
I have set up my Shorter Poems as a Heyzine Link.
Click on the link to read.

Well, as for Srebenica, that Ursula von der Liar is begging us to remember, I don’t buy it. Let’s remember a few other events. The bombing of the Serbian broadcasting house, exterminating all Serb journalists. The expected prisoner exchange, when thousands of Serbian soldiers were supposed to be returned, but who never appeared. The ethnic cleansing of Serbs from contested areas of Yugoslavia, when children had to drive the trucks because there were no men. And remember that Srebenica was entirely reported by pro-Western journalists, and that Yugoslavia had the largest standing army in Europe (after the fall of the Soviet Union) and that Yugoslavia was a wonderfully successful communist country, and that these facts made it the target of the CIA and MI6. This was a colour revolution everyone bought into, long before we understood the role of the deep state in global affairs. The whole period should be re-examined, in the light of our contemporary consciousness of what happened to Libya, what happened to Iraq, what has just happened to Syria. Back then we were all far more naive and loved blowing our little whistles. And right now poor old Serbia is going through it again. Let’s explore the cracks in the narrative.


Intermezzo
TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
Nini Patte-en-l’Air (Casino de Paris’)
x
The gold Casino’s Spring parterre
Flowers with the Spring, this golden week;
Glady, Toloche, Valtesse, are there;
But all eyes turn as one to seek
The drawers of Nini Patte-en-l’air.
*
Surprising, sunset-coloured lace,
In billowy clouds of gold and red,
They whirl and flash before one’s face;
The little heel above her head
Points an ironical grimace.
*
And mark the experimental eyes,
The naughty eloquence of feet,
The appeal of subtly quivering thighs,
The insinuations indiscreet
Of pirouetting draperies.
*
What exquisite indecency,
Select, supreme, severe, an art!
The art of knowing how to be
Part lewd, aesthetical in part,
And fin-de-siecle essentially.
*
The Maenad of the Decadence,
Collectedly extravagant,
Her learned fury wakes the sense
That, fainting, needs for excitant
This science of concupiscence.
*
ARTHUR SYMONS (Paris, May 14, 1892)
Symons has left this out of his Collected Poems. A shame as it is one of his best. Was it too risque?

x
Bayesian, the name of that yacht. Elementary, my dear Wat!
Scilla and Charybdis frequent the strait at Messina.
Water-spouts round Sicily are nothing new, it seems to me.
Another old dilemma has still to be resolved in the wake
Of any revolt – as is suggested by Percy Bysshe Shelley’s
Returning to the idiom in his essay A Defence of Poetry –
Put with some pith, and still as true as it was in 1820:
x
“The rich have become richer, and the poor have become
Poorer; and the vessel of the state is driven between
The Scylla and Charybdis of despotism and anarchy.”
Analysis in Bayesian ways factors in advertisement,
Codifies prior knowledge in the form of a predicted
Distribution – so you know what profit you might make
Given you promote the item, even if it proves a fake.
x
And yet the best of plans may go awry and splendid lies
Go bottom up, just as extravagent yachts may capsize.
MK Ultra’s agents, unaware of their acts, morph into maniacs.
When entities arrive at their extreme, they turn into
Their opposite. Freud observed this in the way a dream
May substitute wet for hot, sour for the forbidden sweet
We each of us long to consume. Entanglement of true crime
x
And mythology? The yacht with the tallest mast in the world
Appears to have been sucked under by a water spout.
I turn in early, much new stuff to dream about.
The dream I have however, delves with some nostalgia
Into my lecturer days to earn my bread. And Jason arrives for a tutorial.
Since leaving art-school he has been afflicted by a
Wasting disease. Now he exists within a glass case
x
With circular holes to respire. His brain’s enclosed in chicken-wire;
His one remaining arm extending out of the case
So that his hand can caress the stalk of a dandelion.
Jason waxes lyrical about its ephemeral sphere
That can be dispersed as easily as a cloud into the air
And I say, from now on you can do anything, Jason,
Argue for the King’s assassination, shit on the floor
x
(I’m actually not so sure Jason does shitting any more).
No one is going to tell you what you are doing is crap,
They will do nothing but praise you. Not to do so would be
Anti-freakist. Next there is this girl who wants to perform
With a sheep, but the sheep’s no pet, and keeps wandering
Off the set. Clearly she was looking for a lamb. I get friendly
With the sheep which is dirty, but so what? Didn’t I
x
Grow up on a farm? The sheep is content to be my pillow
As I dream about going back into performance for a spell,
Recalling all my actions with a pig. A Tamworth sow.
Am I dreaming about a sheep because wolves are supposed to make
An appearance again in this book? I dreamt I had mislaid
My old jacket after a fatal row with my old friend.
It’s all very well remembering them, but dreams are supposed
x
To happen in one’s sleep. Should you recall
Such a detail, that detail from a dream can depress you
By leaving its dark trace through the hours of your day.
Better put all recollection away. But that gets you stuck on
Darktrace, cybersecurity company founded by the Brit tycoon
Mike Lynch – one of the six missing in the shipwreck
That occurred off Porticello, round the head from Palermo –
x
Darktrace has consolidated relations with the deep state rabbis
Of Mossad. And Darktrace is known to secret services,
Including Italian ones, but has close relationships in particular
With Tel Aviv who, according to a source interviewed
By Nova Agency, used Darktrace’s systems to locate
Leaders of Hamas. Lynch, also known as the
“British Bill Gates”, played a role in the birth of Darktrace.
x
From The Runiad, Book 12. The completed poem may by read for free on this Heyzine link.
x
Book 12 can be found on page 272, so move along the bar below the text to get to any specific page.

I am fascinated by the art of Victor Hugo, recently seen at the RA. Here is a link to my essay on his work and that of Alexander Cozens. Modern Art is Over: Embrace Deep Art
There is also an article about his work in the New Statesman.
https://www.newstatesman.com/culture/art-design/2022/01/the-sinister-art-of-victor-hugo
I don’t see Hugo’s work as “modern art”. The first use I can find of the word “modern”, applied to a creative act, is George Meredith’s brilliant sequence of sonnets – “Modern Love”.
This is a sequence of fifty 16-line sonnets about the failure of a marriage, an episodic verse narrative that has been described as “a novella in verse”. It first appeared in 1862. I get the sense that it was Meredith’s intention to bring love “up to date”. This notion has persisted. Modern art is up to date – it’s the latest thing, and it always has been. Neither Cozens nor Hugo seem to have been interested in being up to date. If anything their work is nostalgic, harking back to a more gothic age, a romantic notion that had already faded.
The trouble is, today, being up to date is in itself dated. Modern art has simply come to mean trendy art; more aligned to the world of fashion than to artistic aspiration. Today, genuine originality will often seem unfashionable, out on its own bizarre limb.
And this is precisely why deep art appeals to me.

Very pleased to see this work by The Theatre of Mistakes on the front cover of Gazeta Grupy 404 – an arts magazine from Poznan in Poland.
Design by Maciej Koziowski.
It features a brilliant article on the relationship of art and propaganda, as well as poetry and other great pieces of writing, much of it in English as well as in Polish.

Why Runiad as the title of the epic poem I have just completed?
Rune is a word which may be translated as ‘a secret, a mystery, a rumour or a whisper’. It can also suggest an enigmatic or incantatory line of verse. I chose Runiad as a contrast to the term “Ruliad” – which is a mathematical term defined as the sum of all possible theorems. My Runiad is therefore intended as an imaginary sum, the sum of all possible rumours, spells and charms. I wrote the poem over the years 2023 to 2025. It traces certain of my own experiences during that time, as well as the gossip heard, the rumours circulating during that time, the so-called conspiracy theories (as opposed to provable theorems).
When I began it, I had no further clue as to what its content might be. I knew that there would be twenty-four books, each twenty-three pages long, with three seven-line verses per page (except for the last page, which could have between one to three verses on it). This would bring it out to being the same length as the Odyssey. It was clear that I needed to know no more than this structure, to have no preconceived notion as to the poem’s content and to only “half-know” what it was I was writing. I wanted the poem to discover its content as it was being written. In a sense I wrote it as if I were a ‘seer’, or, in the sense used by William Burroughs, an antenna; picking up the lines as if they were vibrations or airwaves.
Shiva, the god of balance, was a guiding force – so I tried to balance art with science, legend with fact, love with war, dryness with juiciness, journalism with conjecture. It is intended to be read aloud, and to be read on the page.
The complete poem can be found by clicking on this Heyzine link.
It can be read from start to finish, or it can be read by choosing a book – or even a page – at random. John Ashbery referred to a system of prognostication called “Sortes Virgilae” – by which a personal reading was obtained by opening a page of Virgil’s Aeniad at random. The same method could be applied to the Runiad.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPkBj7X1dfQ
A Film by Kristian Evans & Nathan Roach
This is one of the best poem/films I have come across. It often uses a constant moving image (reeds moving, waves breaking etc) which I have always found the ideal backdrop for focusing on the language, and Kristian Evans – who I have never heard of before – seems to me an excellent poet.