Thursday 8 October 2015

National Poetry Day Pamphlet Offer

Today is the UK's annual National Poetry Day. This year's theme is light, so we've lightened our already light prices to create a special poetry day offer.

For 24 hours only, U.K. readers can buy a package of all three V. Press 2015 poetry pamphlets for £12.50 (including P&P in the U.K.) - a saving of more than £5 on our full price!

The paypal button for this special offer was below (removed after the 24 hours), followed by a sample poem from each pamphlet.

Happy National Poetry Day!


From CLAIRE WALKER'S THE GIRL WHO GREW INTO A CROCODILE

The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile

When she was young, they'd swim. Take off
sandals and frilled ankle socks and jump
into the river. She loved to feel the water pull
ribboned hair to float behind her.

The games started with smiles: splashing; testing
who could hold a breath longest. They never matched her.
She was born to lie in wait, to feel the kiss
of the current in her ears until her head turned light.

But children wish to win. The others turned
as green as the rushes lining their pool. They plotted, held her
down too long. The water swilled round her lungs and she coughed
her heartsong out with it.

That night, she lay awake under a sky that was turning
tides with its dust covered ball. She pulled the cold rock
down, seethed until scales replaced skin, found the biting point
of a new jaw and wished for the crunch of bone. 

Next time, she waited in the shallows, camouflaged
in the rushes, cold blood immersed. Eyes broke
the surface, webbed feet treading water. The sun hit
her back and she felt her armour shine.

Then she made her move. Opened up
her huge grin. Felt never-ending enamel sink through flesh
as easily as arms stroke water. She snapped her jaws shut.
Swallowed the damage whole. 

Claire Walker

From DAVID O'HANLON'S ART BRUT

art brut

So, after my swirling black abyss, a work
still in progress, we turned to Sophies landscape:
a jazz-hands sun, the wide Vs, almost Ms
of birds, a green ribbon, edge to edge,

and, poking their heads up out from the grass
five earthworms, five pink splodges
more finger than worm, with blobbed eyes
and theres-no-bad-in-life smiles.

Are they supposed to represent real people
or a specific event, maybe?
Its a fascinating choice of subject matter.
Worms usually have quite negative associations,

particularly death, but yours are content,
blissful. Do you think maybe theres
something in that, a desire to make
positives from even the worst situations?

She didnt take it with her.
Like others left behind, it ended up
on the wall where, my sentimentality
assures me, it remains, unfaded.

David O'Hanlon
From art brut

From JACQUI ROWE'S RANSOM NOTES


PHLOGISTON

but light was not his field
dirtier in busy doors and tightly
woven doorways shades

of its refraction dimmed
and skimmed dishevelled ladies
his brain kept flaming

spills alive in bell jars birds
fell dead out of the sky his phantasy
revelled at length in patterns
of great earthquakes the certain

stars showed smiles
of loosened hair that wicked
away all terrible appearances

and unforeseen in time he went
for phlogiston and weeping said within
himself the first breath of a word

Jacqui Rowe
From Ransom Notes

Thursday 1 October 2015

Launching The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile

The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile

V. Press is very proud to announce the publication of The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile by Claire Walker.

Daughter, wife and mother; femme fatale, object of study and maker of myths…The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile explores what being a real woman has been, is, and could be in today’s society of celebrity, stereotypes and media spin. Beneath the poems’ sometimes quiet surfaces, a strong voice, pared word choices, precise images and thought-provoking metaphor make this a powerful pamphlet. The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile is very vivid and very resonant.

"Claire Walker's debut pamphlet The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile is a riveting meditation on motherhood and transformation that crackles with drama. There are moments of lyrical delicacy and oceanic longings, and Walker's perceptual acuity pitches the reader into a world where nothing is taken at face value – a girl might be a crocodile, a mermaid could become captor, and seeds are studied for their mnemonic potential. This is a work to be savoured." Carolyn Jess Cooke

"A confident and impressive debut by Claire Walker. The alluring qualities in this collection are the sense of mystique in many of her poems which at first glance appear elucidating. The stylistic fusion of narrative and illustrative poetry see-saws from the adult experience of life to a fabling account of the innocence and fragility of childhood and adolescence. Claire Walker is a writer who clearly cares about her craft and some of the dreamlike qualities of this collection are reminiscent of Joy Davidman’s work." Antony Owen

"These are poems of growth, fertility and flow – rivers, plants, women. Claire Walker skilfully combines nature, myth and the everyday, and when reading her work, it’s difficult to imagine a world where things are ever any other way. The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile is a stunning, quietly powerful debut pamphlet, full of wistful smiles and blissful tears." Kate Garrett 

RRP £4.99

Buy a copy of The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile now:



The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile


The pamphlet's official celebratory launch is on October 10 in Worcestershire. The event is open to the public and full details can be found on Claire's blog here.

A sample poem from the pamphlet can be read below.


The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile

When she was young, they'd swim. Take off
sandals and frilled ankle socks and jump
into the river. She loved to feel the water pull
ribboned hair to float behind her.

The games started with smiles: splashing; testing
who could hold a breath longest. They never matched her.
She was born to lie in wait, to feel the kiss
of the current in her ears until her head turned light.

But children wish to win. The others turned
as green as the rushes lining their pool. They plotted, held her
down too long. The water swilled round her lungs and she coughed
her heartsong out with it.

That night, she lay awake under a sky that was turning
tides with its dust covered ball. She pulled the cold rock
down, seethed until scales replaced skin, found the biting point
of a new jaw and wished for the crunch of bone. 

Next time, she waited in the shallows, camouflaged
in the rushes, cold blood immersed. Eyes broke
the surface, webbed feet treading water. The sun hit
her back and she felt her armour shine.

Then she made her move. Opened up
her huge grin. Felt never-ending enamel sink through flesh
as easily as arms stroke water. She snapped her jaws shut.
Swallowed the damage whole.