Sunday, 25 May 2008

Xing the Line May Day Reading May 1 2008

This blog is not to be confused with other references on the web to Canary Woof. The 'real' Canary Woof began as a short-lived small press in the early years of the decade publishing a broadsheet by David Miller, Sean Bonney's The Rose, my own The 'A's and Johan de Wit's folded A3 sheet, Extragalacticfitsofterrestrialpits (some copies still remaining). I will endeavour to upload The 'A's in the near future.

Initial post - pics of Xing the Line's first (only?) May Day special. Appearing were Sean Bonney, Tim Atkins, Laurie Duggan, John Gibbens, Johan de Wit, Pete McNamara, Gavin Selerie, Peter Philpott, Karlien Van Den Beukel & Paul (sorry insert name here), Frances Presley, Rob Holloway, Harry Gilonis and Malcolm Phillips. Someone took a picture of my ear which I may include at a later date. Readers read from their own and others' work the remit being to explore a May Day theme such as the seaside, dark neo-paganism or stern Leninism. Peter McNamara finished off the evening very suitably with a folk tune from The Wicker Man.

I read four recent sonnets (see also below) from an ongoing sequence called In the Assarts. They all have the word "may" in them and are necessarily reproduced in courier. I might have more to say about sonnets soon...

from In the Assarts


About the line about the origins of plant –
no don’t be careful
when in the thirteenth century
when they ran out of continuous duchesses.
Baby through traction I am 4 feet wide.
Photos may be difficult.
I’ll show you my mushrooming award.
Baby the countrysides changed too
all the walls
in the countryside are to stand on.
Its full of rain & thwait.
Their new.
Its harrowing.
Their in the 1970s too.


Hazel is twenty-one to thirty years.
I may reveal she stood,
her poor balls descended,
when in threaden fillet
she met ordinary clubbing M.
They would attempt to keep a horse.
Lonely M,
he doesn’t like the horses upstairs.
There like the clappers
goes her poor lovely balls &
curvy voicebox.
You sound nice
& we sometimes
or else put on her surviving slender pole.


Meanwhile gardens call out for big trees
of their own nobody notices
not anyway in the mens.
Does not, does so.
"Conifers" I therefore leave off & boys.
My lord here & there she mings
but I am not like this I am all
my lord from kisses & broke down
his helmet
now he sings with a luxury dove
in May.
Myself. Myself with the ruler.

Let me dream of your felicity.


I fucking love you months
january & february happily
together march & april
on their own & the smaller ones
may, june & obvious july.
August is very rare
we have to ask what happened
to august in september &
delicately. October there is
nothing to be said for
which like all fashions changes.
Months can be used to remember
like november november I

fucking love you sonnets

Not The Leather Exchange...

Malcolm Phillips reading John Wieners'
"Children of the Working Class"

Harry Gilonis reading from Louis Zukofsky's
'First Half of "A"-9'

Steve Willey, partially obscured

Rob Holloway reading from Pierre Reverdy's
Haunted House

Frances Presley, very upright

Karlien Van den Beukel and Paul (sorry insert
name here) reading from Lucebert's "The
Defence of the Provos"

Peter Philpott, movement of jah people

Gavin Selerie and small torch

Peter McNamara, magnificent

Johan de Wit, three little birds

John Gibbens and half of Paul Sutton

Laurie Duggan and a confused Sharon

Tim Atkins in new strides reading
Rod Smith
Sean Bonney, lindworm


Frances Kruk said...


Peckham in Furs said...

ah your assarts make me laugh still.