Marcus Slease is a (mostly) surrealist, absurdist, and fabulist writer from Portadown, N. Ireland and Utah.
His latest book is Play Yr Kardz Right (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2017).
He lives in Madrid, Spain.
Visit his website for more info:
where did i get the fear of acting socially respectable. from looking toward the British as a child in Ireland? As an Irish child in Milton Keynes?
When I emigrated to America we landed in Vegas. July. When we stepped off the plane it was like stepping into a warm engine. We couldn't find any grass but we found Carl's Junior quite quickly. My mum became addicted to the fried zucini and buttermilk dip. I was the eldest of three when we landed. Rocky was my hero. So I lifted rocks in the desert. I stole a pair of boxing gloves from K-Mart. Or my friend did. I can't remember. I spiked my hair like the Russian Ivan Drago cause I felt Russian. More Russian than Irish in America. Even though I had never been to Russia. When I became Mormon I thought the Mormon prophet might send me to Russia on a mission. But that's another story.
The next eldest was my brother Aaron. He would run up and dow the hallway for hours. He had some kind of mad energy inside him. And then Shantel…
Olympia, Turkey two hundred fifteen years ago we crossed a large court and entered a large door they could tell where we were by the barking of dogs Jenny exclaimed “why these weeds are grapevines” tanglesome and troublesome we passed among the houses seeing no road we took a large hill to the left it was in the time of great floods part of the way was covered with large loose stones we trod on them we hurried across the ravine and up a winding road to get a drink we opened the merchant's freezer we left him a note after a while we arrived at eternal torches we took to the brambles the gate lead to ancient temples the orifices were no longer marble
Still revising The Heyday. Lots of re-seeings, re-readings, re-samplings, mixings and so on.
The Heyday (2005-2012) is travel writing. Basho. Walt Whitman. Herodotus. 18-19th travel handbooks, Buddhism, ethics and suffering and so on.
My experiences in South Korea, Katowice Poland, Elblag Poland, Ankara Turkey, Rome yadda yadda . . . .
Sometimes living in extreme circumstances without contact. Sometimes less extreme.
Creative translations from books and life and memories and experiences . .. blurring the lines . . . getting slippery . . . all writing as translation . . all words as already in the public sphere . . . including all poetry . .
The above picture is from visit to a Buddhist temple in South Korea in 2006 (Bongeunsa).
My hands are spread out for different turn-tables, mixing decks and so on.
Lots of books spread out on my table. Including my notebooks of travel notes and musings and poetry scraps. Travel handbooks from 18th century. Various 20th century books of poetry. B…
The end of week is coming fast. It has been my spring break. I got an HIV test (negative), some blood tests for all sorts of goodies (awaiting), vision test (and a new pair of glasses coming in two weeks), 20 new poems (and revisions). So a health check and writing week.
Got two terrific books in the post today. Matthew Henriksen's Ordinary Sun (from Black Ocean) and Ariana Reines Coeur De Lion. Last week I got Destroyer and Preserver by Matthew Rohrer (Wave Books).
So when the madness starts next week with 3 hours of daily commuting, I am well armed with mighty fine books!!!
Next week I will be going to a Vispo celebration/exchange with 75 or so poets. SJ Fowler has put it together.
Ewa and I are working on Freudian supermarket comics (from Spanish Fork) for the occasion.
Tomorrow I'm reading some Grzegorz Wroblewski (translated by Adam Zdrodowski) and Yu Jian (translated by Ron Padgett) in East London. Calvert Gallery. Off Press.
the possibility of warmth & contact in the human relationship : as juxtaposed against the materialistic pig of a technological world, where relationships are only ‘useful’ i.e., exploited, either psychologically or materially.
20, the possibility of s o n g within that world: which is like saying ‘yes’ to sunlight. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- YES YES YES!!!! This makes me want to write! See more over at Jacket Magazine: Paul Blackburn: the purpose of poetry