10th Muse 9
Sample magazine reviews
By Andrew Jordan
Envoi 118-121, Roger Elkin (44 Rudyard
Road, Biddulph Moor, Stoke-on-Trent,ST8 7JN, 176pp/A5, £3 sample/£12
for 3).
Whilst some magazines have attempted to carve out an ideologically distinctive
literary territory, Envoi has been establishing itself in the middle ground
of the small press ‘scene’. In Envoi you can find free verse Georgian
lyrics, haiku and rhymed verse, formalist experimentalism, post-beat lyricism
and the humorous occasional verse favoured by some in the metropolis. The
amount of text can be overwhelming; the editorial largess perhaps inevitably
results in a deadening effect. It is possibly the case that the number of
poets included reveals a subscriptions strategy? Small press poets are generous
towards those magazines which will accept their poetry. Envoi may have adopted
an economy of scale to deal with the economics of publishing; if so, the drawbacks
and advantages are clear. In issue 118, Peter Finch’s post-relational
prose-lyrics work best for me (pp. 142-3), and Mr. W gets a spanking from
Frances Nagle on pages 168-9 (which is thrilling); Denis Griffiths Six Ely
Bishops go for it in #119; #120 contains an irritating letter from A. E. Miller
(of Caterham) on page 171 and similar poetry from the same on pages 98-9,
however Cliff Forshaw touches my leg (gently) on page 165 and Bill Duncan
experiments with Orcadian history (page 119); in issue 121 Patricia Tyrell’s
Learning Arabic explores interesting ideas and the translations of Arseny
Tarkovsky’s 20th century totalitarian blues poetry lifts this issue
above the suburban.
Poetry Monthly 23, Martin Holdroyd (39
Cavendish Road, Long Eaton, Nottingham, NG10 4HY, 20pp/A5, £1.50 each/£8
for 6).
This is the special ‘with wings’ issue. It is designed not to
shift about in your underwear. The idea is to prevent ‘leakage’
(what will they think of next?). Edited by Martin Holdroyd, this magazine
shows how anyone can get into a mess, even when they are unconscious. Michael
bleeds on the sheets (“Oh, white expanse of empty page, spoiled…”).
It is sad that Holdroyd didn’t have the courage to publish the letter
he sent to Andrew Jordan in full, but perhaps he was afraid of appearing abusive.
Having seen the text, we can understand that. This is a poetry magazine of
the suburbs. Future issues are to be scented.
Poetry Quarterly Review 8 - 9, Derrick
Woolf (Coleridge Cottage, Nether Stowey, Somerset, TA5 1NQ, 26pp/A5, £1.75
each/£6 for 4).
In issue 8 Derrick Woolf compares Andy Brown to John Kinsella. He does this
in the subtitle to Brown’s review of Kinsella’s books, The Silo:
a Pastoral Symphony and Collected Poems, remarking “One ‘rising
young star’ scans another…” This is close to sexual harassment.
In PQR, poetry is an arbitrary object of exchange. In a spectacular or capitalist
age, this simulacra of social relations compensates for absent or notional
community. It replicates the exchange economy, adding to its value with a
quantity of despair. It is sordid, but inevitable amongst those who lack a
philosophy. Curiously Ian Caws – writing in South 18 – picks up
on this in his review of PQR, referring to it as “overtly subjective”
in its reviews. The sacrificial fool of issue 9 is Steve Spence. He expresses
discomfort throughout his review of Andrew Jordan’s book, The Mute Bride
(Stride, 1998). Derrick Woolf’s lurking presence is sensed throughout
the review and Steve Spence is reduced to the role of apparatchik. A third
of the review of The Mute Bride is about the difficulty of reviewing a book.
It might be that Steve Spence is incompetent, in which case it is unfair to
deploy him as a reviewer, or it might be that he was referring to some moral
difficulty involved in serving his editor?
Scartch 17, Mark Robinson (9 Chestnut Road,
Eaglescliffe, Stockton-on-Tees, TS16 0BA, 90pp/A5, £4 each).
This issue, called 'the final straw', was the final edition of Scratch. The
linguistic innovation in the mutation of the title in later issues of Scratch
is both symptomatic and eclipsing, in terms of its relation to the literary
calenture which assaults the minds of those involved in the writing and distribution
of poetry. Scratch, often wrongly associated with regionalism, had always
ducked and dived, in terms of style or milieu. Ideologically, Scratch represented
exploded Marxism, a post-USSR socio-literary praxis or an attempted orthodoxy.
Not the death throws of utopian Marxism, but its search for a New Dispensation.
This issue is a bit like a football game in no man’s land, ideological
opposites ‘inter-relate’. One-time hate figure of the Wessex chauvinists
Simon Armitage appears only a few pages away from the ‘big man’
of Wessex, David Caddy (with a typically self-basting poem). Odd, the way
things turn out. Norman Jope (who can write doggerel prose) is here too, along
with other, less alarming characters; Geoff Hattersley – with a bloody
lyric strung from the branches of ‘popular culture’ – and
Rupert Mallin appear with Matt Simpson, Rupert M. Loydell, Peter Finch, Linda
France, Martin Stannard… There are so many small press ‘names’,
it’s almost historical. At the back there are essays. Most of it the
usual mythed-up literary description. The piece by Dr. Mintern is the best.
South 18, Editor Unknown (Wanda Publications,
61 West Borough, Wimborne, Dorset, BH21 1LX, 60pp/octavo, £3.50 each/£11
for 4).
In literary style South is unadventurous – you won’t find much
to stretch you intellectually. In terms of its ideology, the magazine continues
to promote regionalism. The opening article pays homage to a poet from Southampton,
Stella Davis. Her poems are pleasant but not distinctive. The poems throughout
the magazine tend toward a similar quality. Perhaps the South is dull? The
writing here would suggest that it is. The reviews are spiritless. The anonymous
reviewer of Acid Angel refers to Dee Rimbaud as ‘Ms’, which is
about as progressive as the comment gets. In his reviews, Ian Caws –
who seems to be some kind of scout leader for the Regional Poetry Front –
fawns over David Caddy and expresses contempt for writers from the north.
This is a repugnant feature of South. When repeated it becomes more offensive,
not less. The mix of poetry and ideology is syncretic.
Tears in the Fence 20, David Caddy (38
Hod View, Stourpaine, Blandford Forum, Dorset, DT11 8TN, 96pp/A5, £4
each/£10 for 3).
Honestly, Westrow Cooper, in his sentimental review of a Wessex Rally, suddenly
begins to tell the truth. He says, “the poets, fitted with an extra
phallus in their foreheads in the shape of a pen, copulated freely without
fear of progeniture for they produce only ‘a harmless spurt of ink’.”
It is interesting to note that this literary equivalent of ‘socks down
the pants’ is strapped to their heads, revealing a tendency to hide
from physicality in a delusional realm. What these ‘poets’ need
is Dr Mintern’s Relational Therapy, but that requires a sense of humour
and a willing partner.
Undeterred, Wessex apologist, Norman Jope, surveys Chris Torrance’s southerly vector/the book of heat, ironically prescribing “a greater degree of discipline, and hard headed editing…” “Hard headed” appears to refer to the Wessex myth of cranial erection. Irony is not a strength of the Wessex poetic. Alchemically, Norman’s text is called Golden Fermentation (another clear reference to the strange ritual behaviour of these idyllic country Volk). He expresses an interest in ‘earthing’, which is sinister. However, it is Mr Weedy himself who takes the prize for bizarre statements in prose, as he slurps over Iain Sinclair in a ‘review’ of Lights Out for the Territory.
Mr W. writes with a dutiful avoidance of the text. He speaks generally of “the sickness and anxieties inherent in the City…” [The deployment of the upper case C indicates that Weedy is referring to his ‘idea’ of ‘the City’, not to an actual city.] He complains of “greed and darkness”. He says, “one thinks of London smog and commuters endlessly searching for light.” Mr W. is obsessed with “power and darkness”. There is no criticism in his text, just a very creepy chumminess and cliché. Sinclair isn’t even checked for his hero worship of the Krays. Weedy joins in with it!
In a phrase which [perhaps] explains his selection of poems for this issue [see below] he says, “Londoners have always admired gangland villains as they represent an alternative source of power outside of the political and commercial.” He continues, “There is also a sense in which better days are evoked by alternative justice and a community where everyone knows their place and what is acceptable.” What Weedy celebrates here is localised mob rule, the actions of murderous criminals, violence imposed by an unaccountable hierarchy. Caddy confuses fear with admiration and glosses over brutality in favour of ‘everyone knowing their place’. The sense of ‘justice’ is scary, it is not just. The only thing Weedy can find to question about the Krays is that they were once in the Conservative Party.
Of the poems, Joel Lane’s Mosley wins the award for the most unpleasant in this issue. It is ‘about’ city life. In particular, it is about the evils of city life. The Urb is all drugs and violence, apparently. The latent nightmares of the Countryside Alliance are realised in this gothic squib. Joel Lane relishes the beating allegedly doled out to a ‘hippie’ by ‘drug dealers’. He uses dubious vernacular with all the verve of a ‘hip’ school teacher. “Then, assuming him dead, they split.” Cringe. The poem gets worse. “Like a true protester, / he brought charges. His statement, / their three year sentence, his / suspended death sentence. “Get out,” / the police said, “we can’t protect you.” [‘Poem’ ends.] One feels that Joel is getting his rocks off at the violence he anticipates [note my ‘clever’ use of the vernacular].
