erbacce Press has recently published its first chapbook.
'Bum Rap' by Alan Corkish ISBN: 978-0-9555754-1-9.
Forthcoming titles:
'Lace-circled Darkness' by Lynn Strongin
'Temporary Residence' by Andrew Taylor
and a reissue of 'Poetry and Skin Cream' by Andrew Taylor.
More details to follow.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Poetry in Liverpool
An interesting site with links to past and present Liverpool poets and useful information regarding the Liverpool poetry scene has come to my attention. Check it out.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A new manifesto from Unquiet Desperation
The Manifesto
The counterculture is shattered. A movement that once screamed against the torpor of our time-fettered society is in shards, each fragment reflecting only the petty needs of its adherents. Whether an acolyte of one of the kaleidoscope of self-obsessed musical and literary subcultures, an obsessive over some futile political cause or worse a soul lost to those games and worlds existing only in the circuits of counting machines, we are the heirs of those with grander visions, and their shades regard us with scorn. Those dwellers of high halls that profit from our continued acceptance of the worksheep ethic are pleased: a splintered counterculture leaves them unchallenged, no voice against us squandering our days to gild their cages further. Any hint of resistance and they spew out songs from tame alternative bands, songs that speak of loneliness and shuttered rebellion. Pacification accomplished; nothing deadens like corporate nihilism. It is clear: the counterculture is broken, and it is broken because it is corrupted. Our only chance of liberty is to mend it and to do that we must look back, and heed the lessons of our wild free forebears. First the Transcendentalists of the nineteenth century and then the Beats of the fifties rejected the constraints of their times and took another, more perilous path: not only did they enter the wilderness, seeking existence away from the distractions of society, but they also sought knowledge. Their exploration was inner as well as outer. Unfortunately the Fall would come before the Beats attained enlightenment: they were swept up in the chaos of the sixties. Counterculture decayed, sliding from a flame-eyed band of literary ascetics, men and women that knew the road to true understanding was hard and long, into a hydra-headed youth movement, seeking escape and instant answers, its music already infected by the corporate world it professed to reject. If we are to forge a new counterculture we must reject this slide into factionalism, and follow the example of Thoreau and Emerson, of Ginsberg, Kerouac and Burroughs. We must reject the illusory choices our society forces on us, and strike out on our own quest to experience existence in its rawest, purest form. It will not be easy. The life of the outlaw artist, the outlaw writer disturbs loved ones and invites assault from right and left: honesty infuriates both sides of the political divide. Despite this, our first steps should not be without hope. We are forewarned that the drug-fixated and cultish short-cuts of the sixties lead only to dead ends, and know that though solitude is occasionally necessary Thoreau was never alone for too long in Walden, and even the archetypal outlaw writer, Burroughs, felt drawn to those of like mind. Indeed, this is the lesson to take from the Transcendentalists and the Beats: though comprised of individuals on their own paths to enlightenment, they came together and collaborated to telling effect on their generations and those after. We must be the same: though we draw apart from the petty lives of our peers, it will not be lonely. We will find those like us, and in the end will travel the road together. Looking beyond the shards, we see something deeper, something higher, something enduring. The spirit of creativity still smoulders in the cities and the suburbs, and our recapturing of the spirit of those glorious pioneers will set it alight. We will form the nucleus of a reborn counterculture, no longer shattered, and stand as a beacon to those seeking escape from their groundhog lives. A new movement is forming: can we afford to stand aside? Of course not. We must be at its centre, driving it with the wisdom we will gain. The knowledge we reveal will enlighten the world.
Signed
Unquiet Desperation
The counterculture is shattered. A movement that once screamed against the torpor of our time-fettered society is in shards, each fragment reflecting only the petty needs of its adherents. Whether an acolyte of one of the kaleidoscope of self-obsessed musical and literary subcultures, an obsessive over some futile political cause or worse a soul lost to those games and worlds existing only in the circuits of counting machines, we are the heirs of those with grander visions, and their shades regard us with scorn. Those dwellers of high halls that profit from our continued acceptance of the worksheep ethic are pleased: a splintered counterculture leaves them unchallenged, no voice against us squandering our days to gild their cages further. Any hint of resistance and they spew out songs from tame alternative bands, songs that speak of loneliness and shuttered rebellion. Pacification accomplished; nothing deadens like corporate nihilism. It is clear: the counterculture is broken, and it is broken because it is corrupted. Our only chance of liberty is to mend it and to do that we must look back, and heed the lessons of our wild free forebears. First the Transcendentalists of the nineteenth century and then the Beats of the fifties rejected the constraints of their times and took another, more perilous path: not only did they enter the wilderness, seeking existence away from the distractions of society, but they also sought knowledge. Their exploration was inner as well as outer. Unfortunately the Fall would come before the Beats attained enlightenment: they were swept up in the chaos of the sixties. Counterculture decayed, sliding from a flame-eyed band of literary ascetics, men and women that knew the road to true understanding was hard and long, into a hydra-headed youth movement, seeking escape and instant answers, its music already infected by the corporate world it professed to reject. If we are to forge a new counterculture we must reject this slide into factionalism, and follow the example of Thoreau and Emerson, of Ginsberg, Kerouac and Burroughs. We must reject the illusory choices our society forces on us, and strike out on our own quest to experience existence in its rawest, purest form. It will not be easy. The life of the outlaw artist, the outlaw writer disturbs loved ones and invites assault from right and left: honesty infuriates both sides of the political divide. Despite this, our first steps should not be without hope. We are forewarned that the drug-fixated and cultish short-cuts of the sixties lead only to dead ends, and know that though solitude is occasionally necessary Thoreau was never alone for too long in Walden, and even the archetypal outlaw writer, Burroughs, felt drawn to those of like mind. Indeed, this is the lesson to take from the Transcendentalists and the Beats: though comprised of individuals on their own paths to enlightenment, they came together and collaborated to telling effect on their generations and those after. We must be the same: though we draw apart from the petty lives of our peers, it will not be lonely. We will find those like us, and in the end will travel the road together. Looking beyond the shards, we see something deeper, something higher, something enduring. The spirit of creativity still smoulders in the cities and the suburbs, and our recapturing of the spirit of those glorious pioneers will set it alight. We will form the nucleus of a reborn counterculture, no longer shattered, and stand as a beacon to those seeking escape from their groundhog lives. A new movement is forming: can we afford to stand aside? Of course not. We must be at its centre, driving it with the wisdom we will gain. The knowledge we reveal will enlighten the world.
Signed
Unquiet Desperation
Monday, August 06, 2007
Unquiet Desperation 1.16
I have placed copies of Unquiet Desperation 1.16, which is free, in the following places:
Liverpool Central Library
William Brown Street
Liverpool
[on the 2nd floor Literature section]
the egg Cafe
2nd Floor16 - 18 Newington
Liverpool
L1 4ED
and
Probe Records
9 Slater Street
Liverpool
L1 4BW
http://www.unquietdesperation.co.uk/
www.myspace.com/unquietdesperation
Liverpool Central Library
William Brown Street
Liverpool
[on the 2nd floor Literature section]
the egg Cafe
2nd Floor16 - 18 Newington
Liverpool
L1 4ED
and
Probe Records
9 Slater Street
Liverpool
L1 4BW
http://www.unquietdesperation.co.uk/
www.myspace.com/unquietdesperation
Monday, July 23, 2007
erbacce # 10
erbacce 10 is at the printers and will hopefully be back with us on the 28th July 2007 for distribution to subscribers and contributors.
The poets in 10 are:
The poets in 10 are:
Ursula Hurley
Christopher Barnes
David McClean
Lynn Strongin
Greg Buddery
Noel Sloboda
Emily Wright
Karl Gielinck
Khalid Khan
Paul Tanner
Sam Smith
Nell Grey
As usual, copies will be for sale at £2 from:
News from Nowhere
96 Bold Street
Liverpool
L1 4HY
and
Linghams Booksellers
9 Banks Road
West Kirby
Wirral
Ch48 0QX
for submissions and subscription details:
erbacce is edited by Alan Corkish and Andrew Taylor.
the erbacce office is located at:
5 Farrell Close
Melling
Liverpool
L31 1BU
UK.
erbacce is an independent publication.
We receive no funding.
Proudly independent since May Day 2004.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Zygote in my Coffee
A recent poem from my residency at the Loft Space in Liverpool called 'Analgesic' has been published in Zygote in my Coffee # 89. Visit the site here.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Poems published at the Bold Street Blog
Friday, May 25, 2007
When the City Speaks: The City is the Stage …
Concept
Artists will become the flaneur - city walkers for the day - using the urban space as a stage and the psycho-geographic setting to create art derived and inspired by it.
Context
To create artefacts of what has been seen, found and experienced and memorised on the day of the walk. The situation will be an impromptu one, so the work made on the day will formed from the urban exploration.
Objective
The focus will be the city as a hybrid culture and the artists are to examine its sub-cultures, such as the graffiti artists, tattoo artists, city icons and whatever is considered as an underground scene and the banal and everyday things that often go unnoticed and more. It will be an exploration of the visual language and symbolism in the city space.
OutcomeThe cultural examinations by each artist will then be represented through a chosen mode of expression and media on sections of paper to convey their experiences. This could be through text, painting, drawing, collage, photography, etc..
Programme
This programme will run in three city, starting with Liverpool (UK) in June 2007 moving to London (UK) and then Paris (France).Liverpool, June 2007.London, July 2007.Paris, August 2007.
If you are interested in participating email Jo Derbyshire at aprilskies1204@aol.com.
For further information on this project go to either:www.joderbyshire.co.uk or www.transvoyeur.co.uk.
Artists will become the flaneur - city walkers for the day - using the urban space as a stage and the psycho-geographic setting to create art derived and inspired by it.
Context
To create artefacts of what has been seen, found and experienced and memorised on the day of the walk. The situation will be an impromptu one, so the work made on the day will formed from the urban exploration.
Objective
The focus will be the city as a hybrid culture and the artists are to examine its sub-cultures, such as the graffiti artists, tattoo artists, city icons and whatever is considered as an underground scene and the banal and everyday things that often go unnoticed and more. It will be an exploration of the visual language and symbolism in the city space.
OutcomeThe cultural examinations by each artist will then be represented through a chosen mode of expression and media on sections of paper to convey their experiences. This could be through text, painting, drawing, collage, photography, etc..
Programme
This programme will run in three city, starting with Liverpool (UK) in June 2007 moving to London (UK) and then Paris (France).Liverpool, June 2007.London, July 2007.Paris, August 2007.
If you are interested in participating email Jo Derbyshire at aprilskies1204@aol.com.
For further information on this project go to either:www.joderbyshire.co.uk or www.transvoyeur.co.uk.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Poems
Poems
The following poems were first published in Incite in 2000. I thought it was about time they appeared again.
Comfort and Joy
Wearing Sunflowers
or Tendre Poison
cab it to the Strand
create a stir with
what you wear
and the wake of
essence trailing by
Into The Star watch
the crowds part at
the bar as you weave a magic spell
'half a lager and scotch
and coke please'
take the
corner table and watch
as the noise dies down
Rub your foot onto my
instep as you peek
into your shopping bags
showing me the label
of crisp white cotton knickers
The space left as you
go to powder your nose
fills with the stares of
envious men wearing tracksuits and expensive
catalogue club jewellery
Wearing the tight MozzerT-shirt to bed as the sun
begins to set the bed seems
small as the Sunflowers
turn in and the poison begins
to seep out of my body
Late
The steely early winter
wind stirs up the litter,
as I wait outside Central
Station watching the paper
sellers packing up.
I'm off to the Everyman
and you've agreed to comewith me and still I wait, the
station concourse empty nowand still I wait.
One and a half hours later
you turn up out of breath,
stammering apologies about
looking after your brother's kids, I whisper it's fine and it is.
In the Bistro's Third Room
after the performance, people
are trying to get me to stayout drinking, but I've a last train
to catch and you offer to drive me.
After a few pints of Guinness,we're in your Mum's battered
green 'P' reg Cortina and I'm slowly shaking my head in pure
disbelief that YOU are driving ME.
*
A revelation in jeans shuffling
into the lecture theatre late 'Seen
her?' I whisper to my mate 'Yeah
tasty', if there is such a thing
as being able to be knocked down with a feather, that would've been the time to topple me.
*
Unable to sleep on Toddy's brother's sofa that night, despite
whiskey and Joy Division,the last words I uttered to you that night were 'I'll ring you
tomorrow to check you get home OK'
as the slightest swirls of snow were beginning to fall.
Wordsworth and Bukowski
'Adny, you're tooyoung to really have
suffered', she said.'He's older than he
looks, you know.'I laugh inwardly as
the discussion
turns from, Wordsworth to Bukowski.
'I mean, look
at those teeth. Too
straight and clean
for somebodywho has suffered.'
I can't get away
from the fact that Bukowski says
more to
me than Wordsworth.
'I'm not sayingthat Wordsworth
didn't write anything
good, I'm just saying that Bukowski was alive the same time as me.'
Alan says, 'But Wordsworth wrote some amazing stuff - what about The Prelude?'
Pam agrees and I drink my coffee
and think about the fact that I am
being scrutinised
about my work
and that Wordsworth
and Buk are being
mentioned in the same breath.
Head in the Clouds
Wish for my trousers
to be undone while you
stare casually across the room, fringe sitting coyly
across those eyes.
Cast yourself in the role
of dream giver, come to my way of thinking
as the summer gives way
to autumn.
Travel with me down
the Bold Street of old,
where innocence mixed
with apprehension caused
a cocktail of despair.
Meander over with intent
in your eyes, stop and breathe
with the purpose that you crave.
Draw me deep inside feel the
depth of feeling and embrace it.
No Need To Talk
The lights on the horizon
sparkle like fairy lights.
The tide is drawing nearer
as the night air turns colder.
Here they roll down
towards the tiny hotel
where strangers are
made welcome.
Gathering sticks along the shore as the gulls
swoop low. The promise
of whiskey driving us along.
Thriving on the chance
to explain myself away,
you patiently sit, legs intrademark 501s.
Full circle. Ten years on we sit no need to talk.
It's enough to watchyou through the rising coffee cup steam.
Aranyi(for JS and CG)
Spring is in the air and there's a spring in your step.
Guilt about new found happiness dissipates
as I assure you that it's what I need to hear.
Steaming pots of tea and there's a hush settling over the table.
As you embark on a journey of half-missed chances,
how about it being written in the stars?
The city centre grinds on and there's a definite glow about you, regardless
of the clouds laying heavy with rain.
*
Bask in the new found rays of light, taste the first flush of love and embrace it,
allow it to mask the debris that litters our lives. Find yourselves arm in arm.
Discover calm in the plans that you make, delight in the ordinary,
the cereal packet on the table the toast half-eaten at 7 a.m.
Caress all that is to come, scan the future's vista and floorboard it.
(c) Andrew Taylor 2000
The following poems were first published in Incite in 2000. I thought it was about time they appeared again.
Comfort and Joy
Wearing Sunflowers
or Tendre Poison
cab it to the Strand
create a stir with
what you wear
and the wake of
essence trailing by
Into The Star watch
the crowds part at
the bar as you weave a magic spell
'half a lager and scotch
and coke please'
take the
corner table and watch
as the noise dies down
Rub your foot onto my
instep as you peek
into your shopping bags
showing me the label
of crisp white cotton knickers
The space left as you
go to powder your nose
fills with the stares of
envious men wearing tracksuits and expensive
catalogue club jewellery
Wearing the tight MozzerT-shirt to bed as the sun
begins to set the bed seems
small as the Sunflowers
turn in and the poison begins
to seep out of my body
Late
The steely early winter
wind stirs up the litter,
as I wait outside Central
Station watching the paper
sellers packing up.
I'm off to the Everyman
and you've agreed to comewith me and still I wait, the
station concourse empty nowand still I wait.
One and a half hours later
you turn up out of breath,
stammering apologies about
looking after your brother's kids, I whisper it's fine and it is.
In the Bistro's Third Room
after the performance, people
are trying to get me to stayout drinking, but I've a last train
to catch and you offer to drive me.
After a few pints of Guinness,we're in your Mum's battered
green 'P' reg Cortina and I'm slowly shaking my head in pure
disbelief that YOU are driving ME.
*
A revelation in jeans shuffling
into the lecture theatre late 'Seen
her?' I whisper to my mate 'Yeah
tasty', if there is such a thing
as being able to be knocked down with a feather, that would've been the time to topple me.
*
Unable to sleep on Toddy's brother's sofa that night, despite
whiskey and Joy Division,the last words I uttered to you that night were 'I'll ring you
tomorrow to check you get home OK'
as the slightest swirls of snow were beginning to fall.
Wordsworth and Bukowski
'Adny, you're tooyoung to really have
suffered', she said.'He's older than he
looks, you know.'I laugh inwardly as
the discussion
turns from, Wordsworth to Bukowski.
'I mean, look
at those teeth. Too
straight and clean
for somebodywho has suffered.'
I can't get away
from the fact that Bukowski says
more to
me than Wordsworth.
'I'm not sayingthat Wordsworth
didn't write anything
good, I'm just saying that Bukowski was alive the same time as me.'
Alan says, 'But Wordsworth wrote some amazing stuff - what about The Prelude?'
Pam agrees and I drink my coffee
and think about the fact that I am
being scrutinised
about my work
and that Wordsworth
and Buk are being
mentioned in the same breath.
Head in the Clouds
Wish for my trousers
to be undone while you
stare casually across the room, fringe sitting coyly
across those eyes.
Cast yourself in the role
of dream giver, come to my way of thinking
as the summer gives way
to autumn.
Travel with me down
the Bold Street of old,
where innocence mixed
with apprehension caused
a cocktail of despair.
Meander over with intent
in your eyes, stop and breathe
with the purpose that you crave.
Draw me deep inside feel the
depth of feeling and embrace it.
No Need To Talk
The lights on the horizon
sparkle like fairy lights.
The tide is drawing nearer
as the night air turns colder.
Here they roll down
towards the tiny hotel
where strangers are
made welcome.
Gathering sticks along the shore as the gulls
swoop low. The promise
of whiskey driving us along.
Thriving on the chance
to explain myself away,
you patiently sit, legs intrademark 501s.
Full circle. Ten years on we sit no need to talk.
It's enough to watchyou through the rising coffee cup steam.
Aranyi(for JS and CG)
Spring is in the air and there's a spring in your step.
Guilt about new found happiness dissipates
as I assure you that it's what I need to hear.
Steaming pots of tea and there's a hush settling over the table.
As you embark on a journey of half-missed chances,
how about it being written in the stars?
The city centre grinds on and there's a definite glow about you, regardless
of the clouds laying heavy with rain.
*
Bask in the new found rays of light, taste the first flush of love and embrace it,
allow it to mask the debris that litters our lives. Find yourselves arm in arm.
Discover calm in the plans that you make, delight in the ordinary,
the cereal packet on the table the toast half-eaten at 7 a.m.
Caress all that is to come, scan the future's vista and floorboard it.
(c) Andrew Taylor 2000
Monday, April 30, 2007
Poetics published at Otoliths.
The excellent Otoliths website has kindly published the poetics from my recent residency at The Loft Space Gallery in Liverpool. Click here.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
erbacce # 9
The following poets appear in erbacce # 9. The magazine will be sent to subscribers and contributors upon delivery from the printers. Thank you.
Mario Susko
Sharmagne Leland-St John
Colleen Totz Diamond
alex willie singerman
Linda Benninghoff
Lorette C Luzajic
Harry R Wilkens
Jan Oscar Hansen
Brian Blackwell
Jonathan Kelley
James Murphy
Caitlin Louise
David Callin
Paul Tannin
Adam Fish
MG Egan
Lee Firth
Daniel Adey
Peter Bowen
david mclean
Jennifer Hunt
A.D. Winans
John Thomson
Hannah Inglis
Geraldine Green
George Thurman
Douglas Mowbray
Friday, April 13, 2007
Poem published.
'...as they scatter the birds' has been published at the excellent Silenced Press. Visit their website to view.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
Review of Nietzsche's Urbanised Icon
Review of Nietzsche's Urbanised Icon at the Loft Space, Liverpool, England, Collaboration by Tony Knox and Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney, Curated by Jo Derbyshire, 18 March 2007.
Sweeney and Knox's collaboration is both interesting and thought provoking. Using the gallery in an interesting way – its white walls are used sparingly, to provide the visitor with the sensation of space. Knox, using photographs taken on successive Remembrance Sundays, of war 'heroes' honouring their fallen comrades brings a sense of loss to the fore. The most striking image is of a wheelchair bound veteran, sat next to a youngster (who I presume to be his Great-Grandson), who share regimental colours. Knox further utilises the space with the continuation of the theme of the photographs, using lettering installed at a right angle, on the fresh white walls that reads:to the departed friend and to us all his servants life everlastingSweeney known largely for her 'live art', has developed a strong counter position to Knox's photographs in the shape of 'Portrait of a Tin Soldier', a sculpture mounted onto a blank canvas. The sculpture, made from recycled metal thread with cotton, highlights the former position of the tin soldier in society and its disposability. In this context, allied to Knox's images of the War veteran, the tin soldier becomes a symbol of war alongside the attendant position of victorious hero. Sweeney shows the fragility of the memory of war (we are after all, 60 plus years on from the end of World War II) by displaying photocopied images of the piece, scattered around the base of the sculpture. Though the sculpture is reclaimed metal – the metal given a second chance, the paper copies will eventually return to organic matter. By choosing understatement in this exhibition, the two artists have allowed visitors the space and time to interact in a respectful manner. I found the exhibition to be moving and thought provoking. Andrew TaylorPoet-in-residence, Loft Space Gallery.Further information on the upcoming projects at the Loft Space, contact Jo Derbyshire (Curator of Loft Space Project) on aprilskies1204@aol.com or 07946353251. Viewing is by appointment (www.joderbyshire.co.uk).
Sweeney and Knox's collaboration is both interesting and thought provoking. Using the gallery in an interesting way – its white walls are used sparingly, to provide the visitor with the sensation of space. Knox, using photographs taken on successive Remembrance Sundays, of war 'heroes' honouring their fallen comrades brings a sense of loss to the fore. The most striking image is of a wheelchair bound veteran, sat next to a youngster (who I presume to be his Great-Grandson), who share regimental colours. Knox further utilises the space with the continuation of the theme of the photographs, using lettering installed at a right angle, on the fresh white walls that reads:to the departed friend and to us all his servants life everlastingSweeney known largely for her 'live art', has developed a strong counter position to Knox's photographs in the shape of 'Portrait of a Tin Soldier', a sculpture mounted onto a blank canvas. The sculpture, made from recycled metal thread with cotton, highlights the former position of the tin soldier in society and its disposability. In this context, allied to Knox's images of the War veteran, the tin soldier becomes a symbol of war alongside the attendant position of victorious hero. Sweeney shows the fragility of the memory of war (we are after all, 60 plus years on from the end of World War II) by displaying photocopied images of the piece, scattered around the base of the sculpture. Though the sculpture is reclaimed metal – the metal given a second chance, the paper copies will eventually return to organic matter. By choosing understatement in this exhibition, the two artists have allowed visitors the space and time to interact in a respectful manner. I found the exhibition to be moving and thought provoking. Andrew TaylorPoet-in-residence, Loft Space Gallery.Further information on the upcoming projects at the Loft Space, contact Jo Derbyshire (Curator of Loft Space Project) on aprilskies1204@aol.com or 07946353251. Viewing is by appointment (www.joderbyshire.co.uk).
"Renditions of Taylor"
Click here for a performance of one of my poems by Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney and George Lund.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Poetry Reading
I will be reading as part of the support to Harriet Tarlo, who is reading at Edge Hill University's Rose Theatre, on Thursday March 22nd at 7.30pm, £3.50. More details here.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Unquiet Desperation 1.11
Look around some of the various outlets in Liverpool for your free copy of the excellent zine. (and hidden copies in Central Library!)
Monday, February 26, 2007
An englyn from the Loft Space Residency
Vintage Paisley Owl
Vintage paisley owl a lavender smell
sitting on anglepoise
found postcards from the loft space
stuck fast to the study door
(c) Andrew Taylor 2007
Vintage paisley owl a lavender smell
sitting on anglepoise
found postcards from the loft space
stuck fast to the study door
(c) Andrew Taylor 2007
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