10th Muse 9
Sample book reviews
By Andrew Jordan
The Cruising Duct Tim Allen, A5/saddle
stitched, 12pp/£2
One of the curious things about Tim Allen is that if you jump on one end the
other end inflates. He is a post-revolutionary bouncy castle, a linguistically
charged space hopper, a fart cushion of some size and range, an inflatable
settee. The Cruising Duct continues Tim’s ‘war’ against
‘closure’. This burning ‘issue’ continues to occupy
Tim’s ‘cutting edge’ mind. “A distinguished cuddler
pressed acrid charm.” “Catholic octopus has the faith’s
shoulderpads.” “An omelette of illuminatai flotsam en bloc and
famine slime for the rascal wraith…” Tim Allen has recently founded
a new campaigning organisation intended to counter the “terrible crimes
of closure – i.e. sense, sympathy and clarity – these fascistic
imperatives that rape our minds…” (Tim Allen, leaflet). The Campaign
Against Closure (CAC) can be reached at the Terrible Work address –
write now to be a part of the revolution of last week.
Blood in the Thistle Bowl Rupert Mallin
(Redbeck Press, 24 Aireville Road, Frizinghall, Bradford, BD9 4HH, A5ish/perfect
bound, 48pp/£6.95).
These poems are written to Rupert Mallin’s muse and anima, Heather.
The girl from Suffolk who lent a numinous lyricality to his collection of
10 years previous, Suffer Suffolk (Joe Soap’s Canoe). The poems in Blood
in the Thistle Bowl are “letters to Heather / letters out of prison.”
In terms of pleasure, Suffer Suffolk is the more engaging of the collections.
It has more resources, despite the poverty of the persona who recounts the
broken narrative (or landscape) the reader discovers and redeems. Heather,
we feel, is already lost, but she can be recovered – as he is socialised
– within the processes of writing and reading. In Suffer Suffolk we
have recourse to the gutted (but still beautiful) landscape of Suffolk, where
agribusiness has industrialised farming. Character itself is enclosed and
reduced (both by work and the absence of work) and the masculine persona –
unwilling to submit – fights a rearguard action, to reconstitute a relationship
with meaning and relationship. In both texts, the effect is impressive. The
books are conceptually framed. The alienated masculine persona bridges the
divides which capitalism would have us believe are natural.
Now, the land is drained. In this text, Heather is distant and he – up for re-education – is held in prison. The ‘prison’ is more metaphorical than actual, which is where my misgivings come in. I’m not sure that this works. The prison is an abstract. There is no definite setting for the poems. Unlike Suffer Suffolk, they tend to occur at a distance, as if the experience of place has become even more corroded. Haverhill Meat Products was a distinct setting. One could smell the pork. The skinheads and hick bikers were familiar, the sense of a lost society was implied in their hopeless attempts at compensation, power and bravado. Heather had a context, even if it was shite to be in that pig pen. Now she is disembodied and he is isolated. Rupert Mallin seeks the renewal of shared experience and responsibility. He seeks authentic lived experience and seems to see it just beyond the alienation that has become a tradition: “…just because you work in a bank / doesn’t mean you can’t hitch up your skirts / and elope, for Leicester, Colchester, London…” (A Wedding Gift from Hansfords). It’s time they made a run for it.
From The Apocalypse of Quintilius Peter
Russell (ed. Glyn Pursglove, Salzburg University Press, 1997, perfect bound,
234pp/unpriced).
For those who enjoy classical authors such as Catullus or Sappho, this edition
of Quintilius is an essential purchase. Throughout history Quintilius has
been unjustly ignored. In climbing through the superstructure of the Anima
Mundi to access and retrieve these texts, Russell proves himself adequate
to the Orphic challenge. Quintilius moves like a thought through the land
of Nous. He holds up immanence to the light – balancing on a point part
way between Imperium and the Cross. He looks back, into antiquity, rendering
our notions of heritage absurd. He explores his sphere, commenting on –
and comparing – the moralities of the great (and the not so great) people
and religions of the world. Combining lyricality with wit, Quintilius allows
insights on the ancient world and curious – almost contemporary –
reflections on our time. His themes are authenticity and authority–
the problem of validation (how and by whom) and experience (religious, affective,
intellectual) and the general stupidity of hierarchs. He is the champion of
Everyman, the uncompromised intellect. His career is true unto itself. He
holds high office but laughs at pomposity. He is an archetype of self-respect
in a world of bottom licking, self-promoting donkeys (Rome was like ‘Wessex’,
but built on a larger, more manly scale).
