YO-YO AND THE GNU

HIPSTERS LOVE CORBYN

Eyewear , the blog and company have had a rollercoaster love affair with Mr Jeremy Corbyn, current leader of the British Labour party. Anticipating his leadership win a few years ago, we published the first updated book on his life and ideas - which sold over 3,000 copies; several of our editors either voted for him or supported him. Then he appeared to falter. Our genuine love slackened.

But now he has pulled us back in, slowly, surely, with his principled, if grizzled, brand of authentic populism. His campaign has been masterful, and, mostly, blemish-free. He has appeared strong, confident, funny, and caring. And he has been infuriatingly clear - he does not like nuclear war or killing people.

Ms May, the current PM, has been a disaster.  Her strong, stable slogan is now a cruel albatross, like something the centurions slapped on the dying Christ. She has turned on her own manifesto - a bizarre first - and appeared weak in public debate, when she deigned to appear. Moreover, her 7 years in charge, first at the Home Office, then Number 10, of safety for the public have not lead to more safety. Ms May is not all bad - she is probably a good Christian, for example - whatever that may mean. She obviously cares, but has a genuine inability to express any thing approaching empathy with real suffering people.

The major issue though is that Ms May is, for reasons of her own making, too-closely tied to hard right Tories who want no deal, or a very Hard Brexit. She is also fawning when it comes to Trump - and loathe to criticise the more unpleasant people she toadies up to in the world community. It is a cruel fact that Tories who blame Corbyn for supporting terrorists are the ones who sell them the weapons.

A Labour minority government, or even a very weakened Tory government mandate, are to be preferred to a May in June landslide. But more vitally, Mr Corbyn deserves our vote, because he actually supports more policing, less tuition fees, more fairness in taxation, less violence abroad, and represents the sort of change the post-2008 crash world requires. He is imperfect - as are we all - but he is not just a grey gnu, or whatever Boris J is calling him today. He is decent, and compassionate. It would be splendid if Britain sought to support such a person.

THE WINNER IS FINN ANDERSON

Montana poet, Finn Anderson

For our second iteration of this already-excitingly successful prize (in terms of getting entries from all levels of experience, and all over the world), we have that most pleasing of winners (arguably - a genuinely new poet, emerging from the wings for the first time, blinking in the footlights, to take their first shy bow). Indeed, this winner entered under an alias, but turns out to be Finn Anderson.  He will be paid his £140 today, almost instantly. Now here is the judge, Alexandra Payne, weighing in:

Judge’s Comments:

Among the poems read in the judging of this prize, many stood out for their starkly imagistic slants on reality, often transmuting somewhere into the magic and music of great poetry. None, however, with more wit, surprise and wistfully elegant tragedy than the sonnet, 'The Trampoline'.

 

Its mastery of form and subtle yet heartbreak-inducing rhymes transform a familiar domestic object into a perfect objective correlative for the everyday tragedies that pockmark all our little lives. Step out from anonymity, Orfinn Ani. This sonnet deserves it.

By contrast, my runner up, Vik Shirley, showed us how comedy can be a delightful element in poetry with her 'My One-Year-Old Niece' which also had me in raptures.

My congratulations to all the short-listed poets, and indeed all who entered. It was a delight to read all your work, especially from those who are as yet not published, yet show enormous sensitivity and talent. Please keep writing! - AP

 

The Trampoline

The trampoline is old and broken now.

Around its ambit absent springs, like teeth,

show gaps; we find them rusted underneath.

The sagging tarp is pocked, the metal bowed

and pinched from weight, and rain. The laminate

warning label's faded, its yellow ink run

brown to a shade of puke, or cigarette stain.

Of two divorces, two surgeries, you'd think

our father would've scrapped it long ago,

or given it to some kid down the road,

not left it, skeletal and mean, for his sons

to pallbear in his pickup to the dump.

He must have watched it patiently erode.

I wonder if he ever tried to jump.

 

@2017 Finn Anderson, the author

Finn Anderson (pictured above)  is a young American poet from Missoula, Montana, age of 25. He writes: 'I've worked in restaurants, bars, done construction, been a white water rafting guide, a ski instructor, a student. I've always loved reading. I love Leonard Cohen. I love skateboarding. I love my parents, and the summer.'

 

 
 

JUDGE PAYNE BRINGS SOME RELIEF.... THE NEW FORTNIGHT POETRY PRIZE SHORTLIST

SPECS PLEASE, EVERY FORTNIGHT

 

Every 14 days, the Fortnight Prize throws wide the net and offers up 14 shortlisted poems, one of which wins £140... here is this fortnight's shortlist... winner to be announced tomorrow... congratulations to all the many poets from around the world who entered, and especially the 14 poets here (at least one alias, I suspect).... this list judged by our managing editor, Alexandra Payne...

1. ‘Back to the Earth’ by Amy Lundquist

2. ‘Banal Apocalypse’ by David Braziel

3. ‘Dead Dog’ by Lynda Tavakoli

4. ‘Euclid Refuted’ by Daniel Cowper

5. ‘Follow You’ by Colin Dardis

6. ‘For a Catfish’ by Ellen Kempler

7. ‘Helen Keller Meets Charlie Chaplin on a Hollywood Film Set 1919’ by Jane Lovell

8. ‘Help of the Helpless’ by Ken Evans

9. ‘Love Song for Marcello Alfredo’ by Daniela Buccilli

10. ‘My One-Year Old Niece’ by Vik Shirley

11. ‘Q&A’ by Michelle Peñaloza

12. ‘Reading a Novel’ by Samuel Son

13. ‘Take Today’ by Wes Lee

14. ‘The Trampoline’ by Orfinn Ani

A SUMMER OF MAY? MAYBE, MAYBE NOT

Eyewear's spokesperson

As the now tired adage goes, a week is a long time in politics. A week ago we did not know Trump's secret weird word... and more seriously, much more seriously, the Manchester tragedy had not yet happened. But now, after several debate appearances on TV from Corbyn, the Labour leader, and astonishingly poor appearances and non-appearances from the PM May, the polls have begun to converge, like an iceberg and a stable ship. Nik Nanos, Canada's leading polling expert, predicted this a month ago. As in some ways does our Eyewear book Tactical Reading, published a week ago. Though still too early to tell - and given the ferocity and mendacity of the right-wing media here in Britain - it appears May is losing her landslide. Here are Eyewear's predictions on the possible outcomes in a week, 8th June, when the UK votes to elect a new government.

MAY'S TORIES WIN A SLIM MAJORITY/MINORITY GOVERNMENT - 30% CHANCE
MAY'S TORIES WIN A MAJORITY OF 50-80 SEATS - 25%
MAY'S TORIES WIN A LANDSLIDE OF 80-100 SEATS - 20%
HUNG PARLIAMENT, COALITION OF LABOUR/SNP - 15%
CORBYN'S LABOUR WINS A SLIM MAJORITY - 10%

As will be seen here, Eyewear (which accurately predicted a Trump victory) believes there is still a 75% chance that Ms May will be PM in a week - but there is now a 25% chance she will not be... sufficiently disconcerting, I would imagine, for her team.

It should be added, we are not impartial. Eyewear supported Remain, and opposes a hard Brexit, supports immigration, and is, broadly-speaking, in favour of Scottish nationalism, and a Lab-Lib coalition with the SNP.

Vote tactically. Keep The Nasty Party out of landslide territory. Give them a difficult time at the ballot box...

MANCHESTER

This blog started in 2005, and one of the first things it had to respond to was the terrifying series of attacks in 2005.

12 years later, and terribly, a mass terror attack has struck the UK - killing over 20 people, and dangerously harming many more. That many of the victims were kids and teens out to have fun at a summery concert, is all the more reason to be horrified. This was classic terrorism, meant to inflict great fear, and sorrow, and loss, on innocent people, for maximum publicity for their cause.

One does not have to be political to recognise that it is wrong to kill people, except in self-defence (if even then). Politics is not going to solve this problem, however, so long as a small group of radicals seek to destabilise, weaken, even destroy, democracy in Western countries.

While it is true they are unlikely to destroy the West, these acts can certainly tilt the West radically to the right, as we have seen of late. There is no tit-for-tat that can justify killing these people in Manchester. Trump's bombs are not a sanction or excuse.

Britain may need to look more closely, as it has done before, at its history and relations with America, and a legacy of colonialism in the middle east, but surely, today is not such a day. When killers are prepared to take the lives of even the most innocent of our people, it would appear, even if we were all spotless, we would still be targets.

I will resist complaining about tweeps who made jokes as the deaths mounted, or who thought this massacre was about their pop idol Ms Grande, and not the victims. Nor will I quote (here) any Manchester bands, or seek for some hope or good from this event. I will not forgive Morrissey, but chose to for now ignore his latest semi-racist rants as delusional sad bleats from a once great god.

There is no good in this event. It was a terrible thing to happen, and it has darkened our day, our year, and the election to come. I am heartbroken. So are you. Manchester is a great city, culturally, athletically, and historically, and its people are creative, industrious, and decent.

Ms May has claimed she provides stability and safe hands.  We are not safe at the moment, though. Not in the least. I would offer prayers, but some of the dead may not want my prayers. Why presume? I can offer my thoughts, but so what? Who am I to seek to corner the market on grief or grieving? All I can say is, I am so sorry this has happened, to you, to us. To Manchester.

POETRY AND MONEY

Eyewear Man plotting to make billions

It is true, Eyewear Publishing has adopted some elements of the "American model" that uses Submittable more than other small presses have done in the past in the UK - though Submittable is becoming increasingly respected, in the UK and the USA.

 

Competing with so many digital platforms now means we have to try our best in a very robust climate. The agents and poets who work with us, and other authors, are usually impressed and comforted to know they get three things with an Eyewear contract a) business nous; b) unimpeachable editorial and aesthetic intelligence and sensitivity; and c) a commitment based on genuine love of literature.

Eyewear is about the opposite of money - it is about culture surviving, even thriving, despite financial pressures - and about working within the system to bring the best looking books possible, with the best writing in them, to the widest audience, across the world.

 

However, so long as poets and authors think that publishers' main role is to grant them some sort of credibility by "taking all the risk" they will fail to see a new ecosystem emerging, where author and publisher can work better as a team, than as adversaries. And of course, not all "risk" is financial.

 

It is often an artistic or ethical or political risk (especially these days) to publish some books.  Our book on Trump could easily have led to a Trump lawsuit that would have crushed us; we went for it anyway. Eyewear has taken many risks to ensure its authors know they are valued. But the idea that seeking to discover models by which a publishing house's platform and brand can be sustainable is somehow suspect or underhand, is simply financially illiterate.

 

We work with banks, PayPal, businesses like Amazon and Waterstones, as well as UPS - and they rightly expect us to pay our bills, on time. To sum up - the art of poetry and literary writing should not be confused with the business skills used by publishers to create a viable company that can professionally, and with integrity, publish and promote, those arts. Eyewear's many and varied, worthwhile, titles, speak for themselves.

Every book we have published has meant something to Eyewear - and its relationships are the furthest thing from being cynical money-grabs - our books are created carefully, and lovingly. It is true we have an ethos of collective awareness and responsibility, where we try to share the business realities with our authors - we tell them the truth about sales figures, and challenges. This is because, the people who work at Eyewear are writers themselves, and know that being informed is better than being in the dark.

Poets, especially, who grumble at presses for trying to make ends meet to cover costs of operating, do not understand the 21st century pressures, including Brexit pending, on small and even larger publishing companies, in this digital age. While it its true book sales are up marginally this past year, most sales are not for poetry, but celebrity, comedy, and cookery books, as well as novels. The average poetry book sells only 200 copies in its lifetime. It costs more to publish a properly edited poetry book than can ever be made back by 200 sales of a book. Therefore, all publishers "underwrite" their loss-making literary, and especially poetry, lists, by also publishing prose and more commercial books. They sometimes also run prizes, or hold workshops and other events.

In an ideal world, micro-presses like Eyewear could agree to read every manuscript sent to them, for free - but even a small press like ours receives dozens of manuscripts a day. It is impossible to find the time to do so, for free. No press can afford this, and some use interns to do all this reading, which can be unfair to authors also. In an ideal world, each book we carefully edited and published would sell at least 1,000 copies and break even or turn a profit. But that does not happen. Sales figures reveal that even award-winning Faber & Faber/FSG poetry books by famous poets may only sell 600 copies.

Small presses survive by a combination of hard work, savvy business acumen, patronage, arts support, grants, personal investment - but mainly, a huge labour of love. Each press' signature is somewhat unique. But the goal is the same - to get their books sold, to support their poets, authors, and allow the press to remain profitable enough to keep trading.

THE WINNER IS ROBIN RICHARDSON

WITHOUT A ROOF

Good god I'm gorgeous, open

     on the operating table, so impeccably pink
pearl you could drape me on a hotel heiress,
     make a mint. It is a costly transformation:

girl to goddess, curve to cosmic pin-up,

    star-strong in my homemade aristocracy.
The ring, I mean. The one he gave me days
    before I lifted like some unfeeling winged

thing on a plane that didn't crash.

    What's worse I'm well, not huffy, hidden
from the day, not having ended anyone,
    unsympathetic in the most exquisite way.

Nude, open on a billboard in the Amazon

    as pythons crawl inside to please. He disapproves:
the carefree sovereignty of solitude,
    almost anorexic silhouette. They say

it's tactless to be happy, living is an exercise

    in letting go, existence as a river runs
its course regardless of our ripples, but
    they're wrong. I'm running with it wrapped

around me, a translucent, minnow-print

     kimono, full of flow and following
a pathless cut through woods. There's freedom
     in what no one knows.


- winning poem by ROBIN RICHARDSON

Robin Richardson is the author of two collections of poetry, and is Editor-in-Chief at Minola Review. Her work has appeared in Salon, Hazlitt, Poetry Magazine, Tin House, Partisan, Joyland, The North American Review, and many others. She holds an MFA in Writing from Sarah Lawrence College. She has been shortlisted for the CBC, Walrus, and Lemon Hound Poetry Prizes. Richardson’s latest collection, Sit How You Want, is forthcoming with Véhicule Press. Poems from the collection have been adapted to song by composer Andrew Staniland for The Brooklyn Art Song Society, and premiered in 2016 in New York. Richardson’s Memoir “Like Father” is represented by Samantha Haywood at Transatlantic Agency.

whip-smart as Emily Berry

Judge's comments: Of the over 350 poems considered, this one (along with that by Emily Osborne, my runner-up, and someone any press would be happy to snap up) particularly stood out for seeming to combine the unlikely elements of eroticism, environmentalism, science and myth, with wit and surprise. Readers in North America will not be surprised - Richardson is a rising star there, and this poem shows why - its contemporary twist on metaphysical poetics is as dark as P. Lockwood's, her self-examination as Algonquin Round Table whip-smart as E. Berry's; there are perhaps a dozen younger women poets now writing in English, vying to be our age's Plath. (Hera L. Bird also comes to mind). Here we have Canada's answer to that seemingly futile, morbidly appealing quest. But this poem is far more than that would imply - its own glamorous volatility, medical weirdness, and brilliance of metaphor, is rather original. - DR TODD SWIFT, London, 18 May, 2017