Know Thy Audience

Shae wants to stop shagging other women's husbands and be a proper queer. Plus, she's bored of only ever getting to use her new strap on a pile of cushions. The answer seems simple enough: come out, go out, and finally get it on with the fit bird at Dyke Night. Or it would be if Evaline, a wayward silicone mistress from the future, wasn't jealous...

A surreal, dirty little book that falls somewhere between Derek McCormack, David Cronenberg, and the tentacle porn you 'accidentally downloaded', Silicone God is for those who like it very, very weird.

It’s fall (or autumn) 2018. The Trump administration wants to fortify the United States-Mexico border, Robert ‘Beto’ O'Rourke is running for Senate, and British grifter Nicki Smith has just secured a “low-paid glamour job” at the University of Texas’ Jacques Lacan Foundation. In between sleeping with the air-conditioning repair guy (or man) and watching Kate Moss make-up commercials (or advertisements) Nicki completes the first ever American-English translation of Lacan’s newly discovered and highly controversial notebook – without knowing any French.

An Anglo-American comedy of manners about identity and class The Jacques Lacan Foundation reveals—and revels in—the numerous pretensions that surround academia and authorship, and the institutions that foster them.

All My Dead Jesters is an assembly of select poems previously published in de Vries’ first two English language collections—Dark Hour and I Failed to Swoon (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2018 and 2021 respectively). These old works have been lightly revised for republication, and are paired with poems drawn from a manuscript-in-process to institute an autotelic kaleidoscope of some ten years worth of work in verse. 

De Vries’ poems are spare, terse and epigrammatical—a barroom Bashō—dedicated to the glimmer of a compact glance; the chance, glamour and negative capability of a passing thought; and the slow drip of liquid crystal as colours our present. All My Dead Jesters is a torch song for our ‘poor subjectivity,’  a slow dance with sour times, a ‘[steering] away from [the] gratuitous provocation’ that litters our contemporary outlook. ‘Her competence as a poet lies in her ability to translate visceral vulnerability’ for the page (The Kelvingrove Review / University of Glasgow), as she patchworks a heroic ‘poetry without [a] hero, a blanket leaving you colder somehow, [...] the map of a world we like to think we know’ [CA Conrad].

To be erotic is to be alive. In this collection of erotic short stories, desire and imagination meet in stairwells, apartments, bars and glances that linger just a little longer. Commissioned for and first published in Extra Extra magazine, these unique stories range from vibrant encounters of mere minutes to hours of simmering tension.

Carefully curated and unapologetic in its imagination, it’s an invitation into a literary space shaped by lust and longing.

One Hundred and six erotic short stories contains erotic stories by Obe Alkema, Karin Amatmoekrim, Mischa Andriessen, Sarah Arnolds, Simone Atangana Bekono, Gerbrand Bakker, Maria Barnas, Leonieke Baerwaldt, Persis Bekkering, Abdelkader Benali, Hannah van Binsbergen, Marion Bloem, Fiep van Bodegom, Daan Borrel, Charlotte van den Broeck, Saskia de Coster, Eelco Couvreur, Daniël Dee, Nikki Dekker, Maxime Garcia Diaz, Don Duyns, Rob van Essen, Edwin Fagel, Mira Feticu, Moya De Feyter, Andy Fierens, Gamal Fouad, Johan Fretz, Steff Geelen, Maureen Ghazal, Arnon Grunberg, Esha Guy Hadjadj, Thomas Heerma van Voss, Mariken Heitman, Tom Hofland, Philip Huff, Auke Hulst, Nicole Kaandorp, Asha Karami, Maite Karssenberg, Mensje van Keulen, Emy Koopman, Falun Ellie Koos, Willemijn Kranendonk, Selin Kuşçu, Rachida Lamrabet, Jordi Lammers, Wietske Leenders, Sandro van der Leeuw, Sun Li, Gilles van der Loo, Hannah Chris Lomans, Alma Mathijsen, Kiriko Mechanicus, Jens Meijen, Lars Meijer, Carmien Michels, Kaweh Modiri, Roelof ten Napel, Richard de Nooy, Joost Oomen, Jamal Ouariachi, Iduna Paalman, Gustaaf Peek, Elvis Peeters, Froukje van der Ploeg, Marja Pruis, Julius Reynders, Hannah Roels, Astrid H. Roemer, Martin Rombouts, Daniël Rovers, Alfred Schaffer, Marijke Schermer, Koen Sels, Vamba Sherif, Frank Siera, Louise Souvagie, Yentl van Stokkum, Florence Tonk, Elfie Tromp, Joost Vandecasteele, Dominique van Varsseveld, Annelies Verbeke, Peter Verhelst, Wytske Versteeg, Daniël Vis, Dirk Vis, Sven Vitse, Maria Vlaar, Marwin Vos, Nadia de Vries, Niña Weijers, Han van Wieringen, Romy Day Winkel, Maartje Wortel, Pete Wu, Kira Wuck, Mia You, and Ivo Victoria

Poems on light and remnants. Light as mordant, as acid that etches through surface, as something that wraps itself around and between things, revealing form. The writing touches on dregs, remnants, residue and how we make sense of them, by making constellations and navigating through those diagrams. 

Anna-Rose Stefatou (b.1996, Athens) is a Greek-British artist based between Athens and London, working between moving image, installation, photography, and writing. Stefatou’s interdisciplinary works attend to stories attached to place and beginning to exist through writing, whether they become a structure to hold it, or whether language simply runs through them. Language is used both as an outset and as a distillation mechanism for ideas, with materials and imagery in visual works responding directly to the text. Gathering and repositioning knowledge guides her creative process: research includes archival footage, taking interviews, collecting objects, and location visits. This process is made visible through her material approach to the photographic image, transformed through different materials, forms and uses, as it unfolds and re-invents itself within new contexts. Stefatou graduated from the Slade School of Fine Art in 2019. Recently, she undertook a residency at Hospitalfield House, Scotland in 2023.  Upcoming projects include an exhibition at Pharmakeion, Athens in 2025 as well as a publication Dregs, Beacons that will be realised in 2025.

Nasleep neemt de protesten rondom het Gezi Park in 2013 als vertrekpunt en verkent gaandeweg wat er is overgebleven van dit historische moment waarin een andere wereld voor het grijpen leek. Het zijn gedichten die laveren tussen ritmische, conceptuele en kritische noise enerzijds en postrevolutionaire affecten anderzijds, tussen politise­ring enerzijds en onmacht en radeloosheid anderzijds.

Lisa Robertson writes poems that mine the past, its ideas, its personages, its syntax, to construct a lexicon of the future. Her poems both court and cuckold subjectivity by unmasking its fundament of sex and hesitancy, the coil of doubt in its certitude. Reading her laments and utopias, we realize that language, whiplike, casts ahead of itself a fortuitous form. The form brims here pleasurably with dogs, movie stars, broths, painting's detritus, Latin and pillage.

Erudite and startling, the poems in Lisa Robertson's Magenta Soul Whip, occasional works written over the past fifteen years, turn vestige into architecture, chagrin into resplendence. In them, we recognize our grand, saddened century.

An epic poem in miniature, Anarcadia attempts to navigate the stark disintegration of the very world from which it’s made, mapping a catastrophe that seems both on its way and already occurring. Offering a collage of collapsing fragments – whirling ‘like bitstreams / in a blizzard’ – this sequence freefalls through a landscape of freak storms and surveillance satellites, ‘bio- / metric insects’ and ‘full- / body scanner[s]’, ‘leaving nothing left / undamned’. Continuing the sleek work of the previous collections, Hand’s command of language generates a livable terrain, humming with echoes of the pastoral tradition – from Sidney to Shelley, from Geoffrey Hill to J.H. Prynne. Hand’s poetry renders ‘an animate / climate’, through which we are forced to face the debris of a system that has failed us and a planet we, in turn, have failed. Nevertheless, the poet shows us a glimpse of the future. At the heart of Anarcadia is something of a love poem, revealing beauty in the art of losing, a way to ‘Re-salvage / sylvan camouflage / out of obscure selvage’, attempting a recovery. ‘Rife with hybrid vigour’, this book confirms Dominic Hand to be a poet of singular, clear-sighted vision, unafraid to see things as they are, ‘risking / bewilderment’.
– Rowland Bagnall