from correspondence with Steve Fowler

Enemies, 2013

Four translations from 81 Austerities

my book came out 1 year ago, the old blog comes here now.


Here are four poems from it in translation:




1. Norwegian translation by Audun Mortensen





 jeg fikk en jobb

jeg fikk en jobb med å skrive dikt

å hei jeg har aldri møtt deg før

skriver et dikt for deg

om jubileet

din nieses dåp

din sønns bryllup

din onkels begravelse

du skaffet meg en nyttig ‘cv’

full av personlige detaljer

dine favorittsanger og anekdoter

dette er materialet mitt

tonen er ‘lett’

vinklingen er min

du betaler £3 per linje

du betaler £5 per linje

du betaler £7 per linje ved rim

men vent

ville ikke en ekte poet etterstrebet ‘sannhet’

du betalte for en ekte poet

hvordan kan jeg finne ‘sannhet’ i denne ‘cv-en’

den eneste veien til ‘sannhet’

er å si ‘yo, jeg kjenner deg ikke’

og nekte å skrive diktet i diktet

da tviler jeg på at du ville betalt meg

her er spørsmålet mitt

vil du kjøpe et dikt

fordi du kan noe om poesi

eller fordi du ikke kan noe om poesi

tror jeg må treffe deg

tror jeg må treffe deg

tror jeg må komme og bo hos deg i en uke eller noe

kanskje hele opplegget kommer til å gå over styr

hvis jeg havner i noe ‘heavy shit’

kommer jeg til å skrive et filmmanus om det

jeg vil selvfølgelig forandre navnet ditt

navnene på mine dystopiske arbeidsgivere

charlie kaufman en berømt regissør

kommer til å kjøpe manuset

og jeg blir rik jeg skriver ikke flere dikt

om din onkels bryllup

din sønns dåp

din nieses begravelse

din regning: £210

til lykke



Read the poem in english




2. Portuguese translation by Hugo Pinto Santos





ela desvia os olhos das suas

fotos chamemos-lhe emma

com um mudo apelo que poderia

querer dizer algo como “sempre

que quiseres diz estou pronta para ser tirada

de tudo isto” ela é tão tímida

que os olhos dela seguem os teus

por sobre os declives femininos e cumes

ocultos no largueirão casaco de malha jennifer

quero dizer emma deixa-me que te diga

a tua timidez nunca foi

tão completamente justificada



Read the poem in english



3. Dutch translation by Sophie Collins and Aurelia Diemer





 er is geen puurdere vorm van adverteren

dan het schrijven van een gedicht

dat is wat de monnik mij vertelde

als ik conceptueel kunstenaar was

zou ik high-budget film trailers maken

van john updike romans maar geen daadwerkelijke film

de scène waar angstrom richting

het einde van zijn leven rijdt door een straat van een voorstad

langs bomen die hij nooit heeft

leren herkennen beladen met witte bloesem

die gelegen in de voorruit reflecteren

zou ik de muziek infaden

terwijl ik het oude lied zou uitfaden

de backing vocals op de zelfde afstand houdend

als balans tegen de stilte

verschijnt het woord KONIJN in 3 meter hoog trebuchet



Read the poem in english




4. German translation by Jen Calleja and Laura Tenschert   






Ich weiss was du denkst

es ist langweilig außer es sind sexträume

träume über brutale morde

meine sind ziemlich banal

Ich träumte ich schrieb ein gedicht

mit dem anfang “Hi” und dem schluss “Bis Später!”

der mittelteil war großartig

das ist der teil an den ich mich nicht erinnere

ich saß auf einem podest hoch über dem dschungel 

alles kommt mir ganz vertraut vor

wohl weil ich sowas im fernsehen gesehn habe

ich war gekleidet wie ein medizinmann

und hatte eine art richterstab

nahm so die namen der geschöpfe zurueck

stellte sie wieder im mythos her und handelte damit weise

in meinem traum hatte das gedicht nicht

diesen gleichklang der sich hier einschleicht

nachdem ich alles zurueckgenommen hatte

hielt ich meinen stab nahm ihn

und ordnete die wirklich wichtigen kategorien zu

während ich mir knochen und flügel an den hut steckte

saß hier oben außer gefahr

Ich hasse dies/mir gefällt das



Read the poem in english



Thanks to the translators, more translations should be on Lyrikline at some point.


Get in touch w/ me if you’d like to translate any poems :)



Ongoing image/music/text collaboration with Jim Dunn



poem from Kim Kardashian’s Marriage

poetry blog, 2013

a poem in autumn/winter issue of AnOther Magazine


this arrived today

I have two poems in Galavant magazine, also feat. Crispin Best, Natalie Chin, Tao Lin


Rare screenshot of 81 Austerities trailer, directed by Simon Davenport

(Source: standardtwin)

I gave away the last remaining copies of my vintage pink faber pamphlet (2010) and two people have written nice things about it on their blogs, hickey heart and natalie chin. I think this must be what it felt like to get a letter when people still did that

Poems for Camarade 2




Justin Williams pokes his brain with a sharp object, 

then watches what happens through a microscope. 


He perceives shape and colour, but could be viewing 

a beach towel, a full breakfast, or a world map. 


Steinberg is impressed: 

‘This is a beautiful experiment.’ 


‘You can ask very simple questions 

that have surprisingly complex answers,’ says Menon.


Furthermore, numbers aren’t the only barrier 

to understanding paper balls.


Sufferers perceive the light switch as guilty, 

the keys on the table as guilty. 


‘I am sorry to bring personal experience 

into what is supposed to be an objective enquiry.’




The researchers



The researchers chose to examine the hair,

over other forms of residue, for legal reasons. 


They asked them to count “minutiae”

in the crime-scene prints. 


This can lead to optical artefacts 

that look “spooky” to the untrained eye.


In these conditions it is hard to tell 

which is the original and which the reflection.


‘There are two ways you can make an error as a man,’ 

said Dr Carin Perilloux. 


'Everything is very close but there's no actual overlap yet,' 

Collar said. 


Angelo just sat there, 

his cigarette smoke attracting weird light.




No exceptions 



The dream still greatly bothered her, 

long after she had forgotten it.


‘I have no energy, no strength,’ she said.

‘Forgive me, but now I need to rest.’


The future contains too many variables

for an amateur to master.


Prolonged staring reveals any object

to be a spherical body of light.


Stand on Mars and you would freeze

at about the same time that you exploded.


'No exceptions,' Antonia stated,

and she looked around the conference longingly.


She could peel the apple

in one long curly strip.




The answers


The patrol car comes to a stop in a sleepy neighbourhood

of small, earth-coloured homes.


Sebastian rallied:

'We're more like radio receievers than you'd like to admit.'


The chances are that if a simulation can be created,

we are living in it.


'Away from the vents, life is very sparse indeed

in this part of the world.’


Jupiter’s heart is dissolving,

melting, collapsing, divorcing.


The research, he says,

is just getting going.


The answers are to remain sealed in an envelope

until further notice, for everyone’s protection.



by Sophie Collins & Sam Riviere

Embedded Poetry ~ Glitch


The first in a series of publications exploring poetry in and beyond the internet, in collaboration with

Including: Sam Riviere, Rachael Allen, Steve Roggenbuck, Harriet Moore, Jack Underwood, Jon Stone, Erik Stinson, Megan Levad, Harry Burke, Emily Berry, Sophie Collins, Philip Larkin.

Available here:

(temporary link if dl faulty -


collaboration with Martha Ellen Smith for TEAM

Five Poems from ‘The Plum Tree’ by Endre Ruset

First published in NY POESI for Maintenant series (3:AM)


Plum Tree


Mine was a mother

of the malevolent variety. I was born

when she planted a tree from a cherry. It died

the day I forced my hand between Constance’s thighs.

She gave a small cry and went limp. My tree

was hollow and smelled a bit damp. My mother

was thin enough to climb inside. She stood

in the hollow as I played in the garden. I saw her hand

hanging among the low branches. I felt her eyes

looking from the tangled dead twigs. Wild pigs

chased me all over the garden. I was too

quick and clever for them. I climbed

my mother’s tree, the one her father grew

from a fruit stone. The wild pigs

grunted and dug at the roots. My mother

wouldn’t come out of the cherry bush. Her hand

went stiff in the rotting foliage. I plucked

obscenely bulging plums from her branches.

Their pink flesh tasted of Constance.

Their clear juice was sour

and stuck to my palms.


Interrogating the Plum



First pinch the skin until it splits

and pulp seeps through the slit

put your mouth to it and suck

until the skin turns inside out

and the stone deposits its gift

in a shape difficult to crack

with something written inside

which for an obvious reason

you are not permitted to see



Imagine the plum’s surprise

unzip its lustrous wallet

to an egg of greenish meat

into which category

of experience does this fit

like a tree inspecting a leaf

I held my hand at arm’s length

then sucked it back

to stroke with breath

the place the wet fruit sat

turning its scent bad

now I was learning something



From Brecht


the plum tree meanwhile is said

to stand for love and even if

it bears no fruit may be

identified by leaf



A Plum Tree Embarrasses My Mother


She wants cold plums from the fridge

plum tarts plum jam and plum cake

each spring the blossoms promise this

but when they yellow and fall the tree

stands hunched like an awkward girl

made to show everyone her underwear

and her green buds tense on the twigs

offering sour fruit that never ripens.



Plum Blossom Poem


I read that for the Chinese poets

the plum blossom which is white

and has almost no scent can

depending on its context be said

to represent solitude nobility

winter a quiet beauty a princess

woke when a plum blossom

settled on her forehead starting

the trend of the plum blossom

ornament it also has associations

of displacement and exile

the poet of the plum blossoms

studied the book of changes

until smashing in frustration

his porcelain pillow which

turned out to contain a note

correctly predicting his actions

on that precise date much later

he founded a complex system

of numerological divination

and his poem is a prophecy

from which one locates a symbol

in the outside world and also

in the heart it embarrasses me

as much as the fortune cookie

on my desk I am about to open wait

Worldly affairs are like a chess game,

whose final phase arrives early. 

The windstorm continues through the night,

but there is no need to worry.