John G.Hall - Manchester Poet & Editor of Citizen32, publications include Orbis, Iota, Rain Dog, The Wolf, Coffee House Poetry, The Ugly Tree, Carillon, Outlaw, Left Curve(usa), Square Lake(usa), Spume, Aesthetica, Brittle Star, Harlequin, Monkey Kettle & Fire. Performs his poetry throughout the North West , mixing militant politics & biting humour with touching visions of childhood, love and football. The live recordings of his ant-war trilogy 'And Still I Cannot Wake From Their War' were recently bought by Drexel University,Philadelphia,USA. He has performed @ Verberate, Outloud, Stamps, Ill Literature, The Tiger Lounge & various bars near you. He helped establish Citizen32's Live event @ The Urbis, Manchester. His first collection of poetry was published by Bewrite Books titled "The Drowning Fish" & is available from What the poets say...... "John G Hall's poetry is both visceral and delicate. It is haunted by an angry spirituality that never loses its sense of humour or hope. From condoms to Iraq, from Jesus to Alzheimer's, these poems are as brutally honest as they are beautiful." -Aoife Mannix. "John's world view is by turns beautiful, truthful, moving, suprising, humorous, bittersweet and, when he choses, recognisably Northern working class. Recognisably Manchester whilst exploring universal themes of love, rejection, illness, death, relationships, war and fear. The stuff of life and therefore the only stuff of poetry which matters. Poetry which connects. John G Hall is a great poet. For a City fan. Enjoy" - Tony Walsh " John G. Hall fuses several key ways of being a poet in the early 21st century: the lyric, and the experimental. His work has a spiky immediacy, and an articulate ache, that reminds me of Lawrence and sometimes the American Beats: he lets the moment speak its fire and its cold. " - Todd Swift, editor of 100 Poets Against the War (Salt, Cambridge, 2003).


The Etc Poem.... It was only when I fumbled for my change that the taxi driver noticed I had no trousers on, it was only when you hit me with the vacuum cleaner that I noticed all the old attachments were gone, it was only when the bullet exploded in my heart that I realised why you had knitted me that bulls eye sweater, it was only when I tasted the salt of my own blood that I noticed you possessed a lovely upper cut, it was only when the dog bit my Gran and then mysteriously died that I noticed that she'd out lived all the family pets we'd ever had, it wasn't until my auntie Margaret looked like a tiny bird that I noticed how death needs to humiliate us before it does it's worst, it wasn't until I watched my friend carrying the small white coffin of his youngest child that I noticed how heavy lightness weighed, it wasn't until I woke up with your mad cat sat on my head that I noticed how well cats bounced off your padded walls, it wasn't until the burglar emptied my flat that I noticed how much crap I really had n't any more, it wasn't until I saw you startled and naked and pink and pert that I noticed how much I really loved the cold mornings, it wasn't until the poet said ' this is a poem about my big cock' that I noticed how bloody loveless his poetry really was, it wasn't until the Miner held my father in his arms at my grannies graveside and kissed him on the mouth that I noticed there was another way of being a man. John G.Hall(C)2005 Bazzin you were a cold day in hell you were the breath on the back of my neck you were the best hand the dealer ever dealt you were the one that proved too many you were the fool and his money you were heaven waiting for Satan you were the sound of sound you were the silence after the coming you were the fun in the honey you were the fizz in nights dark cola you were the bliss I kissed goodbye you were the special needs I satisfied you were the name that escaped me you were the last possible moment you were the least likely to you were the bad lucking charmer you were the good & faithful serpent you were the bare arsed barbarian you were the penultimate first line you were the process of closure you were the fire door of flames you were the first to go out you were the shape shifter of the mattress you were the stained glass in my character you were the blind date I never saw coming you were the girl that tempted every orifice. you were bazzin. John G.Hall(c)2006 And Still I cannot Wake From Their War (Part 2) the papers don't read me right the priests keep burying people the doctors are choosing who dies the tv is selling me reality tv outside the Art House the homeless reside inside the Art House the less homeless buy latex coffee and herbal beers from Belgium the film is motion less meaning plus treason the music vibe breaks and beats on my lips the books uncover back into illiterate tree bark the pop art post cards dreaming of iconoclasts along a time lined up against the great wall of death beside it's selfish firing squad a nation drinks to suicide a damp coursing blood bath robed in Texan oil skins the auto-more bile-machine pumping out the insane the frozen tons of dead boy friends piled hanger high the coffin squads gagged & blind folded by Yankee flags the striped union breakers illuminated by tortured stars how far into skin can a Camel burn says the slow gun as the damned bless us with the curse of holy holy life and the baby blue eyes of Arkansas cry me a cold tear and still I cannot wake from their war. John G.Hall(C)2005

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Tomás Ó Cárthaigh

Sat 18th Oct 2008 21:17

"it was only when the bullet exploded in my heart
that I realised why you had knitted me that bulls eye sweater"

Always was wary of them jumpers...

Seriosly, a great range in these poems, a very good read...


Fri 10th Oct 2008 11:23

Hi John,
Love the poetry in your profile samples.
The etc.. poem took me through a range of emotions. I was quite shocked at how the change from laughter in truth of your words came so easily to sadness of auntie margaret and the friend with a tiny coffin. Then back to laughter with the cat imagery.

Thanks for a great read,
love Janet.x

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