Oleg
Mutated
- Joined
- Aug 15, 2006
- Posts
- 19,406
- Location
- Leeds, UK
- Avatar Name
- Oleg Oleg McMullery
I should have mentioned this months ago but my relentless self-publicity machine failed...
As some of you will know, outside of EU I am a writer and performing poet, and in September my first solo poetry collection, 'Killing the Piano', was published by Half Moon Books here in the UK.
Here are some things some reviewers have said about it:
“Williams masterfully navigates between subtle wit and nostalgia; both of which are warm and cosy, but with a vulnerability which never tries to hide. These poems exist in all of us. He provides the perfect ingredients for them to spring to life, without ever having to spell it out. Wonderfully crafted, and a joy to read from start to finish. Bravo!”
Matt Abbott
“Joe Williams’ poems walk a tightrope strung between the quotidian and the absurd, from watching snooker on the telly to Virgil turning up at an open mic night. Stripped of all excess, they stand exposed in the page’s spotlight, coolly staring down the white space in which so much of their impact resides. It’s a deft balancing act.”
Oz Hardwick
I'm doing lots of gigs, mainly around the north of England, to promote the book, so if anyone is nearby and would like to come along to one, that'd be great. All the dates are listed at my website www.joewilliams.co.uk or my Facebook www.facebook.com/haikuhole, where I also puts lots of updates as I add new dates.
I always have copies of the book for sale at gigs, but if anyone would like a copy and isn't able to get to a gig, you buy get it via PayPal from www.joewilliams.co.uk, or if you prefer to pay in PEDs you can contact me here or in-game. The price with P&P is £7 in the UK, £9 in Europe, £9.50 for the rest of the world, or whatever that converts to in PEDs at the time of purchase.
Thank you for listening to my advertising
I'll leave you with some examples of poems from the book.
Killing the Piano
We tried to save you with small ads.
Free to good home, must collect
but nobody called.
We tried schools and churches,
community centres,
but none were prepared to accommodate you.
No room for the past,
no use for tradition,
and each back turned
was another key condemned.
Once we dragged you a hundred miles north,
and later a hundred back,
my faithful friend as I learnt how to play,
from Three Blind Mice
to Für Elise and the Nut Rocker.
But for years you stood,
lid down, barely touched,
except by the clumsy fists of children,
bashing a blind fortissimo,
untroubled by rhythm or melody,
unaware that every good boy deserves favour.
For years you stood,
an obstacle,
an inconvenience,
silently slipping out of tune.
It fell to me to strike the killing blow,
consign you to the fate we’d tried to swerve.
Behind the crack of splintering walnut
I could hear a heart
breaking.
Old Fred
They know what he drinks,
and that he likes it in a glass with a handle.
They know he never comes in on Tuesdays.
They know where he sits,
and how all of his stories
have changed over the years.
They know his kids and grandkids,
although they’ve never met,
and on the day that he doesn’t show up
they know who to call.
Spell
I put a spell on you,
but it went a bit wrong.
It was meant to make you fall in love with me,
but you ended up covered in boils
and stinking like a sewer.
It was the leg of toad that did it, I’d say.
I took one from the front,
which probably counts as an arm,
now that I think about it.
Still, it worked out OK.
Your boyfriend dumped you.
I always knew he was shallow.
You scratch more than you used to,
and I must admit the smell is a little off-putting,
but you still have your sparkling wit,
and that’s what really counts,
isn’t it?
As some of you will know, outside of EU I am a writer and performing poet, and in September my first solo poetry collection, 'Killing the Piano', was published by Half Moon Books here in the UK.
Here are some things some reviewers have said about it:
“Williams masterfully navigates between subtle wit and nostalgia; both of which are warm and cosy, but with a vulnerability which never tries to hide. These poems exist in all of us. He provides the perfect ingredients for them to spring to life, without ever having to spell it out. Wonderfully crafted, and a joy to read from start to finish. Bravo!”
Matt Abbott
“Joe Williams’ poems walk a tightrope strung between the quotidian and the absurd, from watching snooker on the telly to Virgil turning up at an open mic night. Stripped of all excess, they stand exposed in the page’s spotlight, coolly staring down the white space in which so much of their impact resides. It’s a deft balancing act.”
Oz Hardwick
I'm doing lots of gigs, mainly around the north of England, to promote the book, so if anyone is nearby and would like to come along to one, that'd be great. All the dates are listed at my website www.joewilliams.co.uk or my Facebook www.facebook.com/haikuhole, where I also puts lots of updates as I add new dates.
I always have copies of the book for sale at gigs, but if anyone would like a copy and isn't able to get to a gig, you buy get it via PayPal from www.joewilliams.co.uk, or if you prefer to pay in PEDs you can contact me here or in-game. The price with P&P is £7 in the UK, £9 in Europe, £9.50 for the rest of the world, or whatever that converts to in PEDs at the time of purchase.
Thank you for listening to my advertising
I'll leave you with some examples of poems from the book.Killing the Piano
We tried to save you with small ads.
Free to good home, must collect
but nobody called.
We tried schools and churches,
community centres,
but none were prepared to accommodate you.
No room for the past,
no use for tradition,
and each back turned
was another key condemned.
Once we dragged you a hundred miles north,
and later a hundred back,
my faithful friend as I learnt how to play,
from Three Blind Mice
to Für Elise and the Nut Rocker.
But for years you stood,
lid down, barely touched,
except by the clumsy fists of children,
bashing a blind fortissimo,
untroubled by rhythm or melody,
unaware that every good boy deserves favour.
For years you stood,
an obstacle,
an inconvenience,
silently slipping out of tune.
It fell to me to strike the killing blow,
consign you to the fate we’d tried to swerve.
Behind the crack of splintering walnut
I could hear a heart
breaking.
Old Fred
They know what he drinks,
and that he likes it in a glass with a handle.
They know he never comes in on Tuesdays.
They know where he sits,
and how all of his stories
have changed over the years.
They know his kids and grandkids,
although they’ve never met,
and on the day that he doesn’t show up
they know who to call.
Spell
I put a spell on you,
but it went a bit wrong.
It was meant to make you fall in love with me,
but you ended up covered in boils
and stinking like a sewer.
It was the leg of toad that did it, I’d say.
I took one from the front,
which probably counts as an arm,
now that I think about it.
Still, it worked out OK.
Your boyfriend dumped you.
I always knew he was shallow.
You scratch more than you used to,
and I must admit the smell is a little off-putting,
but you still have your sparkling wit,
and that’s what really counts,
isn’t it?
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