, acoustics, light and shade. I was magnificently bored.
===
This review was previously published in Openned. You can read other reviews by James Wilkes there, and at Intercapillary Space and Readings (here and here). James Wilkes is currently involved in Interior Traces, which will be on Resonance FM soon.
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