|Christodoulos Makris, Spitting Out the Mother Tongue|
Wurm Press is the seriously tiny press associated with Wurm im apfel, publishing chapbooks and full-length poetry collections.
from Wurm Press in 2014
a new collection from Christodoulos Makris
The Architecture of Chance
Christodoulos Makris’ second full collection, blends painstaking poetic craft with the accidental hazards of found text and overheard sample. As challenging as it is accessible, these poems comment wittily yet unsparingly on the cultural, economic and political textures of twenty-first century life.
£10/€13 and free p&p
Christodoulos Makris was born in Nicosia and has lived in Manchester, London, and since 2001 in Dublin. His previous books include Spitting Out the Mother Tongue (Wurm Press, 2011) and the artist's book Muses Walk (2012). He is co-editor of Centrifugal: Contemporary Poetry from Dublin and Guadalajara (EBL-Cielo Abierto / Conaculta, 2014) and co-curated the poetry collaborations project and tour Yes But Are We Enemies (September 2014).
"A forerunner, in Irish poetry and Irish poetry publishing." --Irish Times
Litany of the City and other poems
Eat my wordy tongue!
Play me soft like a harp! Beat me like a drum!
blow my trumpet, blow, blow my trumpet!
-- from 'Litany of the City'
Listen to Death cuts down the flowers
Watch Coke Poem
Karl Parkinson is the lyric poem made flesh. He defends what's sacred about our humanity by turning the dark energy of Dublin city back on itself. His poems are hypnotic, shamanic creations that spiral into our world like woven spells. Words that bloom and sprawl into life like vines tearing down the walls surrounding us.Karl Parkinson is a pioneer - rushing ahead to remind us that we are made by the city but not chained to the city, and showing us ultimately how art can transcend it. -- Colm Keegan
Familial, fond, hopeful and radical [...] Poetry that is stimuli to all senses. -- Elayne Harrington, aka TemperMental MissElayneous.
Dave Lordan, First Book of Frags
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Dave interviewed about Frags.
review of Frags by Kevin Breathnach
BUY FRAGS for £9.00
Video of The Fucking Titanic by Eamonn Crudden.
A book of explosive short fiction from the author of The Boy in the Ring and Invitation to a Sacrifice. First Book of Frags is a projectile flung at convention, capital, and ultimately, civilisation itself.
"echoes of James Joyce and Angela Carter"--Nuala Ní Chonchuir
"Dave Lordan’s First Book of Frags is experimental work of an accessible kind – unsentimental, original.[...] a wry sensibility throughout, reminiscent of the early stories of Peter Carey." -- Patrick Chapman
First Book of Frags is a gallery of cosmic and psychic perversion and violence. Punctuated by moments of intense, incandescent writing, it gives us a marriage of heaven and hell, good and evil, repressive force and hopeless sex. Whether it shows us the success of suicide towns, the unrecorded victims of the Titanic, revolutions in housing estates, cornerboys, destructors, accomplices, violent fire bombings, stew and shit stirrers, animals and pornstars, writers under attack, the people who live permanently in Swedish-based furniture stores, or women speaking to the dead, it is always, allegorically and literally, concerned with an Ireland, a Europe, and a humanity which has lost its way and wandered into nightmare dead ends only partially of its own making. The contemporary resonances of these strange and brief short stories, with their weird and uncanny narrators, equals the political bite of Lordan’s best poetry. -- Graham Allen.
"Dave Lordan is among the very few artists I see around me who is brave and unflinching enough to directly confront the increasing horror of life in a Republic which is dying on its feet. This pitch black voice is, to me, for all intents and purposes the sound of a country in tears" -- Eamonn Crudden
"More than a tour de force, Lordan’s first explorations in fiction, First Book of Frags, is a damning tour de farce. It’s an indictment of our time, how we’ve allowed society to disintegrate, how we’ve glorified trivia and lordified Mammon, how we’ve giddily partaken in media circuses and courted political jesters. In keeping with the context and with Lordan’s work in performance, the stories are a prosodic theatre of the grotesque. There’s vivid, fantastical spectacle and macabre humour. Despair at its starkest always makes for interesting shades of black. No one is spared: alcoholics, drug addicts, women as objects of male fantasy, suicide where suicide rates become a competition between towns and the town with most suicides could be a tourist attraction. Chaos continuously begets chaos, begets corruption, so we marvel all the more at the wondrous balancing act of survival that the characters go through. They resort to tribal mode, voodoo, mythology, every base and primal instinct that links us to our earliest ancestors. Yet, despite his nobler inklings, we are constantly reminded that man is monster, hell bent on dystopia.
At some point throughout these stories, you’ll be squirming, holding your breath, out of your comfort zone, exhausted from the verbal whip and lash of it all, yet irresistibly drawn further in because you know that behind the hilarious accounts the message is very close to home. So close we are the message, and it needs to be somehow tackled. In the polarised world of these stories, where everything is manically militia one minute, carnival the next, it might take some hazily-defined quixotic enterprise to find a solution to the mayhem. But that too, menacingly, is a parody." -- Anamaría Crowe Serrano
A new form brings a new kind of fury. Pitched somewhere between the short story and the narrative poem, Frags delivers fragments and stark narrative incisions knitted together by a darkly satirical and formally challenging twenty-first century tone of political urgency. Frags shows up the jaded politico-economic media excursus on the recession and its discontents for the white noise that it is. Whether it is the Orwellian “Street Party”, the vitriolic David Foster Wallace-like “Living in Ikea”, the Beckettian Irish stew of “A Bone”, or the Bolanoesque “Dr. Essler’s Cocaine” the crafted howl of Frags rarely lets up. Cathleen Ni Houlihan is a scavenging Kathleen who sleeps on a “rained on mattress in the woods surrounded by empty wine bottles,” the Iron Lady has been melted down, and Ireland’s Kafkaesque educated unemployed who ponder justice have been transformed into flies, not cockroaches. Dave Lordan’s surreal yet scathing sketches of suffering, violence and ear-splitting silence should capture the hungry imagination of a disillusioned majority.-- Michael O'Sullivan