 |
 |
Apologies for Cross Posting Sojourns, Allen Fisher, 8¼ x 5½ inches, 24 pages, deskjet printed, 250g card cover, colour cover illustration by the author, hand sewn binding. ISBN 1 903090 25 3 Stg 3.50 / USD 5 Luminarias, Familiar Hinges, Sheila E. Murphy, 5¾ x 3¾ inches, 28 pages, 250g card cover, colour cover illustration specially commissioned for this edition from Louise Mac Mahon, hand sewn binding. ISBN 1 903090 26 1 Stg3.50 / USD 5 Postage extra. Visa and Mastercard accepted. Wild Honey Press is happy to announce the publication of these two new chapbooks. Both are available from Wild Honey Press, 16a Ballyman Road, Bray, Co. Wicklow, Ireland, or from Peter Riley or Billy Mills. Sojourns is part of Fisher's Gravity as a Consequence of Shape. A work in eight sections, starting with (RED) RED SHIFT 1 and ending with (RED) RED SHIFT 2, its themes of colour and movement are explored with a wide range of registers and reference. Here are two extracts: The ancients used cinnabar, the red sulphide of mercury, for bright red. Zosimus spoke of it coming from the stars. Vermilion is the re-synthesis of mercury and sulphur into the likeness of the cinnabar from which the mercury was extracted. After vapourising and recondensing into the top of a flask, the flask is broken. It's almost black. As it is ground it becomes red. Cennion reckons that if you ground it every day for twenty years the colour would still become finer and more handsome. And rhubatic fummeck thick onto router's roof run Athen fibre screened crogged or laced get it off thar git orf like I sayd yonder hill orogesh miles from here Luminarias, Familiar Hinges consists of twenty one four stanza pieces, each stanza contain four lines. I was immediately struck by the scope, clarity and multiplicity embraced by this work. There is a spiritual quality which gives it a tremendous unity. Here is the opening section: Holy be the quiet of our nest Awash in oils and thin-brushed Eggshell hue that rests even In dark, and blessed be the handsome Furniture, the sparkle of a hundred Watts on glass, an engine rubbed Into commotion where a lamp would be. There are no insects here, The walls remain as rough As paths preceding pavement. All the crooks Forgot to come, and mercy litters Turf and tangibles. The ebb And flow of distance slims The merely artificial space between us, Shaped unfamiliar as The icing on the cake we won't consume. Best wishes Randolph Healy.