With the shock departure of Northy from the list, I think we are all in need of spiritual succour. So in honour of the dearly departed I've decided to inaugurate the "Sinister Poem of the Week". Basically, drawing on from Tag's idea of the list as a daily fanzine, and also the fact that Sinisterines seem to be astonishingly well-read, I thought it'd be fun to have a regular feature every Monday. One of the frustrating things about my job is that I get to read lots of fantastic contemporary poetry, which I know lots of people would enjoy if only they had access to it. So in a spirit of "literary home-taping", I thought I'd choose some excellent new poems, in the same way that you might make someone a tape of a fantastic new group on a tiny label that no-one would've ever heard of otherwise. And of course this helps me feel slightly better about sending private email from work... Of course, it doesn't have much to do with B&S, and if enough people regard it as spam, I'll stop... But anyway... Paul Farley is from Liverpool. He's just won the Poetry Review New Poet of the Year award, and has a new book, "The Boy from the Chemist is Here to See You" out soon, published by Picador. For those of you who are either too young, or not British, Keith Chegwin is an ex-kids tv presenter who turned to the bottle. The poem deals with his early teenage appearance in a Roman Polanksi Shakespeare adaptation... Stephen xxxxxxxx -------------------------------------------------- Paul Farley Keith Chegwin as Fleance The next rung up from extra and dogsbody and all the cliches are true - days waiting for enough light, learning card games, penny-ante, while fog rolls off the sea, a camera gets moisture in its gate, and Roman Polanski curses the day he chose Snowdonia. He picked you for your hair to play this role: a look had reached Bootle from Altamont that year. You wouldn't say you sold your soul but learned your line inside a beating tent by candlelight, the shingle dark as coal behind each wave, and its slight restatement. "A tale told by an idiot..." "Not your turn, but perhaps, with time and practice...", the Pole starts. Who's to say, behind the accent and that grin, what designs you had on playing a greater part? The crew get ready while the stars go in. You speak the words you'd written on your heart just as the long-awaited sunrise fires the sky a bluish pink. Who could have seen this future in the late schedules, where I can't sleep, and watch you die on the small screen; on the other side of drink and wondering why, the zany, household-name years in between? --------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poetry Society Website: http://www.poetrysoc.com ----------------------------------------------------------------------- . This message was brought to you by the Sinister mailing list. . To send to the list please mail "sinister@majordomo.net". . For subscribing, unsubscribing and other list information please see . http://www.majordomo.net/sinister . For questions about how the list works mail owner-sinister@majordomo.net . We're all happy bunnies humming happy bunny tunes. Aren't we? -----------------------------------------------------------------------