Med anledning av Dylan Thomas Literary Residence presenterar Populär Poesi de sex författare som ska medverka. Den sjätte deltagaren heter Anthony Jones och är från Wales.
Name: Anthony Jones
Domicile: Carmarthen, Wales
Favourite Food: It’s more what I don’t like. Yesterday, in Schipol Airport I had some Pizza with reheated mushrooms, spinach and garlic. It was like eating slugs!
Best Book ever written: 1984
What do you know about Sweden and Tranas?
Honestly, recently about Sweden, most of my information is from being compelled by ‘Nordic Noir’ in film and TV. I am a sucker for Wallander, Stieg Larsson and The Bridge.
About Tranas, nothing at all, I’m afraid to say.
What do you expect from the Dylan Thomas Residency?
I’m already finding that it’s cool to do what I want, but also allowing for interaction between the other writers. My eyes are wide open.
You work on your first poetry book. Will you tell us a bit about the themes in your work?
My poems are short observations about small things which have larger significance. I write about alienation, mental health issues and romance. I am a self-confessed sentimentalist and make no apologies for that. I don’t do nature poems.
Tell us a bit about on your work with creative writing?
I’m at the final project (or dissertation) part of an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales.
What is you’re project Poems and Pints in the Queens?
This is one of the most prestigious and long lasting monthly ‘spoken word’ events in West Wales. We occupy half a bar every month and give established and aspirational writers a chance to stand up and perform whatever they like, whether it’s poetry, prose, slam poetry, reading someone else’s work, whatever. We try to have guests at every event, for which they are paid, and have featured a truly international group of writers since our beginning. I use ‘we’ here because, although I tend to do promotional work and the administrative side, the main protagonist is the curator of this residency, Dominic Williams, who is the MC. It’s like, we are the circus performers but he is the ringmaster!
As darkness falls there’s a crescent moon
And an air of despair and impending doom
An uneasy hush in the dusky gloom
And shelves begin to rattle in your living room
A cat in poised on a red brick wall
Waiting for the night to complete its fall
His whiskers twitch, his eyes burn bright
Ready for the moment when he’ll set the night alight
He hit the streets all white and black
Near a chimney stack off the beaten track
There’s a thunderous rumble and a lightning crack
You’ll be caught in the flak of his ack ack attack
He’s a monochrome moggy called Domino Jack
With claws as sharp as a kitchen knife
He’ll savage an intruder to a whisker of its life
He purrs like a Ducatti or a Jag or a Bugatti
As he sips a café latte at an all-night pussy party.
He’s Domino Jack, yeah Domino Jack
He’s not a little Jess like Postman Pat’s cat
He’ll always take the blame where Mcavity will not
He’s a super-psycho maniac a real-life crackpot
He’ll leave unwelcome presents on your welcome mat
Of decapitated dormice and eviscerated rats
And shiny stricken slow worms and wing-clipped birds
He’s seldom seen and only heard
When he’s brawling with pretenders to his fat cat crown
His miaow is like a banshee’s sending shockwaves through the town
He’s a two-tone cat in a pork-pie hat
And the widows tucked in bed cry havoc and alack
And protect their pretty pussies from the leader of the pack
Now the vigilante feline named Domino Jack’s back
The credit crunch has crushed your bones
You’re home alone and unemployed
The howling wolf is at your door
Your self-esteem now null and void
We’ll take your shiny, shiny things
The heirlooms which you keep
In a high street shop with a scales and till
And reap the seeds you’ve sewn
We’ll buy the bookmarks of your life
From the day when you became a wife
And the jewelry bought you by your man
The bracelet gift when you were christened
We hope you will not understand:
We’ll take a large commission
We’ll buy your Grandma’s golden locket
You can keep your Grandad’s hair
We’re The Magpie Vultures, Magpie Vultures
We honestly don’t care
We’re the Magpie Vultures, Magpie Vultures
And we will not rest
The Magpie Vultures, Magpie Vultures
Feathering our nest
We’ll take your trinkets, chains and rings
Your crosses and your keys
And turn them into baser things
A twisted alchemy
And after the car crash we’ll tear and claw
At the gaping gash of your mother’s mouth
And rip the gold teeth from her bleed