The Feel-Good Movie of the Year E-Book

Luke Wright

• Herausgeber: Penned in the Margins
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 35

Beschreibung

'My poor old heart, I've left its drawbridge down'Divorced, and perhaps a little bruised, Luke Wright journeys off the sunken roads of southern England and into himself, pursued by murderous swans, empty car seats, and his father's skeleton clocks.Both brazen and elegiac, these poems pull on the 'tidy hem' of responsible existence, unravelling the banal frustrations of online outrage and ageing friends, and grasping at something 'beyond our squeaky comprehension'. Wright files through the shackles of cynicism to ask how can we let go without giving up.'Luke Wright is one of the greats. A poetic pugilist. Beguiling, hypnotic and master of the emotional sucker-punch. The Feel-Good Movie of the Year is his best yet.'- Carl Barât

Leseprobe

THEFEEL-GOODMOVIEOFTHEYEAR

Luke Wright is a poet and theatre-maker. Flamboyant, political and riotously funny, Wright’s inventive spoken word shows are enjoyed by thousands of people across the world every year. He is the author of two full poetry collections, three pamphlets and three verse plays. He is the winner of a Fringe First, a Stage Award and three Saboteur Awards. He lives in Suffolk with his two sons.

ALSOBYLUKEWRIGHT

POETRY

After Engine Trouble (Rough Trade Books, 2018)

The Toll (Penned in the Margins, 2017)

Mondeo Man (Penned in the Margins, 2013)

The Vile Ascent of Lucien Gore (Nasty Little Press, 2011)

High Performance (Nasty Little Press, 2009)

VERSEDRAMA

The Remains of Logan Dankworth (Penned in the Margins, 2020)

Frankie Vah (Penned in the Margins, 2018)

What I Learned from Johnny Bevan (Penned in the Margins, 2016)

NON-FICTION

Who Writes This Crap? (Penguin, 2007)

PUBLISHEDBYPENNEDINTHEMARGINS

Toynbee Studios, 28 Commercial Street, London E1 6AB

www.pennedinthemargins.co.uk

All rights reserved

© Luke Wright 2021

The right of Luke Wright 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 2021

ISBN

978-1-908058-91-1

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

Ex

A Pub Gig in the Middle of Nowhere

Drawbridge

The Lay-bys and Bypasses

Spent

Lowestoft

After Engine Trouble

To Hail a Cab

Prayer

Status Update

Clocks

Sent Out, Aged Ten

Clouds

My Sadness

Sophie

Cast Photo

Friend Request

The Rack

A Piece of Quiet

Merch Stall

Tidal

O, the years they heap amendments on our instincts

Language

Monster

Autumn

Just Look at Us Now

The Other Poet

Now All That Shined is Shit

Fortieth

Akrasia

Will everybody leave me? Do I want them to?

Reading for Pleasure

And I Saw England

Bring Me My Devil

Portcullis

We’re Back at the End Again

The Turning on the Halesworth Road

for KC

THE

Feel-Good

Movie

OFTHE

Year

Ex

We don’t touch each other anymore;

twelve years in a double bed

down to business-like deals

we can’t bring ourselves to shake on,

not even an x at the end

of a text. I’m not saying

that I want to. I just wonder

where we went. But today

you sent a photo of our son.

It stopped me as it flashed

across my palm. We were there.

In his face. In each other’s arms.

A Pub Gig in the Middle of Nowhere

The locals take a pride in it:

no commerce down these silted

lanes. A coaching inn that’s still

a coaching inn, fermented, sheltered

under hops and shouldering its centuries

with all the calm of village cricket —

blokes in whites and wives in hats

on yeasty afternoons. And I am here

to spin them all some yarns,

to tell them things they’ve known

for years and hope the way I do it

does the trick — an entertainment

older than this horse-brassed hearth.

And later, in the garden, I meet Daniel.

He’d sat there with his parents, sweet

and still, all through my show.

Seven years old, he tells me —

cherub almost rendered down

to boyhood and so much

like my own son, Sam;

a milk-faced storm

of cleverness and cheek

who comes at me now

with questions like weapons.

His father picks him up, blows

raspberries on his stomach,

sits him at their table with some chips

and rips the ketchup sachet. Wholesome

chores of parenthood! It’s three nights

since I made a meal for mine.

And from the car park the fields

of the High Weald are endless.

In this middle of everywhere