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.
Michael Mc Aloran
at vacuum’s edge
Black Editions Press
review/blurb by David McLean
this chapbook concerns what we have as if to say. when faced by the other than. it is no alienation exactly but the necessary incongruity of the being human with the actual instantiation of all that within the brute meat we sort of want to torture even if the other may conceivably be rather like us
it is also of collisions – a collidescope, as he puts it, mirroring where the worlds minds drag around to imprison them bump into the other cunt.
again/ upon/ sodden crimson red recollect of
bounty’s trace of unforgiven/ dries the eyes what
depth till following lack abort what sung as if to
drift matter of forgotten as before once said
eradicated/ engulfed once more/ yet mocking the
reek/ (tread from this life disease what will stake
claims upon the ocean’s filtering lights)/ and the
bitten song/ a neck snapped in a gild of apathy/
nothing of the tears that demarcate the surface/
bore holes into the surface quadrant/ nothing
the problem of epistemology is not that nothing is known but that maybe what is mostly worthy of knowing is just the nothing/ that which one should designate almost imperceptibly by the via negativa.
whatever is in some sense given is not the significant. we cannot signify what matters which is not that nothing does. this chapbook is as far from nihilism as it is possible to be & whoever says it s just that is as ignorant as those who attribute the same alleged perversity to me.
it is on sale here: https://blackeditionspress.wordpress.com/2016/09/06/at-vacuums-edge-michael-mc-aloran/
& here’s link to my other blog where there’s a review of the new book by Michael Mc Aloran. Get it.
Pleased to see the new Clockwise Cat is up, with a new site etc. There are poems by me in the verse section, & there are five reviews, all of which are individually linked below:
Michael Mc Aloran,
Carstens & Karlsson.
Now the latest book is available at Amazon, Zara & the ghost of Gertrude. Otherwise it is at Dave Mitchell’s Oneiros Books. Edited by Michael Mc Aloran.
There’s a new issue of Clockwise Cat out, to which I evidently forgot to submit any poems. A couple by me are due in the Fall issue though. There are, however, many reviews. to which book titles link.
Gillian Prew, A wound’s sound.
Michael Mc Aloran, The Zero Eye.
Chris Murray, She
Chris Murray, The Blind
Craig Podmore, Origin of Manias.
Pleased to have some corpse flowers posted in the Bone Orchard.
Here they are.