Poetry in 3D – S Reeson Pamphlet Review

We are a bit dinosaury sometimes, we poets. We like things like reading from paper. Laying on a bit of warm wine and saying words to a “poetry crowd” of 8 people in the back room of a bookshop. I mean, these are good things (well except for the warm wine). BUT.

It’s 2022, and we have a whole bunch of tools at our disposal. In this respect (and others I’ll come on to), I’m in awe of S Reeson. Her pamphlet Flammable Solid, just released by Flight of the Dragonfly Press, is an interactive experience. Firstly, you get to make your own pamphlet using the sticker set provided. (Mine now has a blurb from Kim Moore on the front and one from Damien Donnelly on the back, making a perfect poetry sandwich). Secondly, you can watch the live launch on the Internet of Words website which is an audiovisual feast INCLUDING SOUND EFFECTS (and me, yes I’m in it I’m afraid). Lastly, the pamphlet comes with a QR code allowing you to access extra notes and thoughts tied to each poem. This is a genius idea, and why isn’t everyone doing it?? I love gaining insight into a poet’s thoughts. It gives the poems SO MUCH MORE.

 

 

Anyway, you think all that is why I called this post Poetry in 3D? It’s not. The title is about the poetry, which when all is said and done is the most important thing. These poems leap off the page in streams of consciousness which take you straight into the poet’s mind. And wow, it’s not always linear in there, thank God.

Allow me to pick some examples.

“Between Mr Einstein and Cake” swings between the massive, the quantum, the personal and… cake.

Obsession’s uncanny masking plus ability to consume wedges of sponge towers without whom history would be stark hollow dark facsimile…”

“Above Below” encompasses the whole of time whilst telling us it is inadequate to do so:

Poetry again fails to encompass everything that sits / enduring / long after chattering ape girl’s been and gone.”

“Sunday 9.15am” expresses the internal turmoil even a simple lie in can generate:

How can I be simultaneously everywhere, and here, where nothing always seems a waste?”

And there is more of this, far more. Personal experience, social injustice, family, BLACK HOLES… these are poems that demand to be read and re-read. And they will give you more each time. And talking of “More”… the final poem (called “More”) about the joy of writing is wonderful, but I’m not including any spoilers on that one.

So… watch the launch. Enjoy your sticker project. Delve into the sister website. But above all, read the poems. Read them. But don’t blame me if you fall right in.

https://flightofthedragonfly.com/shop/

“Split, Twist, Apocalypse” is available to order!

I’m so excited to announce that that my debut collection “Split, Twist, Apocalypse” is now available to order! Yesterday I “had a moment” when I signed the first copies (with my special signing pen), took them to the post office and sent them out into the world. It’s such a busy time in my life at the moment, I have to make sure I take these moments in!

My current challenge is answering the question “so what’s it about”? A very hard question to answer when it comes to poetry, and I tend to blether, “Oh, life, magic, gods, science, stuff…”! I think I’ll just photocopy the eloquent blurb that Ronnie at my publisher Indigo Dreams wrote onto slips of paper and hand them out. Take a look at the blurb below to let Ronnie tell you all about it!

Split, Twist, Apocalypse Cover

Anyway, if that blurb (and not my blethering) grabs you, and you would like to see some sample poems and/or order a signed copy, visit the “My Books” page on this website! (And if you can’t do PayPal for any reason, email me, and I’ll send you my bank details.)

Cover Reveal!

I’m absolutely flippin delighted to announce that my debut collection “Split, Twist, Apocalypse” published by Indigo Dreams will be OUT OUT OUT on July 18th! Details of how to order will follow shortly, but in the mean time – here is my GORGEOUS cover!

Stephanie

Stephanie

I blew it, said Stephanie,
picking Weetabix clods from her hair
in the light of the burning bureau
as the cat smoked.

I should have listened, she said,
as the threads of her lawn unknitted
and the house found a new equilibrium
behind Tesco.

Of all the people, she said,
to be trusted with this decision!
The crust shrugged and heaved.
Magma rose.

 

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I Just Don’t Like Walt Whitman Much


I Just Don’t Like Walt Whitman Much

I just don’t like Walt Whitman much.
I’ve said it now. Such heresy!
I mean, his stuff’s not bad as such,
but wordy Walt is not for me.

He penned some killer lines but still,
I don’t enjoy Walt Whitman much.
Just say, it Walt, then stop! Don’t fill
three pages up with double Dutch!

Americans! Condemn me! Clutch
your hearts and seize my boorish pen.
She doesn’t like Walt Whitman much?
What kind of poet IS she then?”

My cousins, you may seethe and tut,
but face it. He goes on a touch.
Perhaps I’m way too British but…
I just don’t like Walt Whitman much.

 

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If laundry be the food of love

If laundry be the food of love

Because it never ends…

If laundry be the food of love

If laundry be the food of love
then my love’s food is abundant,
crammed into its glutted mouth
with potions grim and pungent.

If laundry be the food of love
then I am served with plenty.
May ketchup pour on shirts galore
so my platter’s never empty.

 

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Photo by Nik MacMillan on Unsplash