The web page of the Albion Beatnik Bookstore in Oxford: muses and misspills on books, jazz, poetry, stuff like false flags and smoke screen: is randomly decrepid and is neo-bankrupt: is so analogue it's anal.
PATRICK MACKIE lives in Gloucestershire. Recently published by CBeditions is The Further Adventures of the Lives of the Saints; an earlier collection, Excerpts From the Memoirs Of A Fool, was published by Carcanet when patrick was in his early twenties, and he has been published since by Poetry Review and the Paris Review. He was a Visiting Fellow at Harvard in the late-1990s. He has just finished a book on Mozart.
JOHN CLEGG was born in Chester in 1986, and grew up in Cambridge. In 2013, he won an Eric Gregory Award. He works as a bookseller in London; tonight he joins the big boys. Holy Toledo! has been published recently by Carcanet.
Free entry; refreshment is available.
The Further Adventures of the Lives of the Saints – The river Rhine starts to flow through Gloucestershire. Someone reads Russian poetry as a general election approaches. The people who live on the sun turn out to be worried about the people down here on earth – who include, in other poems, John Wayne and Osip Mandelstam, Simone Weil and Margaret Thatcher and Amy Winehouse. Casting its lines across rainfall and motorways and the lives of the saints alike, mining a wild humour from the vastness of our cultural disarray, this book gives a new account of what the modern lyric is capable of.
Holy Toledo! – Sometime during the twentieth century, the self-mythology of the literary critic fused with that of the cowboy: lone outriders practising a defunct trade. In this poetry collection, John Clegg tracks the critic’s silhouette over the dangerous, sun-drenched landscapes of New Mexico, California, Nashville, Utah, Oxford, Cambridge, and London. Here is Donald Davie listening to gospel radio in a Nashville taxi, and here is F. R. Leavis standing on a chair, ‘unscrewing instead the world from round the lightbulb’. Vistas of bristlecone and citrus groves, pocked with fruit flies and rain birds, fuse with the glib-core of Oxbridge England, the university science labs where ‘all three entrances felt like the back way.’