Racing the Stable Clock is in the shop!
I won’t go on about this little publication, not least because of my anti-blurb stance, but it’s grand. Poems to make you laugh and cry. They’ll work, I think, for both poets and general readers.
Frank is not young. Born in 1925 he's proof, if any were needed, that it’s possible to keep loving and writing all one’s life without ever becoming ordinary.
This author is a stalwart of the living poetry scene, a man who attends group events, and discussions, festivals and readings. He subscribes to magazines, enters competitions, supports other poets by buying their books, and he’s being doing all this for a long, long time.
Now it’s his turn, and this is a grand wee book.
If you’re a subscriber, a flyer for this and five other pamphlets is about to pop through your front door, together with the annual Christmas Card (I folded 200 before dinner last night) and a small but mysterious and delightful free gift. Between all this and the log-burning stove (the Planning Department returned my application as ‘incomplete’ yesterday so watch this space), I am (as one pillar of the HS subscriber community pointed out) living Chapter Seven instead of writing it.
But by hook or by book, Chapter Seven will also appear around the end of January.
If thinking of sending me poems for the December reading window, please wait until I get this mailshot out, or I'll crack up. Now back to folding cards. . . .