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Our Death Paperback – October 15, 2019
Long recognized as a poet of radiant fury, of lament, and of refusal, Sean Bonney is a modern-day Blake whose poetry reminds us what matters. Our Death, his latest and long awaited first US collection, is full of poems of militant despair that refuse any capitulation to the worldview of the enemy. These poems wander the hinterlands of our absolutely endangered cities, chart the aftermath of the collapse of the social movements of the early part of the decade, and pay homage to the Greek anarchist poet Katerina Gogou.
- Print length110 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherCommune Editions
- Publication dateOctober 15, 2019
- Dimensions6 x 0.25 x 9 inches
- ISBN-101934639281
- ISBN-13978-1934639283
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Review
"For Bonney, hell is the extreme wealth of the nation." —Peter Middleton, author of Distant Reading
About the Author
Sean Bonney's poetry has been translated into several languages. His works include Letters Against the Firmament (Enitharmon Press, 2015), Four Letters, Four Comments (Punch Press, 2012), and Happiness (Poems After Rimbaud) (Unkant, 2011). He is currently based in Berlin.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Cops, being neither human nor animal, do not dream. They don’t need to, they’ve got teargas. Don’t expect me to justify that. I mean, you know as well as I do that cops have got access to the content of all of our dreams. And you probably also know that a fair amount of the planet’s teargas is supplied by the Westminster Group. Their non-executive chairman, whatever that is, is a member of the household of, ahem, Charles Windsor. He probably thinks of teargas as being somehow related to the Cloud of Unknowing, and, in a sense, he’s kind of right. You come to a very real understanding of the nature of things, both visible and invisible, by having your sensory system hijacked and turned against you by a meaningful dose of teargas. It is the anti-Rimbaud. The absolute regulation and administration of all the senses. I mean try it. Next time things are starting to kick off a little bit just go out on the street and run straight into the middle of the biggest cloud of teargas you can find. Bang. Sight. Taste. Smell. All the rest of them. All turned into confusion, loss of geographical certainty and, most importantly, pain. Don’t freak out. In the centre of that pain is a small and silent point of absolute Unknowing. It is that Unknowing that the cops - and by extension Charles Windsor - call knowledge. They want it. They’ve got scalpels if necessary but teargas is cleaner. Its not clear what they want it for but any epileptic or voyant or drug addict could tell you what it is. It’s there in Blake. Christ, it’s there in the sleeve-notes to Metal Machine Music. What’s it mean? Who cares. It answers no questions. What does Charles Windsor want with us. The cops will not tell us what they don’t know and what they think we know.
Product details
- Publisher : Commune Editions (October 15, 2019)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 110 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1934639281
- ISBN-13 : 978-1934639283
- Item Weight : 6.4 ounces
- Dimensions : 6 x 0.25 x 9 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #2,565,931 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1,689 in Sociology of Class
- #4,891 in European Poetry (Books)
- #14,555 in Poetry Themes & Styles (Books)
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