Saturday, October 05, 2024

Reviews of The Necessity of Poetics

I'm pleased to say there has been a first review of The Necessity of Poetics, by Rupert Loydell, in Tears in the Fence. I suspect, as it is reviewed, and I hope it is reviewed widely (it's provocative enough I think), it will furnish different responses, with differing emphases, and it might look as though the reviewers were reading different books. That's because it's a miscellany rather than a unified volume like The Poetry of Saying or The Meaning of Form. It's also not a straight literary critical volume. Rupert writes from the point of view of a teacher of creative writing who is interested in nurturing poetics as a speculative and anticipatory writerly discourse in his students, who, as Rupert says, have been subjected to two of the pieces collected in the book. Of course, he responds in other ways too. It's a refreshing and personal (or professional) response. 

It may be read here: The Necessity of Poetics by Robert Sheppard (Shearsman Books) | Tears in the Fence



I describe the full contents of the volume here: Pages: The Necessity of Poetics - out now! (robertsheppard.blogspot.com)

It may be purchased here: https://www.shearsman.com/store/Robert-Sheppard-The-Necessity-of-Poetics-p661888958


Saturday, 5th October 1974

Got pissed with Trev (from Barrow) and Mick from Coventry.

               Went into town. Got drink and food. Got [illegible: frassed?]

               Saw ‘3 up’ and Thin Lizzy. Bought things in Norwich. Talking Polemics in the next room. Puked up in Bog. Drunk.  

Tuesday, October 01, 2024

Details of Readings this Autumn

I thought I had four readings between now and the end of the year, but it’s actually five. I’m going to add details as they come in, or as they are confirmed. They are all quite different, with different work read, often from different books, or no books!

Liverpool 24th October 2024: for Liverpool Poetry Space hosted by The Open Eye Gallery (on the dockside): L3 1BP: 6.00-8.00, FREE/drop in

I will be launching British Standards and I will be waving copies of The Necessity of Poetics because it contains an essay about photography and poetry written for the Open Eye itself.

I will be reading with Maria Isakova-Bennett, Mandy Coe and Eleanor Rees.

Details of books: Pages: British Standards and The Necessity of Poetics published simultaneously (robertsheppard.blogspot.com)

 


The next night: London: Friday, 25th October 2024 (7:00 for 7:30pm start)

The Cock Tavern, 23 Phoenix Rd, London NW1 1HB

Free Entry. All Welcome.


Adrian ClarkeWalhalla (Veer)

Bob Cobbingthe five vowels & Third ACB in Sound (Veer/Writers Forum)

Bob Cobbing/Robert SheppardCollaborations (Veer/Writers Forum): performed by RS and Patricia Farrell. 


Ulli FreerTransition Pulse (Veer)


Karen MacCormackQuaquaversal (Veer)

Steve McCafferyAlice through the Working Class (Blazevox) (What a great title!)


Although my Collaborations with Bob Cobbing was published by Veer in 2021, there wasn’t a launch of this splendid box of pamphlets, reprints of Odes and Diodes and Blatent Blather/Virulent Whoops from 1991 and 2001. On the box: Pages: COLLABORATIONS (Bob Cobbing - Robert Sheppard) published in a box by Veer - out now.

 




Wednesday November 6th: 7.30. An ONLINE reading from Aquifer Books. FREE.

I will find something that works in excerpt from my finely-designed Aquifer volume, Doubly Stolen Fire. Other readers may include Allen Fisher, Sarah Crewe, Mélisande Fitzsimons.

Details of book: Pages: Reviews of my book DOUBLY STOLEN FIRE (robertsheppard.blogspot.com)

Linking details soon!


 

London 12th November 2024: 7.30: A Shearsman launch of new Shearsman books. 

This reading will take place at the Swedenborg Hall, 20/21 Bloomsbury Way, London WC1A 2TH. (See map here.) Admission is free. Hosted by Tony Frazer, publisher of Shearsman Books.

I will read from British Standards and point to The Necessity of Poetics AND to my edition of the Selected Poems of Mary Robinson.

As a bridge between the two poetry books, I will be reading my ‘transpositions’ of Robinson’s sonnets ‘Tabitha and Thunderer’, a section of British Standards. 

I will be reading with Elaine Randell, which is very exciting.

 


Details of all three books: Pages: British Standards published by Shearsman - out now (robertsheppard.blogspot.com) and Pages: Selecting for a Selected: The Poems of Mary Robinson 1 (robertsheppard.blogspot.com).

 


Liverpool 16th November, The Bluecoat 7.00-11.00 (bar open 6.30-11.00): I will be reading (briefly) at a gig at The Bluecoat in memory of the turntablist and composer Philip Jeck (as will Patricia Farrell). The rest of the evening will be music and film: full details Here: Bluecoat | From the Grooves of Vinyl: A Tribute to Philip Jeck (thebluecoat.org.uk)

Me on Phil: Pages: Philip Jeck 2022 (robertsheppard.blogspot.com).

 

*

Locating Robert Sheppard: email: robertsheppard39@gmail.com; website: www.robertsheppard.weebly.com NEW: Follow on Bluesky at https://bsky.app/profile/robertsheppard.bsky.social

Saturday, September 21, 2024

'Pretend-sleep' published in International Times

 I still get a frisson from being published in International Times. I feel like, retrospectively, I am being admitted into Bomb Culture or something from my precocious entry into the 'underground' as a teenager. (Appropriate, since this week it is 50 years since I met Tom Pickard, Barry MacSweeney, Pierre Joris, Paul Brown and others, when I recorded the first two reading at the Entreprise pub!). But, of course, International Times rages on, online, as a radical journal, and is very much worth reading. Rupert Loydell is poetry editor and he has published a number of poems of mine. (This link takes you to all the items I've contributed over the years: (https://internationaltimes.it/?s=Sheppard.))

This time Rupert has published an impacted little piece called 'pretend-sleep' which was written in November 2023, with the war in Ukraine and and with the asymmetrical killing in Gaza, very much in mind. Read the text online here: Pretend-Sleep | IT (internationaltimes.it)

But I also read it here: 


Patricia (Farrell) has also been published a lot in International Times too, and this is her most recent appearance: From looking like winter illegibly read | IT (internationaltimes.it)

Tuesday, September 10, 2024

How Twitter developed my poetry and why I'm leaving X

I have – quite reluctantly – left the social media platform X. In fact, I never really wanted to be on X (to be able to leave it): I joined something called Twitter, along with millions of others. Some people are defiantly calling it that still, but it isn’t that anymore. (I suspect readers of The Daily Herald did the same when their former Labour-supporting paper re-branded as The Sun, an event I just about remember.) 

This is a sad departure for me because Twitter was intimately involved in some of my poetry. I first went on the platform under the guise of my fictional Belgian poet Rene Van Valckenborch – and he still has a microblog there (I lost access to it and therefore can’t deactivate it). I posted his so-called ‘Twitter Odes’ there (I also posted them here: here’s a few: https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2010/12/twitterodes-35-42.html.

They appeared eventually in A Translated Man. But Van Valckenborch also invented the ‘Twittersonnet’ (140 characters and/or spaces (as it was then) divided into 14 lines of 10 characters each. There’s one of those in A Translated Man. But I couldn’t let my creature have all the fun. I wrote a series of ‘Twittersonnets’ about small things for a festival of small things at the Bluecoat under my own name. I actually set up my now deactivated account to post these little poems (I used ‘microbius’ as my handle because I imagined a younger brother to the Roman astronomer Macrobius who specialized in small things and was called Microbius; that must be my only ‘classical’ joke!) These poems are, appropriately, collected in my small volume of short poems Micro Event Space which I had fun ‘launching’ in micro non-event spaces, https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2019/07/robert-sheppard-micro-event-space.html and I thank Red Ceilings Press for this publication (still in print). Here: https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2019/07/robert-sheppards-micro-event-space-is.html. And here is one of them that was exhibited at the Blackpool Illuminations: Really: Pages: Robert Sheppard: My twittersonnet 'Dwarf Planet' is part of the KFS poetry illuminations in Blackpool. I think this image can be read, but I've added the poem (and another) below): 

 


dwarf planet (pluto)

 

ice-coated

 mountains

 (30% H20)

 polygons

 

by a whale

’s tail/cr

isp bald c

rust faces

 

 redtipped

 charon su

cking meth

 

ane/pebble

 moons in

the kuiper

 

 

 

and here's another  

 

 

 

 

lucretius

 

atoms make

 space & t

hen discom

pose in mo

 

tion/littl

e letters

make words

 & then re

 

contextual

ise atoms/

lettery cl

 

inamens li

ke ‘world’

 to ‘word’

 

There’s another Twittersonnet in my 14 variations of Petrarch published as Petrarch 3 and republished in The English Strain. It will be my last.

OK back to Twitter-as-was. I left the account alone then, for a while, until I was talking about this very blog to the ex-Comms person at Edge Hill, Angela Samata (Merseyside Woman of the Year a few years back for her pioneering work in suicide prevention). And she asked what was the point of blogging if you didn’t tell people about your posts. Realising the truth of this, I set about using my Twitter account to announce new (and sometimes old) posts. I think it fulfilled that function – but I also found myself absorbed by the cut and thrust and to and fro of information and (deliberately fun) nonsense online. (As does Angela herself, by the way: I followed her.) Perhaps it now seems like an age of innocence. Eventually I had 1,500 followers and I followed 800. (I deliberately kept that number low to make it manageable.)

So why come off the platform?

The answer is, predictably, him,

 

Elongated Muff as I call him (or would have, if he’d entered the carnival of grotesques in my now-completed ‘English Strain’ project along with Bo and Go and Fox and Dox).

This would-be Citizen Kane increasingly interrupts one’s posting with his increasingly conspiracy theorizing fascistic comments. When it came to the riots in Southport, he was reporting Civil War in Britain (which is at least hyperbole) and defending some of the rioters as being guilty only of posting on FB, when even they admitted – for example – criminal damage. An acquaintance of mine knows one Scouser that Muff was defending: the jokes around the pubs are that he’s going to get him out! He won’t. (The rioter was reportedly quite calm on the afternoon of the evening of the riots, but an afternoon and an evening is a long time to keep drinking, and he ended up chanting at and abusing policemen as the Spellow Library, to whose rebuilding fund I have contributed, burned!)

Technically, the Muff algorithm has made more of that conspiracy stuff arrive in my stream (or whatever it’s called). It’s not helped by followers of mine who attack these people; the only effect is that their monetized accounts are worth even more. So I am becoming part of, say, Lawrence Fox’s income stream if I repost his deliberately-constructed nonsense. Even more than that I was increasingly not seeing my followees’ posts; so my followers weren’t seeing mine.

So, I am – reluctantly – on Bluesky now, where, of today, I am following 115 sites, with 90 followers so far. I am at https://bsky.app/profile/robertsheppard.bsky.social.

I’ve always avoided FB with my English temerity about what a ‘friend’ constitutes. But I might migrate. There is a bigger question about whether blogs are the dinosaurs of the internet. Coming up to my 20th year HERE (See post number one: https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2005/02/editorial-to-third-series-robert.html) that’s an open question for now. 

Until then, come and join me on Bluesky. It is rapidly growing and is benign so far.  

 

Saturday, August 31, 2024

Abutting Avant-Garde Pieties by Joel Bettridge: A Poetics

Earlier this year, I attempted to write a processual poetics piece, writing through Joel Bettridge’s book. It was only a partial success. It didn’t end up generating new ideas, as had happened with ‘Pulse’, now happily published in The Necessity of Poetics, nor did it sustain acts of writing, as had ‘Poetics in Anticipation’, also in The Necessity of Poetics, or the much more impacted piece ‘My Own Crisis’, which was written in 2023, too late for The Necessity of Poetics, whose contents had already been settled by that time, but is available on FUTCH, here: https://www.futchpress.info/post/my-own-crisis. (More on it here: https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2023/12/my-poetics-piece-my-own-crisis-is.html) It's not clear how its ruminations will affect future writing, or may be affecting what I do now.

As a parenthetical note in the piece says, one paragraph became the draft for the back-cover blurb of The Necessity of Poetics, and parts of other paragraphs, in a circuitous way, found their ways into a poem-sequence about Shakespeare’s poets (usually minor or very minor characters). Also the piece fed off an earlier journal poetics-blogpost which treated Bettridge’s book (which dealt with Kenneth Goldsmith and attacks on the avant-garde on racial grounds) and which may be read in full here: https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2023/11/from-poetics-journal-2023-notes-on-two.html

However, I think it is articulate in its own terms (and time, pre-election) to be worth posting here. That it repeats older ideas or is cannibalised for later texts shouldn’t detract from its use for others, maybe. I am sure there are ideas I shall return to at a later date as well.

 


 Abutting Avant-Garde Pieties by Joel Bettridge

You can vote for a ceasefire but even that is mired in confusion and indefinition. Intellectualising a hammer blow. You’re complicit but powerless, even in the practice of art, or the practice of the poetics of art, but you carry on writing a new poem, collecting another poetics together, because that is what you do. It brings you pleasure, if nothing else, if not for someone else. You think with, and through, poems, as they emerge – yours and others – and that thinking can swing off into adjacent, and distant, domains. At best, this is communicative without messaging, a communal commitment to whatever is embodied in that indefinition. This isn’t activism, exactly, but it is active, acts and events implied in aesthetic exchange.

 

*

 

A friend’s thoughts become your thoughts, on loan; you test them out, a struggle that is nevertheless more of a wriggling than agonistic dialectic. That’s what friendship means. And now and then, a poem, as you read it, becomes a sort of friend.


Talking with ourselves, not to. Talking with friends not at. How could you talk at a book in any case? At moments of our failure, friends lift us, measure us, in the justice of exchange, and that includes aesthetic exchange. Out there, in the world, the ex-deputy leader of the Conservative Party broadcasts a racist slur on the hate-channel.


The white reader jumped out of his skin and jumped back in again! Which is better I suppose than what I wrote of Kenneth Goldsmith last year: He would sell his own skin to save his body.


The poet does not conduct a nudge unit.


The manifestic stand of Goldsmith, which offers a teleology that fashions all of avant-garde or modernist history into a precursor of uncreative writing or, rather, of himself, as I put it, which, with his fall, could take us all with him in an egregious, unquestionable case of joint enterprise.


I feel I’d be re-inscribing the pain (I won’t mention that text about the body) when I would prefer to focus on writerly and readerly pleasures. But if you don’t believe Goldsmith’s self-serving teleology, the avant-garde work didn’t die in 2015 (nobody told me in any case!): not all forms lead to Goldsmith. Some years ago, I’d wagered 2015 as the year when the wheels would fall off the conceptualist wagon: the concept of the concept would get rustier with each mile of uncreative paper milling, without further acts of poetics. At that moment, 2015, finishing The Meaning of Form, I was attempting to prove, in part, that conceptual writing’s disavowal of form is not evidenced by the form, forms and acts of forming involved in producing the events of the works themselves, to use the vocabulary of Derek Attridge.


Possibility implied in multiform activity.


* 

I have a feeling, which I’ve never expressed hitherto, that my poetry is written by a sort of ‘implied author’ who is 10 years younger than myself I can’t explain this.


The insights of our time(s), and other times, and their blindness(es) too. They are there for us to see, if we will. We need not defend previous perspectives in order to accept responsibility for them, and to accept them for what they were, when they were.

 

Perhaps it is impossible, even unnecessary, to explore the relationship between the poetry I am reading and how I will cast my vote. (As we are exhaustedly reminded, this is an election year.)


The Necessity of Poetics, the book, not the essay, that I have in proof form, marks the moves this poet-critic has made around the notion of poetics in general, and the poetics of linguistically innovative poetry (the ‘avant-garde’ here) in particular, and my poetics as an offshoot of that. It traces those moves, but offers them to fellow poets, critics, and (since I’ve been around so long) literary historians. It incites and ignites and invites readers to identify poetics, to read poetics (as poetics, not as limp literary criticism), to share poetics and, where appropriate, for readers who are also writers, to create poetics of their own. (This could be a blurb for the book; [in fact, I do use it as a blurb for the book. It’s on the back cover, and elsewhere, just as some other statements of poetics in this piece were cannibalised for my unpublished poem ‘Shakespeare and Company’.)


Poets may change their poetics (by definition, my definition, that’s what poetics must do, constantly, however slightly), but when it is dodges into ethics, let’s distrust it, if only for a clarifying moment. (That was almost a quotation from a Roy Fisher poem.)


If the political only means one thing, it allows everything else to be claimed as an apolitical cloud, and ressentiment Rages Against a Villain: the sacrificial avant-gardist.


It’s not (so much) what you believe: it’s how you believe. It’s not ‘you’ anyway; it’s how we believe together. Democracy of a kind.


I like ‘refusal’. We operate a refusal of our own, against the injury of ressentiment and its identity shells, and against the generality that spreads a storm of black dye across the pool of Goldsmith’s wrongs until it covers every bank of avant-garde resistance.


Yesterday, I fought against my own moralism without knowing it. I am no longer injured in my inquiry, no longer offended by offence, am I?


Intergenerational trigger warnings swallow the artwork, diminish its wholesome possibility of harm rather than harmony. ‘Wholesome’ because the effect of art cannot be regulated (though its effects are attenuated by its being, by its being art). The engagement of adults can only be a genuine aesthetic exchange so long as risk is present, however restrained.


Fighting over words to plaster the insides of other people’s skulls, desecrating works of art (the despised ‘person’ in the portrait is barely a trigger for its artifice)? The meanings of words meaning in the poem are public.


*


Sometimes it is a ritual to write a poem, to be sure, a magic of hope that may be initiated but not controlled.


‘Realism’ in art and politics is a choice, a lifestyle choice, we might say. Experimental practices (in art) prefigure the transformation of the world, a prefiguration that might only be responded to by a few (or by many, but probably not all.) Aesthetic reception is intersubjective but is never totally ‘social’, as words are. Perhaps at what Sean Bonney calls ‘revolutionary moments’ art can operate as a direct social catalysis: mostly it is a ghostly utopian hope. It cannot administer the world – shouldn’t in fact!


*


Were I to sit in the audience of Peter Barlow’s Cigarette today, I’d know that that is where I’m meant to be, receiving the latest avant-garde messages from the edge of futurity, that is, from today.


Even our thoughts aren’t inside us, following a kind of conceptual version of the theory of extended mind. They could also reside inside a poem, another externalised object in all its linguistic materiality, and that’s where a poet knows the world, in the poem that is already part of the world. Reading it back, to oneself.


I’m drawn into this activity (again): I’m turning over a sudden chance thought I had, a chance prepared by hard thinking. The ideas don’t settle: and perhaps the possible resultant poem won’t, either.


Hope, a single italicised word on the page (or screen). We assert a plea for art to be art. Both mainstream and avant-garde (these are not the terms I customarily use). There is a division between the work of this year’s National Poetry Prize winner and Adrian Clarke’s new book Walhalla from Veer Books. Has to be. However much they steal ‘strategies’ from us. That denies the multiform ‘tradition’ of the avant-garde, as defined by Joel Bettridge in his suggestive Avant-Garde Pieties, parts of which I have been stalking here, page by page.  


The pleasure of comingling philosophy and non-sense is not to be underestimated, no. Likewise, the obligation to preserve art’s thinking against the latest grim tweet from Conservative Central Office. Art’s epistemology against business ontology. Writing’s vectors into the mess. Working the work once more.


February-April 2024


Further Reading

Bettridge, Joel. Avant-Garde Pieties: Aesthetics, Race, and the Renewal of Innovative Poetics. Oxfordshire, New York: Routledge, 2018.

 

NOTE

 

The Necessity of Poetics is now available: https://www.shearsman.com/store/Robert-Sheppard-The-Necessity-of-Poetics-p661888958

I write about it here, and the ways it reflects on poetics as a discipline, AND the way I have assembled the best of the poetics of my own works for a wider public : https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2024/08/the-necessity-of-poetics-out-now.html

 

 


 

 

Saturday, August 17, 2024

New book British Standards completes the 'English Strain' project: all 3 books available

 


All three books of 'The English Strain' project are now published - and available. They are (in order) The English Strain (Shearsman 2021), Bad Idea (Knives Forks and Spoons 2021) and British Standards (Shearsman 2024); two pamphlets, Petrarch 3: a derivative dérive, (Crater 36, 2017) and Hap: Understudies of Thomas Wyatt’s Petrarch, (Knives Forks and Spoons 2018) were collected in The English Strain.

The poems mainly take on sonnets from the English sonnet tradition (Wyatt, Surrey, Milton, Charlotte Smith, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Michael Drayton, Wordswoth, Shelley, Mary Robinson, Keats, John Clare and others), and transpose them into poems (again, mainly) plotting through brexit and Covid to the eve of the Ukraine war, although the first section 'Petrarch 3' is having serious Oulipo fun with one of Petrarch's sonnets. Another section is an attempt to 'write the self' (I failed, deliberately). 

They probably took me as long to write as did Twentieth Century Blues. 

Anyway, all three books are available. Here's where:

The English Strain and British Standards are both published by Shearsman, and my page on its site, will show you to it: Sheppard, Robert (shearsman.com).


I've just checked and all three books are available in the same place at the same time: on AMAZON (UK). 

Unusually for me many of these sonnets were posted temporarily on this blog and there are many posts that relate to the many stages of composition (with videos; sonnets take about a minute to read, the limit of my videos!). I think I'll now offer links to one post per book, and a summary one for the project, now it's completed: 

(This was the cover not used, an amalgam of all the poets transposed, PLUS me. I was one face too many, and was removed for the real thing: image by Patricia Farrell.) 

(Patricia's design for the cover of Bad Idea, featuring an ice-cream guzzling Britannia and a grumpy Michael Drayton.)



Patricia's image for the cover of British Standards.



This is me reading 'Petrak 1401' from 'Petrarch 3', right at the start of the 'project'. Here's how it all started, as an offshoot of my critical book, The Meaning of FormPages: Robert Sheppard on The Petrarch Boys: Peter Hughes and Tim Atkins

Thursday, August 15, 2024

'Between' published as part of 'The Worked Object' for Roy Fisher on Blackbox Manifold

Covid intervened in a lot of things, and one was a celebration of Roy Fisher to inaugurate the Roy Fisher Archive at Sheffield University. There is a healthy newsletter you may read and a website, here: https://royfisherarchive.sites.sheffield.ac.uk/ .

 


One of the offshoots of that launch was to be an anthology of poems for Roy Fisher, or in his memory. Of course, since my PhD days I have been a student of Roy Fisher in many ways, and I’ve written criticism on his work (here’s a snippet: https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2018/06/robert-sheppard-actual-poetics-roy.html) and I’ve previously composed poems for his birthdays, etc. all of which may be found in my published books. (Here’s one reprinted in his memory on the occasion of his death: https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2017/03/robert-sheppard-tenatives-poem-for-roy.html)

I had a fresh poem ready for this proposed anthology, because I found myself writing a poem (unusually for me) on the way to work, and (even more unusual for me!) I carried on writing the poem, at work. I’d seen a mention of his death in a Tweet on then Twitter (halcyon days before the fascistic re-branding as X), which I couldn’t re-locate. Then on the bus … well, the poem can really speak for itself as it may be read here, and heard on the video I made today:


‘Between’ : https://blackboxmanifold.sites.sheffield.ac.uk/issue-32/robertsheppardbm32

This appears, not in a booklet, but as part of a special feature of tributes, ‘The Worked Object’, in the wonderful magazine Blackbox Manifold in which I have appeared many times: https://blackboxmanifold.sites.sheffield.ac.uk/home.

 Current issue here: https://blackboxmanifold.sites.sheffield.ac.uk/issue-32-current-issue .

 I suggest reading Peter Robinson’s introduction first, followed by a trawl through the poems, Fleur Adcock to Cliff Yates. Blackbox Manifold - PeterRobinsonPrefaceBM32 (sheffield.ac.uk) .

 It’s interesting how many people, as I do, address Roy in their poems (a feature of elegy, I wonder?) whereas others take elements of his style, and sometimes landscapes familiar to him (and jazz, of course), and play and juggle with those.

Thanks to Peter for editing this and finding a home for these tributes and elegies. As he notes in the introduction, many poets gave up waiting for the Covid interruption to be over, and published the poems they’d written in advance of yesterday’s appearance. I feel less guilty than I did to realise I wasn’t the only offender in this category. My poem previously appeared in Tears in the Fence (a magazine, like Blackbox Manifold, that has been a great supporter of my work, and thus its continuation). I blogged about its first appearance here: https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2018/09/robert-sheppard-between-poem-for-roy.html

Looking for a photograph of Roy to flesh out my post, I discovered that my 1982 interview with Fisher (‘Turning the Prism’) which first appeared in Gargoyle magazine (before it was published as a booklet by Toads Damp Press) is archived online here: Interview with Roy Fisher – Gargoyle Magazine . Conducting that interview (I did another with Robert Creeley in the same month) was an education. Good to see it again, and Richard Peabody, the editor, still going strong.