by K. M. Dersley. 48 pages. Appliance Books, 43 Tranmere Grove, Ipswich, IP1 6DU UK.
Book Review by Michael Basinski
A lot of Brit poetry for me and a lot of American poetry for that matter is written with pencils sharpened in the anus of poet, or the poet’s teacher, or with a pen pulled out of the rectum of the dead, words and otherwise. But here comes K. M. Dersley with a slice of hot pie that leaps from the page like Thor with his hammer, hammering the nuts of an African elephant. Didn’t know English poetry could be that good. The sounds he manifests in poems map the lingo of the people that have to put-up with Tony Blair’s stupidity like da Americanos gotta eat Bush’s crap. But this sound, Dersley’s is so crisp in his poems, so fresh, unique and wonderful, so full of the real of a lettuce that all the salad dressing clings to the leaves! So yeah! I say do it and when you stick your fork into this poetry bone word soup you come up with a dozen impaled pollywogs!