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Rest in poems, Niall McDevitt (1967-2022)


'The poet Niall McDevitt — a founding member of New River Press — has died on 29th September, aged 55 at home in North Kensington after six years lived with cancer. He was a restless presence in London poetry. A serious poet and enthusiast of other poets. Iain Sinclair, Yoko Ono, Patti Smith, and John Cooper Clarke all admired his work. The literary walks McDevitt gave, ‘psychogeographic investigations’, saw greasy cafes and elite hotels alike as places of poetic pilgrimage. Jeremy Reed, an older contemporary who influenced McDevitt’s early style, described him as ‘a luminous custodian of the great poetic mysteries’, adding that ‘London will never be the same without him’. 

McDevitt dedicated his life to poetry, to a Blakean vision that celebrated freethinking and resisted the rule of the philistine establishment. His poetry is by turns solemn and sage, with a melancholic romance, or in the words of Heathcote Williams, ‘savagely witty’. A charismatic and sometimes provocative performer with a low, booming voice, McDevitt was more acutely perceptive than first appeared. His loyal, scrutinous attention championed the creativity of all he met. With uncomplaining dignity, he lived to the full while ill. Only four days before his death, McDevitt visited the grave of Victorian poet Algernon Charles Swinburne in Bonchurch, Isle of Wight. Though wheelchair-bound, beaming with delight, he mustered a lecture on Swinburne’s colourful private life and advocacy for Blake. 

McDevitt brought many to the path of poetry. A Londonist who led highly original literary walks to uncover traces left by great world writers on the city, in particular the four McDevitt called his ‘personal Kabbala’: Shakespeare, Blake, Rimbaud, and Yeats. His ‘wandering lectures’ revealed a whirlwind of history on unassuming streets. An industrial alley behind The Savoy is shown to have been set ablaze in the Peasants’ Revolt of 1377; to have witnessed the death of William Blake in 1827 and Bob Dylan giving birth to the music video in 1965 in Subterranean Homesick Blues. 

The product of six years’ work, London Nation returned from the printers on the day McDevitt died — just in time for the poet to hold a copy. The golden hardback shows Thomas De Quincey with ‘Ann of Oxford Street’, who reputedly once saved the young De Quincey’s life with smelling salts. The paintings are by artist Julie Goldsmith, McDevitt’s partner, collaborator, and now literary executor. Goldsmith and McDevitt made a glamorous pair in pinstripes and leopard print. To Goldsmith’s son, Heathcote Ruthven, McDevitt was a devoted stepfather, responding to, without fail, everything the younger writer wrote. Ruthven and McDevitt worked closely to programme McDevitt’s London Poetry Walks and, with artist Robert Montgomery, design and edit Niall’s work for New River Press. Their Portobello Road address became a loving home and space for McDevitt to develop his work to more critical acclaim. In early 2022, McDevitt was ecstatic to sign a deal with Cheerio books, an imprint of Hachette backed by the Estate of Francis Bacon, for a book about Geoffrey Chaucer.

McDevitt’s poetry wove diverse traditions to unique effect. In a hymn to the murdered playwright Christopher Marlowe, he beats a Celtic Modernism on a Bodhrán drum to the underbelly of Elizabethan England; London Babylon adapts Ancient Sumerian texts to critique contemporary neoliberalism; Firing Slits: Jerusalem Colportage, the result of a summer in Palestine, fuses two of McDevitt’s lifelong preoccupations — the culture of Judaism and the Jerusalem of Blake — to create a startlingly original world of haunted hopes. Though dense with history and religion, McDevitt’s work is decidedly unacademic. He learnt from Joyce and Chaucer how to remain alive to the visceral contemporary, sing to the music of diverse voices, and travesty piousness with scatological wordplay. McDevitt found in London a lodestar to make vast libraries of erudition concrete and immediate. 

Born in Limerick in February 1967, McDevitt moved to South Dublin as a child. Unusually for Seventies Ireland, Niall and his siblings Roddy and Yvonne were raised by a single father, Michael, a famously good-looking man who worked for Irish Rail. After separating from the family, Niall’s mother, Frances, from a distinguished Irish musical family, emigrated to London, where her three children separately followed suit. 

McDevitt was educated at the Jesuit-run Belvedere College and University College Dublin. Like fellow alumni to both schools, James Joyce, McDevitt excelled in a Classical Latin education the richness of which is enshrined in his writing. ‘Bloomsday’ walks, following the path of Leopold Bloom in Ulysses, was founded in 1954 by a friend’s father, the artist John Ryan. Discovering the tradition was ‘extra-curricular manna’, said McDevitt. ‘It showed how a literary walk could become a national holiday.’ Unknown to him then, Bloomsday became a model for the mode of research McDevitt would develop for the rest of his life. 

In 1996, McDevitt’s poem ‘Off-Duty’, describing a drunk clinging to a lamppost, was selected by Roger McGough to be shown on the 38 and 73 bus routes for a year, part of the ‘Poems on the Buses’ project by Transport For London. The selected poets were invited to read at St. James, Piccadilly. This proved fateful for the 29-year-old McDevitt. At the Grinling Gibbons font where Blake had been baptised in the 1750s, McDevitt sang ‘London’ and felt the human Blake come alive. This ignited a hunger to seek out other Blake sites, found at first through Paddy Kitchen’s Poets’ London (1980). Soon, McDevitt was discovering new sites. By 2006, his weekly William Blake Walk was a well-known fixture, featured in journalist Nigel Richardson’s Great British Walks; on Radio 4’s The Poet of Albion, Robert Elms Show, and The Verb; and a BBC London documentary. 

McDevitt came to London as an ‘aesthetic migrant’ in search of bohemia. He found his feet joining his brother, Roddy, in the troupe of countercultural impresario Ken Campbell, performing in Neil Oram’s 24-hour play The Warp. One role McDevitt played was based on poet Harry Fainlight, one of many under-acknowledged poets McDevitt organised nights for. McDevitt campaigned to secure poetic landmarks from redevelopment, once chaining himself with fellow poet Aiden Andrew Dun to the railings of Rimbaud and Verlaine’s home at 8 Royal College Street in Camden. McDevitt worked closely with Campbell on Pidgin Macbeth, a transposition of Shakespeare into the language of the Pacific island of Vanuatu, Bislama. Soon fluent, McDevitt became resident ‘Pidgin poet/translator’ on John Peel’s programme Home Truths, translating Yeats and Rimbaud into Bislama, and . McDevitt put the language to anti-imperial use: a 2003 Guardian report on right-wing historian Niall Ferguson reads: ‘Security men removed a self-styled "shamanistic poet", Niall McDevitt, from the lecture, when he accused Prof Ferguson of trying to "alleviate guilt", while reciting a poem in pidgin on the imperial legacy in the New Hebrides islands in the Pacific.’ 

During national lockdowns, director Sé Merry Doyle made films of McDevitt’s ‘poetopographical’ walks. An infamous daemon-summoning duel between Yeats and Alistair Crowley is recounted in The Battle of Blythe Road, an incident McDevitt described in a poem in 2010’s b/w. Reluctant Groom explores the church where James and Nora Joyce married in Notting Hill. McDevitt met Doyle through Rosalind Scanlon, Cultural Director at the Irish Culture Centre, where McDevitt became poet-in-residence in the late Nineties. 

In August 2021, McDevitt devised five new Blake walks, pairing Blake with Thomas Paine and Emmanuel Swedenborg, with the River Tyburn and Bedlam Hospital, and finally with the modern painter, Francis Bacon. Each walk is recorded in Doyle and Scanlon’s series Blakeland — films that will forever be essential viewing for serious students of Blake or London. In an emotional evening only two weeks before his death, McDevitt attended the full-house premier at the Portobello Road Film Festival for the first film, on McDevitt’s fellow republican, Thomas Paine. Given the recent death of Elizabeth II, the timing was apt. A frail McDevitt, still with his wits about him, declared in an introduction — ‘I’m glad to be living in a democracy again’. 

Niall McDevitt is survived by Julie Goldsmith and her son Heathcote Ruthven, his mother Frances McDevitt, siblings Roddy and Yvonne McDevitt, and niece Dixie McDevitt. 

McDevitt is the author of four poetry collections, b/w (Waterloo Press, 2010), Portaloo (International Times, 2013), Firing Slits (New River Press, 2016), and London Nation (New River Press, 2022).' From The New River Press. 

The Allen Ginsberg Project. April 2021. 

Nina Zivancevic & Allen Ginsberg interview.

Audio Cassette released by Ragged Lion Press & Counter Culture Chronicles. "Ragged Lion Press out of London, England (in collaboration with Counter-Culture Chronicles) recently released poet Nina Zivancevic’s 1998 interview with Allen Ginsberg on limited-edition cassette.  The audio is available – here . The interview took place in New York at Christine’s, the local Polish restaurant, around the corner from Allen’s home, on First Avenue over lunch and so there is (unavoidably) a significant amount of ambient sound. It was commissioned by, and appeared in, the Italian newspaper L’Unita. This is its first appearance in English." 


Dream Girl by Louise Landes Levi

Riso print.

Printed in an edition of 100 copies. 75 as unsigned, 25 signed by Louise Landes Levi.

Illustration by Lauren O'Conner.

Printed by Lula Valletta & Mr Pelham, The Hague.

Published by Ragged Lion Press April 2021.

19cm by 29.5cm

Creatively Mourning the Novel 


Chris Kelso


“The darker the night, the brighter the stars,
The deeper the grief, the closer is God!”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment


Heidegger’s claim that we only form an identity after facing death has always been stuck in my head. We should remember this when considering the death of the novel.

I have always been interested in transformation, of art and of the personal identity. Life transforming into death. Death becoming something new entirely. I think if something isn’t growing and developing then it will likely die like any other organism. It’s a theme I’ve always tried to explore in all my writing. In the main, I’ve written genre fiction with a philosophical edge, but recently I’ve been reading a lot of David Shields and Gore Vidal - now I’m thinking that the novel is a restricted, perishing medium in its current incarnation. In and of itself, the novel doesn’t have the same power it used to, especially among this new distracted soma-generation of consumers: somnambulists in the perpetual quest of instant gratification. And, alarmingly, I think Neil Postman’s doomsday hypothesis is coming true, in particular when he talks about humanity being simultaneously addicted to and oppressed by its own relentless search for amusement. But it’s my belief that the written word can survive by latching on to other forms – art installation, music, cinema, etc. Writers, we are in the business of expanding the lifespan of literature. I wanted to create something for the ADHD consumer because ultimately it’s this generation who will have the final say.

‘Influence’ started as a conversation between me and Edwin Sellors of Ragged Lion Press. Just a general chit-chat about the decline of independent literature. Edwin is a big proponent of the visual medium and has been making interesting (very literary) multimedia videos for his YouTube site for a long time. I had written these depressing little poems and they were just sitting around on my hard drive, so I decided to spruce them up a bit. I wrote this weird incidental music and recorded readings over the melody. On a whim, I sent them along to Edwin who immediately started splicing these public access images together to make a sort of hallucinogenic music video for the poems. I thought it looked cool – like he was teasing out this shadow archetype buried beneath my words, and we kept collaborating in this way. I’d send along a recording and Edwin would visualise it. Tease out the ID.

I had just spent five years writing The DREGS Trilogy (which is a sprawling multi-stranded cosmic horror novel) and I felt artistically and spiritually exhausted by the process - and disheartened by the subsequent lack of attention the book earned. The amount of time spent thrashing out a layered novel felt disproportionate to the interest garnered. I’ve always written for the sake of writing because I was compelled to do it and I appreciate craft in any form, but I couldn’t deny that something shifted. Please understand that the novel isn’t dead to me, but it’s perhaps in need of a tune-up somehow. If it’s to grow.

Marcus du Sautoy argues that technology will allow new and important transformations to occur within books and we are in the embryonic stages of this metamorphosis – I suppose this is my attempt to bring his theory into practice. And, by the way, I’ve been through the various anticipatory stages of the grieving process already. I’ve felt the initial shock and denial we all experienced when kindle came along; the anger and bargaining stage; depression. But now it’s time for the upward turn. Reconstruction and working through the new world. ‘Influence’ is part of my acceptance and hope phase. We’ve mourned long enough and now it’s time to do something about it. 


Dennis Cooper does some really interesting things with GIF novels and I suppose ‘Influence’ is trying to capture something similar. A marriage of creative mediums to form a new incarnation of the novel. While the video-pieces themselves seem somewhat disparate, there is a common narrative thread throughout, and not a particularly oblique or abstract one. Simply put - ‘Influence’ deals with all major forms of power: from the structured systemic exploitation of the government, to the individual corruption of the soul. The project could have just as easily been called ‘Exploitation’. Dennis talks about composing his GIF novel, ‘Zak’s Haunted House’, according to the same principles, planning and structuring of a traditional novel. There is still skill involved, and a lot of the same skills we’re used to as writers. So, Dennis presents the viewer/reader with stacked columns of images, a mood board that flashes and glitches. It’s sensory in a way that traditional literature could never dream of being. And he’s actually having fun with the novel (now who thought that was possible?). Earlier I talked about The DREGS Trilogy and the exhaustion that caused me - the truth is that I wouldn’t have minded the lack of critical attention had the novels composition been a remotely enjoyable process. 

Also, what stories are there left to tell? There’s something to be said for Tumblr and net art. This ‘Dark Night of the Internet’s Soul’ is our new story written in HTML-code. If the internet and technology has killed the novel, or played a part in it’s demise, then it owes it to the art form to advance it somehow – and we owe the internet a place in the bookshelf of intellectual  storytelling. We are in shadow times and one thing we can do is utilise this predatory technology as a collaborator. I admit it’s sort of sad to concede defeat like this, but if you can’t beat them then maybe you should join them. In this instance anyway. You need to grow. To develop. Even as I write this I’m aware it’s nothing ground-breaking – Duchamp’s spinning roto-reliefs were creating hypnotic retinal illusions long before the contemporary transgressive came along. 

‘Influence’ is a kind of bootleg item. There won’t be many copies made but will feature an album comprising all the spoken-word pieces, a chapbook of poetry, and a set of Philip LoPresti’s B&W photography. It’ll be a lovely item.


Chris Kelso is a multi-translated British Fantasy Award-nominated writer, editor, and illustrator from Scotland. His work has appeared in Evergreen Review, The Scottish Poetry Library, Sensitive Skin, Locus, Dennis Cooper's blog, Black Static, 3AM, and many more. 




By David Hackbridge Johnson ©2020


Visit David's blog here: 


Two Ragged Lions at once.  The months telescope and April and May arrive in one envelope.  Reading them one after the other gives a distinct pleasure of continuities – albeit in work that often emphasises the disjunct, the conflicted, even the liminal hovering over the abyss.  The editor, E.A.D. Sellors has not burdened the journal with lengthy justifications in the form of an editorial; neither has he offered biographies of the writers.  This saves me the trouble of having to regurgitate such information as can be found elsewhere – on the web for example – something I haven’t done yet as I wanted to plunge into the work.  Some poets are better known to me than not at all.  Hence, for this reader, the freshness of discovery.  The works published are all of merit – if I talk about some and not others it is simply that some pieces struck a few sparks off me.  Others are works in progress for me as a reader and require a groping towards response.  Both issues (which are #2 and #3 of the Ragged Lion Journal) contain poems, short stories, prose-poems and valuable pieces of criticism.


If I take (from RLJ #2) – Scott Wannberg (an arch re-telling of the Hamlet story), S. A. Griffin (many image-yokings in a nod to, perhaps, Breton and Ashbery in equal measure), John Dorsey (two poems of apparently simple nostalgia that belie a fear of imminent disappearance), A. D. Winans (a superb gangster poem), Neeli Cherlovski (a tragedy of compressed lives),  – as a group exhibiting a quasi-Beat flavour I hope this doesn’t do too much damage to their individual voices.  There is an admixture of the New York School; something of O’Hara’s ‘Personism’ – a willingness to let ‘everything’ into the poem even if that is not what we get.  There is a laconic stance that appeals by means of demotic syntax; a rolling-barrage of imagery (especially in Griffin) that gives the impression that the words are searching for the form they will take.  Thus, work that cannot be second guessed.  So my assumption is that these are American writers – but I haven’t found time to check.  Perhaps they hail from Oxford.  Or Tooting.


Perhaps Erika Krouse fits in this group too – but I rather see her work as a condensed and fragmented family saga; a family hampered by generational distance, disappointment – a miniaturised evocation of dissolution in relationships as we find writ large in Jayne Ann Phillips’ Machine Dreams, or in John Williams’ Stoner.  Krouse provides not a panoramic view but one of snapshots – or vignettes, each one sutured to the next by the linkage of word chains that meld the 14 sections together – a ‘prose sonnet’ form as she calls it.  Most moving is the scene where the mother, too whom the daughter can’t really give love to and vice versa, has had her luggage ransacked at the airport; we observe her sitting beside the empty suitcase: ‘She cried, not loud, but thoroughly.  Nothing to give.’  A hollow space opens up here – one of hopelessness and defeat. 


Bill Meissner’s short story Balancing: Karl Wallenda’s Watch is alarmingly vertiginous.  A relationship is in the balance due to the fact that two lovers can’t tell each other the things that really matter – and these tender refusals are played out against the backdrop (I shouldn’t have used ‘drop’) of the death of Karl Wallenda, the dynastic head of the high-wire act The Flying Wallendas.  The conclusion unites both fear and dependency in an image of falling: ‘They balance there together, as if it will always be this way between them: catching each other, then falling, then catching each other again.’


Derek Adams gives us a résumé of work by Pascale Petit and Matthew Sweeney.  I just note that Sweeney has a high-wire poem called The Wobble (see the Wallendas, above – yes, hopefully they always remain above….), and that another of his poems,  Reading, has a man in court explaining why he was reading in his car on the M1, but that it was poetry and ‘….they’re mostly short.  You can look up/between them….’.  I’ll chip in here with the thought that the arraigned driver must have been reading Ed Dorn who wrote poetry at the steering wheel of his car in short bursts.  Adams informs us, among much else, that a poem of Petit’s features a mask of fire ants.  This striking image makes me very much want to read her work, which I do not know.


Tom Bland is in both RLJ #2 and #3, so he is the link poet if you will.  When a young boy gets run over in a poem (not a frequent happening) I immediately have in mind the image of the road death in Robert Altman’s movie based on Raymond Carver’s tales and poems, Short Cuts – ‘Casey didn’t make it this time….’.  In Bland’s The pottery eyes, the death is not a pointless tragedy but a willed thanatos of celebrity-inspired suicide.  A Lana Del Ray lyric appears emblazoned on a bakery lorry and the obsessed boy hurls himself under the wheels – his dream fulfilled.  This is a Ballardian gesture – a pedestrianised version of Crash.  The leap into metal, glass and plastic.  An erotics of collision – Del Rey’s creamy baritonal lament as soundtrack, the roaring vehicle mistaken for her glossy image.  More of a homage to than derivative of Ballard, the poem treats the incident as, incidental to buying a fridge.  The fridge is nevertheless a ‘work of art’, made so by its associations with the ultimate creative act – that of creative expungement by suicide.  The poem allows in other fetishized behaviours including necrophilia and incest.  Even the lover in a sexual interlude is playing dead it seems.  A poem both funny and alarming; The pottery eyes tells us much of obsession and realised fantasy, and the pay-off of potential destruction.


RLJ #3 has such themes of violence, to others and to self, at its heart – one may say that the central work here is R. J. Dent’s fine translation of the 2nd Canto from Count de Lautréamont’s Les Chants de Maldoror – the canto featuring the appalling ship wreck culminating in the copulation of Maldoror and a shark.  #3 might be subtitled ‘Under the Sign of Lautréamont’.  The Count, that proto-Decadent, can be felt in the work of Jeremy Reed (who wrote the splendid Isidore – his novelisation of Lautréamont’s life), in the work of Audrey Szasz, and in that of Lana Durjava, whose Francis Bacon: A Corrosive Kind of Love, describes an abusive relationship predicated on some form of violence in order to release sexual and spiritual energy – the type of relationship that occurs in Maldoror in the heightened form of the lurid-baroque.  To find Trakl, Daumal and Stanislas de Guaita – all expanders of consciousness by any means available, although usually in a jar, brings further voices to the Maldororian chorus.  That de Guaita is mentioned at all (in Durjava’s other piece) is a sign of what I hope is a resurgence of interest in this figure, whose works I can boast of having read at least in part, and to whose flat in Paris I have made pilgrimage.  These authors form an occult congeries worthy of Edmond Bailly’s bookshop in rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin! – (now an Apple Store….).  


Bland’s boy suicide feeds a theme deeply adumbrated in Durjava’s essay Self-Destruction in Art and Life.  We are given a list of the six famous suicides of the Dada/Surrealist groupings and the intellectual journeys that led them there.  She also explores the idea of disease as a gift, illness as the ‘intention in life’ – her quotation from Svevo.  I was put in mind here of H. P. Lovecraft’s almost disembodied descriptions of his own decay during terminal illness – the observing body outside the dying body.  Durjava’s approach to such taboos is unflinching.  


Disembodied violence finds apocalyptic expression in Paul Curran’s dystopian poem Generation Bloodbath.  The world of the ‘we’ is under constant assault by poisoning, torture, firebombing and dubious therapeutics.  A sequence of regimes – ‘old’, ‘neo’, ‘new’ – come and go, are often strangely absent, their traces left in weird products that are tools of repression masquerading as benefit.  Then, they ‘retreated for the weekend’, they ‘vanished from our screens’ – as if once set in motion the grinding down of the populace can be managed by remote access.  Their acts of repression are trade-marked and copyrighted: ‘Atrocity®’, ‘Pseudo-Regime™’, ‘SnuffCorpus©’ – as if even murder is a commodity.  Any nods to the Orwellian must be gratefully acknowledged as the message is still pertinent.


To return to Bland – his exhilarating style already recognisable from just two poems.  The mixture of the philosophical and the popular strikes home again; this time it’s Slavoj Žižek and Kate Winslet.  Why I Didn’t Fuck Zizek ends in a drag competition where the poet lets everything hang out – and I mean everything.  The violence is more comedic than in Curran but the sketch-like scenes encapsulate thoughts of extreme violence nevertheless – even if they are things thought and not acted out.  The death-drive that overshadows much of RLJ#3 is still there.  I might mention an affinity between Tom Bland and the work a young poet Caspar Heinemann where a similar deeply serious yet very funny aesthetic is on display.  The ease with which such poetry teases the notion of the post-modern might be enough to label them ‘post-post-modern’.  Theory is not disbarred but left in play at the mercy of rapier wits.


Two poets to end this brief survey.  Jeremy Reed needs no introduction to lovers of counterculture.  He is, among much else, Soho’s poet-laureate.  The sights, smells, colours, and above all, the people of the West End are everywhere in Reed’s work.  He is a flâneur of the old, yet new school – the streets he wanders through, the bars he writes in are changing every day; he himself changes with the volatility of the environment.  But his sensual eye always prepares a sting for the unwary – like much of the work here, he is unflinching in his revelations.  In Crack we see a life crushed by addiction – even the syntax is crushed: ‘I catch one phrase in three’.  Reed makes this person real and yet he knows that the life is on a knife edge – ‘until without warning you terminate’.  In The Devil in Red Velvet, Reed glories in the luxurious colours and textures of Liberty fabrics – a feast of colour words on show like a swatch of vivid flashes that catch the poet’s eye.  But an ‘ammonia smell’ instils fear and there is ‘a hammered red’ figure that is ‘dislodged from the dark’.  As if the flâneur has met his malicious doppelgänger.  The glamour-syntax of Reed can be found in the poems of Audrey Szasz.  There is the same fascination with dressed and adorned figures – a specificity by ‘sequins’, ‘lashes’, ‘zippers’, ‘sables’ and ‘minks’ – these words can be descriptive or used as similes; indeed such is the visual vividness that it hardly matters.  Szasz’s work appeared in RLJ #1 and by now, like Bland’s, it is instantly recognisable.  Whereas Reed is often celebratory or elegiac, Szasz plays on more grand guignol tropes – there is violence in the colourings and feel of clothes – as if threat is latent.  Anger comes through, cutting but not severing the curiously delicate way in which the verse in structured.  The knife is poised, but as in Ballard (again) the prosody is poised too, in a different way.  The knife is finally wielded in New Mutations – here a grim murder which cannot be random since it must be staged: ‘the victim’s precision-crafted smile’ – the technique in this line is lethal!                   

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Poetopography. April 22, 2020.

'Ragged Lion Journal // Number One is a new literary journal edited and printed by the indefatigable e.a.d. sellors.

One must resist the assumption that it’s already a collector’s item to be filed away on a shelf of literary valuables. One must take it one’s paws and peruse.

The opening article sees the brilliant countercultural poet Jeremy Reed returning to his intellectual roots, writing  in perceptive and engaging prose – as he has done in poems – about the suicide of Hart Crane. An American backstory and Mexican backdrop are provided, and then we’re with Hart on his final ill-fated voyage on the SS Orizaba. Reed has a deep fascination with the lives of poets, one which I understand and share. The great stories are arias he sings, as vividly as this.


The next contribution is from no less a practitioner than Jerome Rothenberg, two poems entitled ‘Two Codas From The President of Desolation’. Here is a poet not playing it for laughs but sincerely lamenting the current situation in the US, this coming after his recent Dantesque sequence Inferno, and sharing the same urgent disquietude of tone. Necessary stuff, a relief to read.

That renaissance man of Warhol’s Factory fame, Gerard Malanga, is featured as poet tenderly eulogising Lee Harwood in what is a finely crafted quasi-letter to his deceased friend. A more upbeat companion-piece snapshots Lawrence of Arabia as writer-adventurer losing a mss. in a hansom cab in London. The ‘Cape’ here is cleverly deployed because the reader naturally thinks of it first as some exotic piece of geography that the great T.E. has conquered, and only secondly as the publishing house where he was supposed to be delivering his memoir. It’s an uplifting comic parable.

Steve Finbow’s contribution is a highly philosophical poem, The Meaning of 32 Wordswhich is beautifully laid out in prose stanzas, mostly quatrains and quintets.

Derek Adams’ poetry seems to be on the trail of Surrealists in Egypt, with Lee Miller, Roland Penrose, Francis Picabia and Yves Tanguy namechecked in its lyrical tercets.

D.R. Wagner also contributes two poems, intimate, observant, meditative lyrics set in a cosmic natural realm.

The precocious Audrey Szasz here offers a sequence of prose vignettes, ‘Paracosmic Immersion and Temporal Distortion’. The effect is hilarious. Ballardian satire but oh so faux-innocently feminised. Skilful use of the en dash allows for a poetic build-up of bizarre detail: ‘she’s so fragile – like a president’s ego’.

My own two poems ‘isms 2’ and ‘isms 3’ are from a sequence ‘In the Realm of the Isms’ . (‘isms 1’ is published in The Idler 71 March-April 2020 issue.)

Greek poet Yannis Lividas has two moving lyrics from 2007, ‘Kelifus’ and ‘Husk #19’.

Louise Landes Levi broadens the scope of the journal with a versified introduction to legendary poet-painter Henri Michaux – whom Levi knew personally as ‘A modest man, a tender man & a friend’. Then she translates three of his poems, two verse, one prose.

The final written contribution is Stephen Barber’s timely heavyweight essay on – and for me introduction to – the French writer Pierre Guyotat, author of Eden, Eden, Eden who died on February 7 2020.

There are also a series of fine etchings of strange scenes from avian life, ‘Pecking Order’ by Kim Tong and a drawing ‘Foetus in Utero’ by Alexandra Unger.

e.a.d. sellors is an aficionado of independent and alternative publishing techniques and is putting his skills to use by embarking on a new regular journal which will come out with alarming frequency. Number Two is already out and Number Three is almost ready. It is possible the first three issues will have been released in April MMXX.


What I find great about issue one is that it is so readable. This certainly owes much to the superb layouts/fonts/columns etc. and is also helped by the culturally nutritious but unacademic contents.

Please help this amazing project by a getting copy of the magazine:

You can even buy a twelve issue subscription:

Niall McDevitt'

The Allen Ginsberg Project. April, 2020.

The Allen Ginsberg Project. March 20, 2020.

More energies from England – Keep your eyes on Edwin Sellors’ Ragged Lion Press. We’ve featured them before – here.  But somehow we missed this:


not to mention, this and this –  (plenty more interesting items up – and soon to be up – on their on-going You Tube Channel)

Here‘s Ted Berrigan reading in New York City in 1968

Here‘s Jerome Rothenberg reading in Buffalo in 1969

Here’Allen DeLoach, (source of a good number of the archive wonders)

And not only video and audio – books, plenty of books – Here’s William Burroughs in Buffalo from the upcoming gathering Headshots –  A Selection of Original Photographic Portraiture of Prominent American Writers by Allen De Loach (other featured writers include Allen, Lawrence FerlinghettiMichael McClureRobert Creeley..)

Ragged Lion Press home-page is here

International Times. February, 2020.

Robin Tomens Blog. February 27, 2020.

errorism - a journal of re-appropriation (Ragged Lion Press)


When Edwin Sellors, publisher of Ragged Lion Press, first posted photos of Errorism I thought it was a massive box and wildly ambitious. Turns out it's only 22 x 15.5cm and 2cm deep BUT it's still a hugely ambitious collection of collages, poetry and prints by various artists and poets; stapled, pasted and bagged up by hand. Something about the miniature focuses one's attention. Unlike small images on a smart phone, though, the wonder of paper products is that they cannot be scrolled past in a flash. Well, you don't need me to tell you the joys of paper/card products. This certainly is not a matter of quantity over quality because the level of creativity on display is extremely high. If you think the asking price of £35 is a little high too, trust me, you won't feel short changed. You'll open the box and marvel at the contents, just as I did. It's available here. There are limited copies available so don't miss out!

The Allen Ginsberg Project. March 26, 2017.


The Allen Ginsberg Project. May 4th, 2016:



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