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Graham Buchan

Updated: Mon, 28 May 2018 06:19 pm

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Published 'Airport Reading' (tall lighthouse, 2004), ‘There is Violence in these Vapours’ (tall lighthouse, 2007 “… proves he is a master of ‘viral poetry’ – words that infect the reader with their anger, cynicism and intelligence…..” Agnes Meadows), 'In Bed with Shostakovich' (pamphlet, tall lighthouse, 2009), ‘Lucky’ (Lapwing Publications, 2015 “Buchan has said his piece and there is enough in this collection to remind this reader of how lucky he is.” Write Out Loud), 'Burglar: 45 Slight Poems' (Lapwing Publications, 2017). Poems in three dozen magazines, two national newspapers and twelve anthologies. Joint winner Piccadilly Poets 2001, The Cellar Slam Champion 2006. Has appeared on BBC London (TV), BBC London (radio), Resonanace FM, Optical Radio, Sub City Radio, WBAI (New York), Iraqi TV. Appeared at Austin Poetry Festival, 2003 and 2008, Wireless Festival in Hyde Park, Babylon Festival in Al Hillah, Iraq (2014), International Poetry Festival, Granada, Nicaragua (2018) and 2 two-week poetry tours to New York, 2006 and 2009. Also published short stories, articles, travel writing, poetry appreciation and dozens of film and art reviews. My Gaudi House was Write Out Loud's Poem of the Month in November 2009.


Bombers We are urged, now, to annihilate the old analogue memories.... We sit, flatly, across the pregnant sky, ducks fat and throbbing. We rattle, clatter and drone. Benny, bomb-aimer, nestles in his bubble. Blast and slam of the hot night. Flak. Josh squawks: Let’s vaporize these mothers! Steady the ship. Sudden lift, gravity yawns, stars twist. And Johnny yells: If we only had more fuel, we could bomb the fuckin’ commies too! And the History Rope is frayed, torn, let go Discharged. No-one takes the call on a suicide’s cell. Oh that’s a lonely phone, that’s a lonely phone. Jazz Days No smoking on this flight. No smoking on any flight. But enough alcohol to kill a sheep. The stewardess’s smile could crack the airframe. I want to take her to a smoke cellar where the sprawling piano melody is as infectious as gonorrhoea and the wild rhythm staples the pulse and she burns her lungs with flaming French cheroots, and bites my ear and pushes me to the cloakroom to force her thighs. And the hard thick leather tongue of Africa slides below at thirteen thousand metres and differing factions there insist on their own music.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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steve mellor

Sun 4th Oct 2009 10:38

Hello Graham
I'm not sure if I'm a 'we' but your comment brought your name/profile to my attention, and I wanted to say how much I enjoyed My Gaudi House. I thought it absolutely brilliant.
Perhaps it's closer to my ideas of the expression of love.
Steve M.

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Nichola Burrows

Mon 21st Sep 2009 11:07

Thanks for your comments. My husband said a similar thing and told me to update my history before writing, but I hope I put the idea across.

Hitler not only desecreated humanity but much of the world's Art. I'm not a religious person, but wherever he is I hope he's suffering twelve million times more than the suffering he placed on each individual. Knowing our luck he'll be Satan.s right hand man and come back to haunt humanity at the end of days.

Maybe I should have personified him as War, one of the four horseman of the Apocolypse.

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