As previously planned, a book is due soon from Craig Podmore’s Antiseptic Press, Forever Emma. (I sort of changed my mind about quitting writing.
Here are some blurbs and then the cover.
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, as 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 & 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
Mark Hartenbach – author of the lost bastard chronicles & bring me the head of Marko X
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
Misti Rainwater, author of Bullshit Rodeo