Books From The Pantry: Ghosting for Beginners by Anna Saunders: reviewed by Claire Faulkner

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Ghosting for Beginners by Anna Saunders is a wonderful collection of poems centred around the themes of haunting and loss. The poems expertly weave in and out of each other using characteristics of mystery, folklore and tradition. It left me with an overall sense of ancient fairy tales and contemporary ghost stories. A concept which worked incredibly well as a collection.

Saunders is haunted by many things. Grief, politics, environmental issues, humanity and religion all feature throughout this collection. She writes with strength and clarity, in a style I find extremely effective.

In ‘A Murmuration is Seen Above the City’ instead of starlings, Saunders invites us to see the ghosts or souls of Cabinet Ministers. Describing them as:

Black spots, iron filings, broken particles..

and a

fluid mass with one mind

Circling in the sky Saunders tell us that they are:

wishing that in life
they had acted differently
but airborne, and dead, it is too late.

We look up from Food Banks
to watch the sky teem

The poem finishes with a reminder that the Cabinet Ministers are “fat from stolen fruit”, but the reader is left watching:

…them wheel and turn,
our bones almost through our skin

Powerful words indeed.

There are some beautiful lines and poems in this collection. One of these, focusing on memory, is ‘Ghost Horses’. It starts with:

Do not think that after death
the Mind dismounts.

Do not think that once the race is run
the Mind puts down the reins

I’ll admit that this poem stayed with me for a long time after I’d first read it.

I loved the idea of humanity and missed recognition which appears in the ‘The Prophet is Mistaken for a Fare dodging Hipster on the London Overground’, and the humour of a confused angel over wind chimes and scented candles in ‘The Angel of Revelation visits a New Age Centre.’

Dressed only in a cloud, he can bear the temperature
of the central heating turned up high,
but the scented candles are noxious
with their chemical rendering of Heaven

As you read further into the collection, the poems seem a little darker and a lot more personal. Saunders’ Father is mentioned throughout, and her grief is evident in ‘The Ghost Room’ and ‘The Ventriloquist Dolls of the Dead’.

I enjoyed reading this collection, and I’m sure it’s one I will return too and look at again. I found the concept original and creative, the poems individual and thought provoking. The collection is available from Indigo Dreams Publishing.

Anna’s Website

Twitter

Poetry Drawer: Merrie City by Laura Potts

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Here in the home of smoke and smog, my hometown grey,
heirloom of mines, the steam and the fog, where evening plays
on the moorland spine to colliers’ paces
and the northern wind that weathered their faces

still gnarls in the teeth of the two a.m. frost;
here where tomorrow is always lost
in the death of the streetlamps hung in their hats,
their spluttering, fizzling, last-rite laughs

like the dark psalms stammered in the vestry’s dusk;
here where communion no longer tolls, where cathedral musk
is a godless ghost beneath ten dead bells,
and the cold throat belfry is an old-shack-shell

for the alleyway hobo in his passing breath,
and his cat which brims on the edge of death;
here where the fieldlamp’s first candled flame
is its last, and the quarry’s trace, a stain

over skin, casts the shadow of a grieving face,
(the memento mori of this town), this dead grey place
where the factory black is the cradle we sing to,
the sack where we sleep is the home that we cling to,

only here come here to the city’s dark heart,
only here come here to the tubes in its arms,
the industrial crack, these towers of ash,
where we think of the poverty coffins we’ll have.

Poetry Drawer: Love in the Time of Cold by Laura Potts

The Poetry Society’s Young Poets Network

Poetry Drawer: Allowance by Kevin Casey

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Grow what your garden will allow, my mémère
used to say, but another summer’s gone
and the chartreuse faces of tomatoes,

plump and unripe, line the kitchen windowsill,
frowning outside at the season’s first frost
like sulking children kept in from the cold.

August found the corn grown to half the size
of a chiding finger before the raccoons
came again for their yearly moonlight feast,

threading their way through naked stakes
to leave stalks splayed across the rows like the spokes
of a broken wheel revealed once the sun rose.

Soil sweetened, hoop houses and fences built,
I’ve grow weary of arguing with this plot,
of sowing far more than I’ve harvested.

And as I stand among the weeds grasping
scant handfuls of leeks and bitter greens,
I see her–Grow what your garden will allow–

the bottom corners of her plain-sewn apron
raised to hold more than her portion of what
the long decades were willing to provide.

Inky Interview Special: Kevin Casey

Poetry Drawer: Quotidian by Kevin Casey

Poetry Drawer: Dinner at the Kitchen Island by Kevin Casey

Books From The Pantry: Did You Put the Weasels Out? by Niall Bourke: reviewed by Giles Turnbull

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Niall Bourke’s poetry novel Did You Put The Weasels Out? was a hard one to review … because there were so many lines that I wanted to quote that I nearly ended up quoting the whole darn thing! I confess that I love novels in verse. The first poetry I ever owned was a copy of Sir Walter Scott’s verse novel The Lord of the Isles which I bought aged 8 from a school jumble sale for the princely sum of 2p — its poetic images captured my imagination.

Available from Eyewear Publishing, Did You Put The Weasels Out? is Niall Bourke’s début poetry collection and it is a novel in verse. Even the numerous footnotes are in verse. It is an impressive undertaking and is written with aplomb.

it is worth getting the following out in the open:
his oaty breakfast resolve has broken.
That is: he usually eats porridge but, and without warning,
has decided to have toast this morning…
…But there is no bread!

The protagonist of the poem is Mark.

I chose my words, whetting them
so they came out edged. I chose them
so they slotted out flat and cornered,
like the tray under the toaster that collects the crumbs,
And I delivered them
in between your fourth and fifth ribs
like I was sliding in that rusty fucking crumb-tray
to collect the little croutons of your heart.

This is a story infected by science:

(Seconds dictated by the rate
Caesium atoms dissipate )
[…]
Elsewhere in the cosmos, perhaps,
Electron death is not so sure;
Jobs and work-days would collapse,
9 to 5’s could not endure,
Dependent on what weird speedings
Atoms release their quantum seedlings.
Death to Chronos, whose scything hands
Control our lives!’ Mark demands.
But, on arriving late for working,
He sees that here on earth the clock
Still roars a tyrannical TOCK
And mechanic tick, as, irking,
Red of face and unimpressed,
His boss stands waiting, by his desk.

Sometimes the difficulty with end of line rhyming is that the words can seem a little contrived in order to create the rhyme. Here at the start of section VIII of Part The First is one that I felt a little forced:

‘Why did you leave old Dublin city?
Was it to choke on swallowed bile,
And wallow in your own self-pity,
You left behind the Emerald Isle?’

But just 5 lines later we get this fantastic slant rhyme

He works hard, earns good wages
Has good friends and pays his tax

If you read that on the page it can be easy to miss the subtle rhyme between ‘wages’ and ‘pays his’ which is why this story deserves your time to absorb the full flavour by hearing the words as you read them.

It’s very Dylan Thomasesque in the characters and tales, evoking Under Milk Wood. This section, which first introduces the title of this book, being a perfect case in point:

the lad with the ferret on the sparkly lead who always
buys four Carling and a six-pack of rashers,
that degenerate Toes who drank himself legless the night
he fell asleep in his own bonfire and the shins only burnt
claane offa him, his total spunksprout of a father who
turfed Toes out on the street after the sixth time he’d
pissed the stairs while trying to crawl to the jacks, your
wan who lived only on cider and porridge for a whole
year and contracted the first case of scurvy since 1837, that
chap with the wife who looks a bit like a curtain, the poor
auld Sniper’s Nightmare who got polio when he was little
and now zig-zags up the street, that quarehawk who sits
on the wicker chair in the sweet shop muttering did you put
the weasels out?

Maybe not so politically correct these days to describe a man who had polio as a child as a sniper’s nightmare, but in the same vein as Thomas’s Evans the Death (the village undertaker), Organ Morgan (the church organist), Mrs. Organ Morgan (his wife), Ocky Milkman and Butcher Beynon.

I found a section about a ‘symphony that has been written by a foot / when its sock has fallen down below its heel’ and performed by household appliances — an open beeping fridge, microwave, ‘the dishwasher pipes up with its falsetto’ with a tumble dryer completing the quartet — as fascinating as Hungarian composer György Ligeti’s Poème Symphonique for 100 metronomes; sometimes it’s the new perspective on everyday domestic scenes that can make you see things differently.

If we pan up along the stairs
We can now watch them, unawares,
Snuggling down under cotton seams.
Around the house, cooling lightbulbs clink
As outside orange streetlights wink
Against the night. Jen turns in her dreams.
‘Did you put the weasels out?’
‘I did,’ says Mark, ‘without a doubt.’

There is a continual sense of humour bubbling through the story, such as when the character Lushy pops into a bar for a pint

‘Ah, sure, one’ll be grand.’ And sure, just one
woulda been grand. Maybe even a couple
But it was the twelve that got him buckled.
[…]
but enough sense
still to realise that vengeful recompense
would surely be paid if he dared return
to Bernie empty-handed and so, taciturn
with woe, but not ready to admit
defeat (meaning her going pure ape-shit)
he concocted an ingenious plan of attack:
a large sausage supper from Wonder Macs

which all goes wrong after he stops to take a drunken piss, placing the chips on the ground whilst he does.

that some quick relief
would help him avoid the aperitifs
of Bernie’s anger as then he could billow
in, leaving the supper on her pillow
as a deft anniversary surprise,
before sneaking down and inside
the sheets like he’d never been out on the tear.
[…]
But wasn’t Lushy forgetting something?
Sure he lived on a hill. And pumping
down the slope was a yellow and steaming
river of piss, one that was now streaming
all over the chips. And what was worse?
Hadn’t the mangled strains of his cursed
singing only woken up Bernie, now leaning
out the doorway in the nightgown, her keening
eyes like murderous floodlights, as she watched
the sorry excuse for a poorly botched
shambles that was unfolding before her.
But Lush was not one to be deterred.
Over he staggered, picked up the chips
and offered them out to Bernie – the thick
trickles of warmth running over his cursory
gift.
‘Shere,’ said he, ‘Shappyshannyvershary.’

This story in verse is totally engaging, very refreshing and an absolute delight to read.

Niall’s website

Twitter

Inky Interview Exclusive: Matt Abbott from Nymphs and Thugs: with Claire Faulkner

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For people not familiar with the label, how would you describe it?

At the very base of things, we’re a spoken word record label that produces albums and associated merchandise; which has so far included t-shirts, zines, tote bags, prints and pin badges. However, we much prefer to only release one or two albums per year, and to work closely with our artists on an ongoing basis – helping them to promote their work, producing videos, producing events and tours, etc.

We also look to promote and support the spoken word scene in general. Our Twitter  account acts as a spoken word news feed – every day we’re sharing UK spoken word events as well as global spoken word articles and content. If we can act as a gateway for people becoming committed poetry fans, or if we can introduce existing fans to new poets, events etc. then we’ll have done our job. We’re passionate about the growth of spoken word as an anti-establishment and grassroots movement, and we want to champion renegade and dynamic poets. Our Instagram account is also like an ongoing “online open mic”, and we welcome submissions of poetry excerpts, which we feature on our feed.

Since late 2016, we’ve been running ‘LIVEwire’ events. This has so far extended to a quarterly night in Leeds, as well as regular festival slots and fairly regular events in London. These events predominantly promote female poets as well as poets of colour and poets from the LGBTQ+ community. Overall, we’re about accessible and engaging poetry which might be seen as “alternative” by the run-of-the-mill poetry elite.

How did it start?

I used to front a musical act called Skint & Demoralised, and from 2011-2013 we were signed to an indie label called Heist Or Hit Records. I asked them if they’d be up for releasing a spoken word album of mine to support a short run at Edinburgh Fringe in 2015, and from the initial meeting, we agreed that I’d create a new spoken word record label as an imprint on Heist Or Hit. I sat on it for a couple of months, until I saw a Facebook post from Louise Fazackerley, stating that she had two recorded albums and didn’t know what to do with them. After a quick phone call, Nymphs & Thugs was properly born.

When you’re working with a performer, how do you decide which poems will be recorded?

In general I like to leave it entirely to the performer, because it’s their work and I know how important it is to have creative control. Usually we’ll discuss the general approach – so for example it might be entirely new material, or a mixture, or a combination of live and studio recordings. So I’ll help them to steer it in the right direction and seal an “identity” for the release. But when it comes to the finer details, unless they ask me for my opinion, I like to leave them to it.

What sort of feedback have you had?

Most people are generally amazed that a spoken word record label actually exists! There’s nobody doing what we do on the UK scene and maybe not even elsewhere. I think the fact that we clearly put so much time and effort to promote what other people are doing and support the scene overall is recognised and respected by people, and because we only have a small number of releases and we take time on them, I like to think that they look strong and have more of an impact.

The release of  Salena Godden‘s ‘LIVEwire’ certainly increased our reputation; initially due to the fact that Salena is an iconic figure on the spoken word scene, and then also because it was shortlisted for The Poetry Society’s prestigious Ted Hughes Award. I’ve always been very humbled by praise that we’ve received by poets who I greatly admire, and I like to think that we have our own little corner on the UK scene at least. We’re small and we’re pretty limited, but we’re DIY and we really care, and I think people respond well to that.

Are the artists pleased with the results?

I hope so! I know how incredible it feels to hold something physical in your hand that has your poetry on it, and I hope that all of the artists feel the same. As well as the physical releases, it’s just as much about the continued support when it comes to promotion and events as well – I’d hate to just produce physical merchandise and then leave the artists to sell it on their own. We have an ongoing relationship, and I hope that they enjoy being on the label as much as I enjoy having them.

Who are the artists on the label?

I mentioned Louise Fazackerley earlier. She’s an incredible writer and performer from Wigan, and her ‘Love Is A Battlefield’ album was the result of a New Voices commission through BBC Radio 3’s The Verb. I’d seen Louise perform before forming N&T and was blown away by her, so when the opportunity came to effectively launch N&T with Louise’s releases, I was over the moon.

I’d been friends with Toria Garbutt for a year or so before forming the label, and always knew that we’d work on something at some stage. Shortly after we released ‘Hot Plastic Moon’, Toria was invited to support her poetry idol Dr John Cooper Clarke on tour – which she’s still doing – so it’s been a fantastic journey so far. Toria is such a rare voice on the UK scene and a breathtaking performer, and the more people that discover her work, the better.

After being on a bill with Salena Godden in December 2015, I knew that I really wanted to work with her. I’ve always been in awe of Salena – it’s no mistake that she was described as a “tour de force” by Lemm Sissay – and to be honest I felt nervous about approaching her to do an album with N&T. But as soon as we met to discuss it (in a pub in Camden), we knew that it was going to work. ‘LIVEwire’ took the label from regional recognition in the North to national and even to some extent international recognition.

Earlier this year, we co-released an album from Kevin P. Gilday & The Glasgow Cross. I’d admired Kevin for a while, so when he approached me about the album, it was a no-brainer. One of the things that I want to do with N&T is bridge geographical divides, and whilst London/the North is obvious, there’s also a significant divide between the thriving Edinburgh/Glasgow scenes and England. So I’m thrilled to be working with one of my favourite Glaswegian poets, and on an album which doesn’t sound like anything else on the label.

I have also released my own material through N&T, and like to think that I bring something to the table from an outsider’s perspective, but I can’t really speak about myself in that sense…!

One reason I love to attend spoken word events, is that I enjoy seeing and hearing poets perform their own work. I like hearing accents in poetry. Do you think its important to record pieces of work which were primarily written to be performed instead of printing them?

I don’t necessarily want to add fuel to the “page versus stage” fire, because I think that creating a polarised divide between the two is really counter-productive. But I certainly know that I was listening to poets (as well as lyricists) for many years before I’d started reading poetry, and even now I’m much more likely to buy someone’s book once I’ve heard or seen them perform. The way I see it is, an audio release will never compete with a book or be seen as a replacement; I just want it to be an option, and I think there’s a gap in the market. Too many YouTube videos are poor quality (i.e. recorded on a phone at a gig), and uploads don’t necessarily represent an artist’s best work (they’re often years old), so by producing a high-quality audio release, you’re directing people to an aural entry point into your poetry.

Do you have a favourite piece of performance from Nymphs and Thugs, which you can recommend to our readers? (Mine is Bird St by Louise Fazackerley.)

Ah, I couldn’t possibly choose I’m afraid! I love them all in different ways…

Where can we buy the albums from?

They’re all available from nymphsandthugs.bandcamp.com. If you purchase a CD, you automatically receive a free high-quality download (WAV as opposed to compressed MP3), or you can choose to do a straight download purchase. Most of the releases are also available from major providers, but it’s much much better to buy direct with indie publishers, so I beg you to buy from our Bandcamp if you are looking to purchase something from the N&T catalogue!

What’s next for Nymphs and Thugs? How can we find out more?

Well, I don’t want to give too much away. But I’m happy to say that we’re doing a Salena Godden live EP pretty soon, plus a studio recording of my ‘Two Little Ducks’ show which will be available to purchase as a digital download in a special bundle with the accompanying collection. In terms of next year, we have two major releases up our sleeves – one of which is Transatlantic – but I’m afraid that I can’t reveal specific details at this stage!

If you want to stay up-to-date, the best bet is to follow us on Twitter and Instagram, and like us on Facebook. We also have a YouTube channel which you can subscribe to, and regularly update the news page on our official website.

Books From The Pantry: Fealty by Ricky Ray: Reviewed by Claire Faulkner

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Ricky Ray’s collection Fealty took me completely by surprise. It’s a magical mix of surreal, dream-like verse with reoccurring themes including the environment, politics, overcoming difficulties, and survivorship. Ray is skilled in storytelling, and his work has that rare mythic quality which leaves the reader contemplating the past, present and future all at the same time. It’s an impressive first collection which took my breath away.
I found that many of Ray’s poems have a beautiful meditative quality to them. ‘Listening’ and ‘They Used to be Things’ help the reader to escape, if not briefly into the past to understand where they are now, from ‘Listening’:

He puts his head
to the table and listens.

It speaks through his skin, his skull, his mind, tells him all he can
remember of tables – of wood, trees, seeds and growth, of splinters
termites, rotting and soil

From ‘They Used to be Things’:

In the book were pages
and on the pages was ink
and in the ink were words

that were once ideas
we made of things

I find poetry like this takes you to another level before you’ve even realised it.

I also enjoyed how this collection made me question human nature and our belief systems. One of my favourite lines in the book comes from ‘Way of The Bear’:

Have the ghosts lost touch or have we lost the art of how to hear them?

The way of the bear stays in the bear, though we wear its head
and coat as we chant and pray to the forces for guidance

Every time I feel I’d found a favourite poem in this collection, I’d turn the page and see another. ‘A Neighbourhood of Vertebrae’ stood out to me for the way it described continuous pain and the effect this has. Not an easy to subject to tackle, but Ray does it with sensitivity and compassion:

…what would you think of
me if I admitted to hearing the spine speak in ten different
tongues?…

The other poem which stood out for me was ‘The Seven Hundred Sights in a Horse’, which reminded me of old legends and superstitions we carry around with us:

A wild horse ran through town.
It was always running.
Gospel was: something had
to be wrong with you to see it.
Everyone had seen it.

If you like reading poetry which makes you question everything and can stay with you for days after you’ve first read it, then this is the collection for you.

Ricky Ray is an outstanding poet and definitely one to watch for the future.

Ricky’s website

Twitter

Poetry Drawer: Jagged Little World by Fabrice Poussin

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Aloneness explores expanses of red silence
Taking a deep chance with every ventured step
Attacked by the threatening stillness of the rocks.

In the long coat of the forgotten cattle rancher
The apparition seeks an encounter with brethren
Gazing at the crest of a menacing granite sword.

He tastes the wind engulfing the numbed soul
Feet gliding on the sides of decaying mountains
Sole conqueror of land forgotten by adventure.

There is no need to see eyes shut to the common scene
Every atom penetrates through every pore
Giving life anew to the man as he crosses the bright realm.

His pockets are empty of any sustenance for
His entrails smile with the energy of the creation
On the deathly edges as on a tightrope he floats.

Slim upon the infinite abyss, the wanderer screams
With delight as he is captured by the storm of ages
He understands the amazing grace of his past sufferings.

Poetry Drawer: Holding Time In Their Arms by Fabrice Poussin

Poetry Drawer: Photogenic by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

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1.
Your face swirls
around the bright blue madness of your eyes

Your bottled-up rage explodes
and we are flung
as in an action movie

and land in the basket of a new rollercoaster
one that doesn’t rely on gravity
or other laws of physics

2.
Neurons fire and misfire
love and hate coexist
Your indifference
rolls in like a tide

and makes me feel like my heart
has been plucked out and
set in a gondola

The gondolier picks it up and
bounces it on the end of his paddle
He yodels like a cowboy

3.
You step off a vaporetto
onto a Venice dock
to meet me

but St. Mark’s Square is flooded again
I cannot leave the opera hall
The singers, feeling antsy
decide to repeat their performance
for free
for everyone trapped with them

They are terrible singers
They mutilate the score

Your blue eyes drift
over the water in St. Mark’s Square
You are as photogenic as the Hell
described by Dante
Your neurons are as striated
as the walls of the Grand Canyon

I feel hopeless
living with you
I feel damaged
without you
I feel deranged
in either case

Inky Interview: Author Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois from Denver, Colorado

Flash In The Pantry: Serotonin Reuptake by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Mandela Warp: A Moment in History by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Cooking Shows by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Still Wet by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Loch by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Gold Heaven by Hongri Yuan: Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

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The golden sidestep of the days, ah!
arranged golden ladders years.
A mirror
let me see
countless smiles of time.
The long corridors of gold
leading to countless crystal space-times.
On golden gates
carved with the rounds of
golden sun.
I walked into the rounds of
the mirror of the sun
and saw the palaces of gold.
The big birds of gold feathers, ah!
singing the prehistoric stories to me.
I’m the giant in the sun, ah!
I am the golden sun.
Countless centuries ago
I flew in the crystal universe.
To date the magnificent gold palaces
still waiting for me in the sun
To date the golden sun
Singing in the universe.

I am the king of the sun, ah!
The dragon and phoenix are my mounts.
The wheel of the golden sun
It’s all my hometown.

The countless golden suns
Laughing at me in the universe.
The huge dragons and phoenixes
Flying in the crystal space.

The golden rivers, ah!
Flying down from the sky
and turned into
the new golden seas of time.

I saw the huge castles, ah!
Standing above the ocean.
In the sky with red clouds wafting
sparkled the colourful lights.

The cities of crystal, ah!
like the lofty mountains in the sky.
The aerial gardens, ah!
like the colourful clouds floating in the sky.

I was riding on a golden dragon, ah!
flew to the golden space,
turned into the golden lights, ah!
and flew into the wheels of the sun.

The golden flames of the sun
like a huge and beautiful wreath.
The sacred temples
Smilling and opening to me.

I saw the giants, ah!
Lived happily in the sun.
Their sweet smiles, ah!
like a beautiful garden.

Their great art, ah!
sparkled the divine joy.
The magnificent palaces of gold, ah!
Were exactly their masterpiece.

The flowers of the jewels and gold, ah!
Were in full bloom in the gardens of the sun.
The pavilions and towers of crystal, ah!
Sparkled the strange light.

The lines of words of jewels
enchased in the walls of gold.
The huge statues
smiling to you gladly.

The massive painting that engraved by gold
hung in the centre of the main hall.
Inlaid with gems
like the cities of gold.

The huge dragon and phoenix
singing joyfully in the sky,
like the pieces of mysterious movement
made me forget the time suddenly.

Every giant sun
was the kingdoms of gold.
The countless holy giants
lived their miraculous lives.

They had neither night
nor years of the world.
Ten million years of mankind
seemed to be their one day.

They had no worry
sparkling the light all over their bodies,
like the rounds of sun
smiled gladly all the time.

Their divine wisdom
could change the universe
Let every star in the sky
to turn into the beautiful home.

Countless hundreds of millions of years ago
they created humans.
Even the little earth
was also their works.

With their own spirits
they created the universes.
The countless shining stars
like their words.

In that distant space
they were engaged in creation.
The whole change of mankind
has already existed in their eyes.

They were the ancestors of mankind
And were filled with affections to mankind,
and all the wisdom of mankind
had come from their transmission.

Many centuries ago
they have come to the world,
created the sacred civilizations
and the cities of gold.

Their offspring from generation to generation
lived and reproduced on the earth,
experienced numerous changes
To have humans today.

Those ancient civilizations
are still shining in space.
All the past time
are all in another space.

The prehistoric civilization of mankind
will come fortunately again to the world,
As if the underground seeds
sprout and bloom on the ground.

The countless great arts
will be brilliant youth!
That miraculous science and civilizations
will illuminate the new history.

The old earth, ah!
And will be young again.
The flames of his heart, ah!
Will make himself transparent.

The countless sleeping time, ah!
Will wake up from the stone.
The bright and holy lights
will turn into the springs.

Those holy giants, ah!
Will go out of the sun,
with the wisdom of those lights
Illuminating the time-space of mankind.

The golden halls will appear
in the transparent oceans,
like the giant ships
towards the coast of mankind.

In the silent mountains
will ring out the joyful songs,
the fragrant rivers
will flow into the paradises of mankind.

I opened the doors, ah!
And saw the space-times,
the great civilizations, ah!
laughing before my eyes.

The countless eras of light
are coming up to us.
The cities of crystal
blooming in the new time-spaces.

The great flowers of civilization
blossoming in the seas of time-space.
The rounds of the golden sun
are also laughing and singing in space.

The countless cities of gold
blinking towards me in the sun,
spilt the gay singings
like the colourful flowers.

I saw that heaven and earth
filled with laughters everywhere,
that giant planets
also turned into human homes.

I opened one door after another
And flew into one sun after another.
The sacred golden civilization, ah!
like an endless long corridor of time.

Those giants of the sun, ah!
working on the sacred creation.
Let the gold of time
Turn into the countless paradises

Their holy spirits, ah!
Illuminated the space-times,
and created the magic sciences
and that holy arts.

I heard the rounds of the sun, ah!
Singing to me in space,
as if there were countless suns
sending out the golden lights.

I entered the universes
and opened the time-spaces
Every crystal space, ah!
There were also the rounds of the sun.

The stars of time, ah!
Shining in the space of crystal
turned into the bright lights
and agglomerated into the sea of the universe.

All the wisdom of the world
came from the deep space.
The seas of time, ah!
were pregnant with the countless suns.

All the future of mankind
were enshrined in the sun.
The future pictures of the mankind
Will shine the joyful lights.

Every wanderer of the world
are all the descendants of the sun,
The countless centuries ago, ah!
were all the golden giants.

Opening the picture books of the time, ah!
The mankind had been incomparable tall.
The Himalayas, ah!
Was just a little giant.

Before the birth of the earth
mankind have already existed.
The countless stars of the universe
had all been the human homes.

The changes of mankind, ah!
Created the different civilizations.
The another great space, ah!
determined the course of the world.

The future of mankind has been arranged
in the golden palace of the sun,
as if the huge pictures
were enshrined in the rolls of golden book.

The golden books of the sun
shone the words of gold,
the lines of mysterious words, ah!
Gestated the future civilization.

All kinds of issues of human creation, ah!
Came from the revelation of the sun
Only the holy spirit
could understand the words of the sun.

The giants of the sun, ah!
Were the master of the sun.
The rounds of the great suns
were the lights of their hearts.

They were the ancestors of mankind, ah!
They were the earliest human.
In the sun, ah!
Watching their descendants.

I heard their singings
calling me days and nights.
That sweet and moving singing, ah!
were the cups of beautiful wine.

I saw the lines of words, ah!
Shining in the palace of the sun
Their divine wisdom
gave me the limitless comforts.

In the layers of the heavens
they were concomitant with me.
Watching me on the earth
To create the new poems.

Their holy lights
shining in my eyes
Turned into the lines of words
and wrote the new poems.

Their divine wisdom
perpetuated in these poems.
The bright future of mankind
turned into the pictures

I opened the rolls of golden book, ah!
Were full of my name.
It’s above that sun, ah!
Have already had my volumes of poetry

I don’t know if it’s today
Write down these words
Or hundreds of millions of years ago
Had already written them.

I don’t know if I am today, ah!
Or in the distant future.
Maybe those golden books, ah!
were enshrined in the future golden hall.

The time of miraculous change, ah!
You incarnated into everything.
The mysterious and distant prehistory
is maybe the human future.

The leisurely change of the universe, ah!
Is maybe the phantom of the mirror
That bright mirror, ah!
is exactly the divine eternity.

Time and time, ah!
Is maybe just you and me
When we disappear
Everything will be vanished without a trace.

I saw the lines of words
shining in the palace of the sun,
incarnated into the golden lights
and flew into my chest.

I was infinitely joyful in my heart, ah!
And saw the picture scrolls.
The completely new paradises, ah!
Smilling on the ground of the world.

The transparent and flashing earth, ah!
Like a charming girl,
the colourful gardens, ah!
were her gorgeous dress.

The clear rivers, ah!
The green mountains of jadite.
The blue eyes of the sea, ah!
Shining the charming glow.

The sky was glittering and translucent as the gem.
The soft white clouds,
the cities of light
appeared the beautiful smiling face.

I opened the picture books of time
and saw the giants.
They were flying in the air, ah!
rode in a huge spaceship.

The shining planets, ah!
took their greetings to them with smiles.
In the vastness of space
they set up the homes

Their magical eyes, ah!
Twinkled with the surprising wisdom.
Each of them was the mountainous figure and athletic
revealed the extraordinary temperament.

Their quiet eyes
it seemed to have insight into the future.
Everyone was chivalrous, ah!
And filled with holy love.

I looked at the picture scrolls, ah!
As if I had fell asleep
also as if to return to the past
the time of hundreds of millions of years ago.

The golden discs of time, ah!
You spined the wonderful music.
All the future of mankind, ah!
Were stored worshipfully in your chest.

The new giants will appear
in the changing space leisurely.
Let the holy civilization, ah!
To bloom again in the space.

The gates of crystal
leading to different time-space.
Every space of light, ah!
has the rounds of the sun.

The sacred fires of the sun, ah!
Will turn into the gold of the time,
and build the palaces of civilization
in the future centuries.

The flowers of science and art, ah!
Will blossom in the gardens of the world.
The lights of the holy civilization
will be turned into a completely new sun.

The huge flowers of the universe
will be the human homes.
The stars of the time
will be turned into sweet wine

Inky Interview Exclusive: Chinese Poet and Eremite: Hongri Yuan

Poetry Drawer: Golden Giant by Hongri Yuan: Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

Books From The Pantry: the x of y by Colin Dardis: Reviewed by Claire Faulkner

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the x of y is the début full-length collection from Northern Irish poet Colin Dardis. I find his work is often reflective and expresses themes such as childhood, humanity, and the fleeting nature of life. It’s a strong and deep collection which demonstrates Dardis’ skill and ability to tackle almost any subject and write about it sensitively, and with passion.
‘Prescription’, the opening poem in the collection, not only lovingly instructs the reader on how to take poetry, but possibly reflects its importance to both the reader and writer. Its advice is:

Recommended dosage:
Take at least ONCE daily, or as required. Do not skip
doses or discontinue use unless directed by your local
poet

I particularly like how Dardis captures and reflects moments of life we all recognise and experience. Poems such as ‘Coupled’ and ‘Two’ are quite simply beautiful.
I love the quality and effect of the prayer like lines from ‘Bird-Bathing’:

Every morning,
I baptise the birds
(and)
They do not know
I’ve blessed the water
so that each wing
may become holy

I enjoyed the idea and series of ‘The Peeling of Many Things’, in which Dardis describes the action and reasons for peeling things including: apples, bananas and the humble Crème Egg:

You must perform
the Dance of the Single Veil
before you can enjoy, consider
the foil container, rickety shell
between fingers and chocolate

In ‘Pliers’, Dardis writes about a trip to the dentist I think we all recognise:

You are a butcher of the mouth;
although one may proportion the blame
between us: I of indolent care
and you of savagery and destruction

The collection becomes more poignant with ‘Lepidopterology’ which draws comparison of being treated like a pinned down butterfly, and the subject of loss and grief in ‘Removal Day’.

There is a lot to read in this début collection, and I found it hard to pick a favourite poem. There were so many that stood out for me. Lines from ‘Fire-lighting’ reminded me of my own childhood and in it I heard echoes of my own Mum who tried repeatedly to teach me to lay a fire:

Mother reveals the exact procedure
perfected over the years without fuss:
how to twist and set yesterday’s paper,
bunching them together, laid at the base

I enjoyed reading this collection. Dardis writes with focus and expertise and I look forward to seeing what he does next.

Inky Interview Special: Colin Dardis: with Claire Faulkner

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