About davidcmclean

This blog is about various books I have out, my primary blog with details of publications etc is mourningabortion.blogspot.com

another blurb

pimping further, another blurb for forthcoming forever Emma from the awesome Misti Rainwater:

“I love your word choices. “I prefer the fang.” Now the song from “Lost Boys” is playing, “Cry Little Sister” Your love for Emma really comes through. The dark god awful eviscerating truth of real erotic, romantic love in all its complexity.”

Misti Rainwater, author of Bullshit Rodeo

Buy it at the link by the way, it’s a great book.

fourth advance blurb

Huge thanks to Barbara H. Moore for this:

David McLean’s latest poetry collection “Forever Emma” is his best work to date. The poems scream unadulterated passion — reading like tortured fever dreams of obsession, madness, absolution, redemption.

Stripped to the bone, we find a love story — witnessing not only a fusion of selves but also a coming apart and a reassembling. We’re presented with a thirsty all-consuming love — a love beyond absences, a love beyond even death.

To quote McLean from the poem “she is insect”:

…she is madness in my disgraceful veins, the changeless divine that is Demonica the eternal dressed in words & torture; i am here to worship her, i am hers to murder

In the midst of his more graphic images of blood and flesh and scarred skin, McLean offers up images of sheer beauty that linger. The one that will stay with me for the longest time appears in the poem “gray.”

it is gray here & i love you – as if every child everywhere were playing a trumpet & nothing would ever happen again except you and i touching

Poetry doesn’t get much better than that.

Barbara H. Moore, Author of Dancing On Broken Glass

three advance blurbs

These apply to the book forever Emma forthcoming from Craig Podmore’s Antiseptic Press at the end of this godforsaken summer. Check the link out, you can see Craig’s films & order books too.

Forever Emma is easily McLean’s best endeavor so far: while encapsulating the atheistic manifestations in his prior works (ghost death blood corpse absence distance) these elements are breathed to life, as to living characters, through valid love for his Emma. Love is not a neutral topic, and David makes certain that it stays that way. Emma is alive, yet full of resplendent contradiction, conflict, confusion. Time is beaten down, means nothing at all except something that the love David writes of destroys. There is nothing past touch, the poet writes, & i say, in an avid follower of David’s work, that to beat time down, to make love immortal, is the poet’s endgame.

Carolyn Srygley-Moore, author of Ode to Horatio and other saviors and Miracles of the Blog: a series

In this collection, David McLean has hit the full maturity of his poetry: a deep skin awareness/memory of every touch of mind and body. Love in the desperate chaos/shit surrounding McLean and his Emma. He/It swallows us and spits us out again, ever-questioning and re-reading. I love this collection.

Reuben Woolley, author of skins & dying notes, editor of I am not a silent poet and The Curly Mind

David McLean’s words rip through nerve collage unleashing hoodoo whispers as well as unpredictable outbursts that crush linear glide. brace yourself for a wild ride through heaven and hell collapsing in on themselves. it’s more than worth the price of the ticket.

Mark Hartenbach – author of the lost bastard chronicles and bring me the head of Marko X

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longshadowfall

Michael Mc Aloran
longshadowfall
Editions du Cygne 2017
book review by David McLean

Mc Aloran’s new book is not about participating in any sort of Irish tradition, although the fact that he is Irish has obviously created an expectation that he be expected to care about Beckett & the other notable Irish writers, if there are any, especially since he does not create conventional prose in his texts. It is not evident in what way Mc Aloran follows in any Irish tradition given that he has developed an individual voice. Mc Aloran takes this subsumption of his work under the patriotic assumption of Irishness & some regional identity qua writer with some grace, since it must be very frustrating.
What the books are basically about is the circumstance that existence is extremely temporary & not driven by some fundamental meaning whereby things fit into their various places & are essentially & unproblematically what they are. We are loathsome ugly clumps of meat – the failing echo of which Mc Aloran writes is moronic repetition, it is the pathetic quest for meaning: there are no razors that do not have blood on them, nothing that does not rust, no flesh forever except the repetitive return of more worthless flesh. The echo might be an originary echo, the sounds that come out first are already echoes. The road, everywhere, is marked by shit, it is full of shit. A perfect place for the shit that is humanity to drag itself back to nothing.

I think that Mc Aloran would agree with my assessment of humanity that I developed from Homer Simpson “People do things because they are stupid &die because they deserve to” – there is carrion everywhere: people die so often that it is (almost) not even funny anymore.

The best aspect of Mc Aloran is the gloom. There is no trace of the inability that the later (& better) Becket regrets as he notices that words do not work, they just lie on the page & suck. This is because what Mc Aloran is portraying is the fact that meaning is not there, life sucks because it is meat that fails to mean.

When we die we will have failed to speak, we will have failed to mean, we will have failed to matter. This has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with modern society or any sort of political criticism, that’s just the way it is. We are left with “speech lack of claim/ words dead foreign ice encasing fathom untimely said

It helps to be mad, it helps to be drunk. Buy this book. It’s available from the usual culprits & the publishers here.

Joanna C. Valente
The Gods are Dead (2015)
(Deadly Chaps Press)
review by David McLean

This book by Joanna C. Valente is like a naturalization of Tarot & occult symbolism reflected in the bizarre unlikelihood of real lives since the symbolic figures of the major arcana are used to symbolize something of contemporary relevance. It’s beautifully illustrated by Ted Chevalier & the book itself is very well made.

Valente is good at titles: “The Moon is Always Horny”, “The Hermit Used to be the Guitarist in Your Favorite Band”, “Judgment Promises Life After the Internet”, “The Hanged Man Will Ghostwrite Your Life”, & so on;

I am dead as a forgotten
man, no mind / I am a broken vessel.
(The Hanged Man Will Ghostwrite Your Life)

says the lamb, before he “spreads, purrs into a shit/ angel”. These are poems of sacrifice & the futility of sacrifice, the necessity of ritual, & whatever heaven a religion imagines might exist will not fit us.

He measures his life by expiration
Dates / Milk in the fridge has two
weeks til death / bananas grow
black as the inside of a coffin
(Death Rides a Pale Horse)

I have mentioned titles, & the next excerpt is from a classic:

… He wakes alone
the next morning, his back

rough from ropes. Lilies
spread across the bed – petals
of who he will become
(At Night, Temperance Works as a Dominatrix

Landscapes are supposed to be desolate, & the imagery of these poems invites the reader to conceptualize themselves more creatively. The most pivotal poem seems to be this one:

the air streams
stillness as if someone
died while making
love

He has never made
love.
Instead he cuts up
books
to orgasm. …
……

Someone could stop;
instead chose to be
somebody.
(The Hierophant Builds the Bridge Between Deity and Humanity)

Again this book by Valente is an excellent read, & heartily to be recommended. You don’t need to know or care about the Tarot, the poems create their own symbolism & the archetypes are more universal. The book is on sale here: http://www.deadlychaps.com/joanna-valente/