Marcus Slease (JJ Mars) is a (mostly) surrealist 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:
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Today I am a Rouged Dowager 1st revision
TODAY I AM A ROUGED DOWAGER
Today I am a rouged dowager. After getting up, I, maid of the paternity lie, will climb on the face, powder on the cheeks and the palm and paint a little rouge. I have come out from the refuge of Jehol. A fortified town, in a wild and rugged mountain pass. I have covered my face with white cake make-up and placed patches of cherry rouge on my cheeks and lower lip. Grandmother Jia has cut the cards.
I have been pre-occupied in the hobhouse. With a white kilt and kettle drums beating we are forming a new delightful spectacle. I have slept on my rectum. A man very fat and not very tall with a fine face is repairing the highways. The women here are lonesome too.
I am among the most war-like subjects of the Sultan. The Greeks have called on the saints. The see-saws are rusting. I meant to write east but mis-typed. Fletcher has taken the protons of happiness. A licking horse. A bolt of sick neckties. I refuse to wear a suit. Ears and hands are hazards. The bark on the animation tree is forming a painting. I’m writing in a shady room of the English consul.
Between continents and between loves I’m working with two blunt pencils. The windmills are squeezed against the mountains. A bright fluid circulates among the soldiers. They are roasting rebels in the snuffbox. I’m carrying a flagpole without a flag. The Turkish salute is a slight inclination of the head. A hand on the breast.
This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)
I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).
Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.
By Robert Archambeau
I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…