Monthly Archives: April 2025

There’s Everything to Play For: The Poetry of Peter Finch by Andrew Taylor (Seren Books)

There’s Everything to Play For: The Poetry of Peter Finch by Andrew Taylor (Seren Books)

When I reviewed Peter Finch’s Collected Poems One and Collected Poems Two back in 2022, I could not help but discuss Finch’s presence in the small press publishing world from the early 1980s, when I became part of that with my Stride magazine and imprint. Finch was an enabler, a facilitator, an encourager and contributor; he was everywhere you turned in the poetry world. In my earlier 2020 review of his book The Machineries of Joy, I noted that ‘Finch shows no sign of reining in his eccentricities’ and titled that review ‘A Life-time of Astonishment’, which referred to Finch’s lifetime, not mine, although I continue to be astonished by the poet’s work.

Having edited those Collected Poems, Andrew Taylor has gone on to now publish a hybrid biography and critical study of Finch, thankfully concentrating on the latter as a way to facilitate the former. So, only events, activities and associations which have fed in to and influenced Finch’s editing, writing, performing and publishing, are mentioned; there is no nonsense here about the colour of wallpaper, girlfriends or the makes of cars purchased. It is all about poetry and his relationship to it.

Early on, Finch embraced underground, countercultural publishing and stuck with it. In a similar manner he situated his work within the very different, often warring, areas of sound-experiment, comedy, performance art, visual poetry and the mainstream. He was never a weirdy-beardy mumbling in the corner, never an arselicker or cringing academic, never a self-centred ego-tripper, but he could get funding, submit to and persuade both avant-garde and major publishers, talk poetics and critical theory, sweet talk and upset others, as required, and hold his own against those who dismissed his output. 

His knowledge of the history of sound and performance writing was second-to-none, and he frequented the boundaries where it blurred into improvisation, out-jazz, or speaking in tongues. He learnt Welsh and critiqued England’s colonial inclinations towards its neighbour; he used psychogeography, flânerie and landscape writing to document Cardiff and its environs; he shared and taught and challenged both would-be and experienced writers; and he kept up with contemporary issues of digital poetics, AI, sampling and remix. (Taylor suggests this is not new: ‘Finch’s use of technology has always been present in the work.’)

Taylor surmises that Finch’s poetry has changed, perhaps even mellowed, over time (something I might dispute), suggesting that ‘a typical late-period Finch poem’ contains ‘nostalgic reflection, usually focussed on a key memory’ where ‘the level of detail is remarkable’ and resists ‘resorting to the bland anecdotal which is so commonplace in mainstream poetry’. Elsewhere he suggests that ‘Peter Finch has always been seen as “other”‘ and is ‘[n]otoriously difficult to categorise’, this difficulty perhaps leading to an element of critical indifference and mainstream rejection. 

And yet Finch was a poet who charmed those who met him and/or heard him read. His stage presence was of a friendly eccentric, not an arty-farty weirdo. As this book at times make clear, he could do provocation and rebellion when required, but mostly he wanted to get his work read and listened to and found numerous ways to do so. Finch understood rhyme, syncopation, and rhythm, knew how to keep an audience amused, shocked and entertained. He was part of international networks of writers and artists, an avid reader, listener and consumer of new and newly-discovered writers. He read to understand what language could and might do, whether as decomposed text on the page, political manifesto, comic absurdism, surreal chant or seemingly personal confession.

Taylor gets all this. His 200 page book is as thorough, reasoned and generous as Finch’s own books. His critical engagement with Finch’s writing is astute but highly readable, as are his contextual discussions where he notes influences, mentors, examples and inspirations. As Taylor notes at the close of the book, ‘Though nothing is assured, what we can be certain of is that Peter Finch will continue to write poetry, innovate, walk Wales and push language to extremes.’ I really do hope so.

Rupert Loydell 29th April 2025

Nic Stringer & Sylee Gore: The Main Part [Is Gone] Jeannie Avant Gallery 3-15 April 2025

Nic Stringer & Sylee Gore: The Main Part [Is Gone] Jeannie Avant Gallery 3-15 April 2025

For two weeks, on facing walls of an East Dulwich gallery, two poets who are also visual artists presented works described as ‘a series of residuals’. These adjacent interpretations of visual poetry questioned how we read the visual, and asked: ‘what is the thing that remains, or emerges, when an essential part – material, memory, language – is lost?’ And what do we bring of ourselves to these traces? 

            Nic Stringer’s series of works derive from her processing of traumatic injury. When I visited the exhibition she pointed to a framed print in the top right hand corner of her wall – an intense orange bullseye, like the afterimage burned onto the retina when you have looked directly at the sun. The print is from a photograph of a rainbow around the sun, taken by Stringer in Portugal. I know this because she told me, but I wouldn’t have known from looking at it, or from the elusive title, ‘waves of inhibition then loss [Hyperactivity]’. The origin is immaterial: “You don’t know the starting point: so what?” This CBT approach is Stringer’s modus operandi: whether trauma or an opaque sky, she processes. Delegation seems important, too: we discover with illness that losing control and relinquishing aspects can bring surprise, and even delight. The manipulated black sky reveals hidden lightning forks. A drawing is photographed, printed, rephotographed, sent to a German laboratory and printed again, until there are only homeopathic traces of the source remaining. Stringer takes a found dragonfly – already a ghost of itself, its shadow thorax substantial as its thorax – and digitally pushes it to become hyperreal, an avatar of a dragonfly, echoing W.S. Merwin’s ‘After the dragonflies’:

‘now there are grown-ups hurrying
who never saw one
and do not know what they
are not seeing
the veins in a dragonfly’s wings
were made of light’

These evocations of precarity and chance, pulling the focus from micro to macro and hurling the context from past to future, transcend our mutable relationship with our own bodies to reflect on our place in the wider universe. 

            Poet, artist and translator Sylee Gore has said art is a method for archiving the ephemeral. In Maximum Summer, her debut poetry chapbook, she uses the sestina to capture fragments, the early days in a child’s life, with the heightened sensibility we experience at times of birth and death – Dennis Potter’s “blossomest blossom” – in exquisite six-line hits of time and place, encompassing meditations on verisimilitude and translation. These themes, and this aesthetic mindfulness, expand from the page and onto the wall in Gore’s work for the exhibition, As It Happens, an installation of cyanotype, collage and sculpture in conversation with the sestina.

            Six columns of six, plus a coda, incorporating blossom, magnolia petals and peelings of birch bark collected from the street outside the gallery were interspersed with cyanotypes made using an eclectic mix of source materials – Gore’s own collages, archival photographs by William Talbot, and the 1680 printing of John Dryden’s “Preface to Ovid’s Epistles”. There was space between these visual steppingstones to free associate: the blue sent me to Maggie Nelson’s Bluets; the ghostly decanters to Cornelia Parker…                

            Cyanotype is surely the perfect carrier for the ephemeral – Quink-blue photograms time-travelling from earliest photography, still fresh as a daisy, still fixing the quotidian in light. I felt something similar recently, this concertinaing of time, looking at a scrap of Emanuel Swedenborg’s blotting paper. But Gore insists on getting closer still, attaching the actual blossom to the wall, and by doing so, refutes the illusion that we truly hold on to anything. It’s all a translation. Her visual sestina has all the beats of her written poetry – pauses of space balancing with those exquisite hits of resonance and recognition.

Claire Collison 25th April 2025

For All That’s Lost by David Miller (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press)

For All That’s Lost by David Miller (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press)

Fragmented images repeated in forms that circle without repeating exactly, variations forming ripples emanating from a central loss and finding a variety of means to muse on what it is that has been lost. David Miller’s For All That’s Lostcombines poems, prose poems and paintings, both recent and past, to create a collage of responses to loss:

            Fragmented images building a narrative rather than merely interrupting or illustrating it.

            Dispersed narrative.

            Unfolding, regenerating narrative. 

At the heart of the more recent material is the loss of his late wife Dodo (the philosopher Doreen Maitre) in 2022, and, therefore, we are once again in the space inhabited by 2024’s What Is and Might Be and then Otherwise some of which ‘explicitly or implicitly involved mourning as well as reflection and contemplation in the wake of that loss’.

I wrote of (close), another recent volume which is haunted by grief, that Miller “examines words and phrases as if they are displayed on a rotating stand enabling us to view them from a myriad of different perspectives”. This minimalist style of writing in which each word holds a weight of meaning in a precisely positioned place on the page was intuited by Miller from the American poet and mystic Robert Lax. In this collection, Lax also contributes a telling phrase in paraphrase – ‘Black is everything that black can be’. 

Black is both the terrifying place where For All That’s Now Lost ends:

                                    Black

            waters and black sky …

            lights spiralling

            in the darkness –

            and I am not the one at the wheel.

and the beginning of ‘Again: Black ink in the Palace of Bees’ where, as Frances Presley explains he moves in this series of ‘poems-in-pictures’ “from a wash of black ink, through widening strips of gold and amber, containing fragments, possibly cells or seeds, until there is a containing border of deep pink”.

This pilgrimage in paint resonates with the exploration of spirituality – another exploration shared with Lax – that takes us back “to the Gospels and Acts”:

            A tree. An angel.

            A nativity. A cruc-

            Ifixion. A

            resurrection.

As musician, painter, poet and writer, Miller is a polymath and, while recognising the potential for ideas to be sparked or explored more deeply through an interplay or interweaving of disciplines, he also acknowledges the limits of such play and weaving in the awareness that they do not become one and the same when brought into relation:

            poetry isn’t painting

            poetry isn’t music …

            nor is poetry … is it

            anthropology?

            no nor religion

            yet each might learn

            from each other

            possibly

            in some instances

            but not become the other

This is the hope of all the playful intertwining of genres and styles, of disciplines and narratives, of losses and gaps, fragments and forms, that characterises and shapes Miller’s works and collections. He utilises ‘concision, elision, contrast and paradox to open up meanings as one opens up Matryoshka Dolls’ and does so in the hope that each might learn one from the other, even in the midst of loss – especially in the time of loss – when the one that is lost is walking alongside and ‘what surpasses death / is transgressive’.

Jonathan Evens 8th April 2025

The Salvation Engine by Rupert M. Loydell (Analogue Flashback)

The Salvation Engine by Rupert M. Loydell (Analogue Flashback)

Recent reports on abuse scandals linked to the Church of England bring unfortunate reminders of an earlier scandal, Sheffield’s the Nine O’clock Service (NOS). The central instigator of the NOS, Chris Brain, is shortly to stand trial on one charge of rape and 33 counts of indecent assault relating to 11 women.

Rupert Loydell was brought up attending a Baptist Church and experienced a fairly traditional nonconformist faith. Although he has become sceptical of dogma and conviction, he continues to explore the motivations for belief both in his poetry and his writing on culture. In The Salvation Engine he grapples with the frightful mix of personality cults, religious populism, liturgical experiment, rave culture, and lack of safeguarding and accountability, which allowed abuse and manipulation to thrive in NOS.

Like Ed Gillett in Party Lines: Dance Music and the Making of Modern Britain, the voices which speak in The Salvation Engine acknowledge “the NOS’s profound appeal: spiritual uplift and utopianism, all set to transportive music”. So, in ‘Touching Distance’ (as, too, in poems such as ‘Deeply Sorry’ and ‘Shining Brightly’) we move from positive to negative experiences:

from

                                                Existential dilemmas

were welcome in the cathedral, prompting

blinding displays of apocalyptic gospel,

tectonic shifts of techno-ambient hymns,

congregations high from dancing lights. 

to

                                                thundercrash

            riffs trigger flashbacks tonight, along with

            detailed disclosures of wild behaviour.

            A cataclysm of murderous noise lubricates

            conversations about emerging dark manias,

            slow-burning psychosexual abuse. 

‘A Gleeful Leaving’ and ‘Rap Messiah’ focus on the dangers posed by charismatic spiritual gurus who are allowed to operate without constraints or accountability:

                                    The burden of safeguarding

was put aside, one ticket admitted you

to hurt children, young women and men,

archival footage and mixed-media collage.

For the guru:

            Hell is being shut inside an alien heaven

unable to even compose a goodbye note.

Today he will be all by himself in paradise.

For the victims:

            I am in a dilemma with regard to narrative,

            am alienated from my own story. Sometimes

            I just sink into the day, numb and sobbing.

There is anger and frustration expressed at repeating patterns of abuse:

            Haven’t we been here before,

            watching the embers of megalomania and reason blow away?

            The spell is broken. Lucidity hits. We’ve been treated like dirt.

and there is a degree of hope explored among those who were victims:

            Storm clouds and strong winds prevail,

            I expect to find misunderstanding,

            befuddled glances and wary responses,

            limited versions of ourselves, the dark

            side of liturgy and religious process.

            Come on. Across the border we go.

Loydell’s main way of writing poetry in recent years has been to assemble phrases into a poem; phrases which come from a range of sources to create poems ‘that offer more questions than answers’. As a result, we should not simply equate the narrator’s voice in his poems with the author’s voice and need to remember that those who were involved in NOS do not speak about the experience with one voice either, but from multiple perspectives. This collection is deliberately polyphonic as a result.

With this collection, as with all his work, Loydell wants to challenge his readers to think about what language is and how ‘it is used around and indeed against us’, as ‘language is how we think about and construct the world’. After all, that is how the leaders of NOS created a space in which abuse could occur:

            You imaged God as a packet of razor blades,

            useful for noble and honourable purposes

            but using metaphors, parables and similes

            to round us up and convince us.

Jonathan Evens 1st April 2025