Spacecraft E-Book

John McCullough

• Herausgeber: Penned in the Margins
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 36

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Margins, edges and coastlines abound in John McCullough's tender, humorous explorations of contemporary life and love. Encompassing everything from lichen to lava lamps, and from the etymology of words to Brighton's gay scene,& Spacecraft is a humane and spellbinding collection from the winner of the 2012 Polari First Book Prize. Spacecraft & navigates the white space of the page and the distance between people.

Leseprobe

SPACECRAFT

John McCullough’s first collection of poems The Frost Fairs won the Polari First Book Prize in 2012. It was a Book of the Year for The Independent and The Poetry School, and a summer read for The Observer. He teaches creative writing at the Open University and New Writing South, and lives in Hove.

ALSOBYJOHNMCCULLOUGH

The Frost Fairs (Salt Publishing, 2011)

PUBLISHEDBYPENNEDINTHEMARGINS

Toynbee Studios, 28 Commercial Street, London E1 6AB

www.pennedinthemargins.co.uk

All rights reserved

© John McCullough, 2016

The right of John McCullough to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988.

This book is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Penned in the Margins.

First published 2016

ePub ISBN

978-1-908058-55-3

Print ISBN

978-1-908058-36-2

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

CONTENTS

I | FLYINGMACHINES

!

Flittermouse

Some Days I’m Visited by a Church of Rain

Sugar Hammer

1001 Nights

The Desert Photographer

Lichen

Ghost Atlas

In The Angelfish Café

Flother

II | NAVIGATINGASPACE

Mastodon and Mouse

Voyage

Lava Lamp

The Fire Market

Stirious

Haul

I’ve Carried a Door On My Back for Ten Years

Þ

Glitter

O

III | THESPACEAGE

Nullibiety

The Hole-Digging Contest

Queens Road Books

Rooms

The Booth Museum of Natural History

Vault

The Anger Room

The Mathematics of Plovers

Justin Fashanu

The Wilful Eye

IV | LIVINGSPACE

The Restaurant at One Thousand Feet

The Marina Village

City of Winds

The Empty Market

The Fog

[—]

R O C K

Brighton Puffin

Clues

Cat Flap

NOTES

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My thanks go to the editors of print and online publications where earlier versions of poems have appeared: And Other Poems, Beige, Best British Poetry 2013 (Salt Publishing, 2013), B O D Y, Broadcast, Cimarron Review, The Emma Press Anthology of Homesickness and Exile (The Emma Press, 2014), Fleeting, International Literary Quarterly, Long Poem Magazine, Magma, The Morning Star, New Statesman, The North, Oxford Poetry, Poems in Which, Poetry London, Poetry Review, Poetry Wales, Polari (Australia), The Rialto, Stand.

‘1001 Nights’ was commissioned for an event at the British Film Institute organized by Simon Barraclough that celebrated works including Pasolini’s adaptation, The Flower of One Thousand and One Nights. The poems in Part II, ‘Navigating a Space’ are inspired by my first partner Andy Lee (1963-2009), and dedicated to his memory. ‘Justin Fashanu’ was written for The Justin Fashanu Foundation.

I also wish to thank the members of my writing group in Hove: Lee Harwood, Maria Jastrzebska, Jackie Wills, Robert Hamberger, Janet Sutherland, Bernadette Cremin and Robert Dickinson. I’ve benefitted, too, from poetry gatherings organized by Kate Potts and Alison Winch, and am grateful for the sharp eyes of Helen Oswald.

Spacecraft

I

FLYINGMACHINES

!

It appeared without warning like an angel

or injury, this tall mark of havoc — a pillar of fire.

Already it is intimate with bishops, philosophers.

I watch it flout borders, stowed in the peppered

tails of sentences. It infiltrates vaults, prisons,

the bedrooms of kings. I have tried to resist

but it steals from my nib, its saucy eye

rippling in candlelight, dodging pumice

and knife. The abbot disapproves, names it

a feminine indulgence, the want of self-restraint.

It’s like the secretary who greets me

each Tuesday, his hand travelling the road

of my spine. His tap on my rear makes verticals

govern my dreams. At night, I see one symbol

on vellum, filling sheet after sheet, inscribed

in blue light. My ankles vanish and I live

above my single foot. I find myself amorphous

at the end of a terrace, waiting till I’m near

him again, recover my form and can say

Here I am — a hot fountain in the garden

of language; the scratch of the vanquished,

those undone by the world, staring back,