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Misprint
Misprint
Misprint
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Misprint

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'The only end of writing,' Dr Johnson said, 'is to enable the readers better to enjoy life, or better to endure it.' Misprint offers the reader countries and languages perceived through the eyes of youth and loss. Untimely deaths and memories of far-off lands abound, some dreamed, some lived. In this first collection, James Womack plays with ideas of tradition, lightly conjuring heavy themes, and makes a bow to pulp culture. He ferries us between Russia, Spain and North Korea and the differently real virtual environments of film, dream, ghosts, the North Korean Press Agency. Eurydice, the concluding sequence, draws the different strands of the collection together. We end up dislocated: bewildered but rather happier about the future. As Mr Edwards said to the Great Cham: I, too, Sir, in my time have tried being a philosopher; but somehow cheerfulness kept creeping in.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateJul 1, 2012
ISBN9781847776693
Misprint
Author

James Womack

James Womack lives in Cambridge, where he teaches Spanish and study skills. He is the author of three previous collections of poetry with Carcanet: Misprint (2012), On Trust: A Book of Lies (2017) and Homunculus (2020). He also translates widely from Spanish and Russian, most recently Camilo José Cela's The Hive (NYRB Classics, 2023).

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    Book preview

    Misprint - James Womack

    JAMES WOMACK

    Misprint

    Acknowledgements

    Thanks to PN Review and The Wolf, where some of these poems, sometimes in slightly different shapes, have appeared. Poems very like ‘Experiment’, ‘The Dogs of a House in Mourning and the Naked Girl’, ‘Tourism’, ‘Vomit’, ‘Little Red Poem’, ‘Now, / A / Poem / That is Called / Of Insomnia’ and sections 5 and 12 of ‘Eurydice’ were published in New Poetries V: An Anthology (Carcanet, 2011). Versions of ‘Young Romance’, ‘The True Scholar’, ‘Dark and stormys’ and sections 6, 7 and 8 of ‘Eurydice’ appeared in Voice Recognition: 21 Poets for the 21st Century (Bloodaxe, 2009).

    None of these poems would have been written without the support, forbearance and love of my wife, Marian.

    Contents

    Title Page

    Acknowledgements

    From a Notebook

    The Thing

    The Water Cycle: Variations on a Theme

    Halfway through the A-Feature

    Internet Poems

    Young Romance

    Three Epigrams

    The Underworld

    Ariadne

    Tourism

    Little Red Poem

    Fish

    The Dogs of a House in Mourning and the Naked Girl

    Master Chuang

    Found Poem: President’s Reminiscences Read Widely

    Property

    Maisky Poems

    Vomit

    Likeness

    Experiment

    Foiled again…

    Criticism

    The True Scholar

    from The Literary Encyclopaedia

    Dark and stormys

    Mosaic

    Now, / A / Poem / That is Called / ‘Of Insomnia’

    Misprint

    Eurydice

    1 Was it that long ago you died?

    2 Pray for us sinners, that we have climbed

    3 The shutters falling

    4 After, it is you who lie in the hollow of my elbow

    5 Slowly and patiently we have forgotten it all

    6 You never told me how boring it is to be mad

    7 Leaving the bright town to the desert

    8 A garden, as a child might draw it

    9 I wrote to you last March in Madrid

    10 Thick fog. I walked down the way of all flesh

    11 Your smile fades and the garden is now dark

    12 Death is not the end; some doors are never fully closed

    Coda With two bags where his two hands were

    Notes

    About the Author

    By the Same Author

    Copyright

    From a Notebook

    What can we do to this word?

    Only when you start to write

    The poem like a landscape under

    fog The grain of the paper

    Why not possible to make a poem

    like a study for a painting?

    Some brilliant areas of detail and

    the rest nothing, plastered, scrubbed out,

    full of details that will not

    exist without the reader to make

    them. A poem that is only

    a farrago of hints.

    Who owns the copyright to an erratum

    slip? Nuance Stubbs and his horses

    The Thing

    My favourite B-movie, one of those designed

    to pass the time, rather than say anything,

    is a sci-fi romp set in Tudor England

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