Special Issue Number 15.
‘CRUNCH’
Contents
Introduction: Pages 3-5
Pages 6-7: Ailsa Cox
Pages 8-10 Andrew Taylor
Pages 11-17: Alice Lenkiewicz
Page 19: Robert Sheppard
Page 20: Patricia Farrell
Page 22-28: Scott Thurston
Page 29-31: Cliff Yates
Page 32: Stazia Morrill
Page 33: Duncan Stewart
Page 34-36: Matt Fallaize
Page 37-38: Biographies
Page 39: Subscription
Images by Alice Lenkiewicz: Front cover, page 1,11.13,18
Images by Alice Lenkiewicz: www.geocities.com/poetshideout/alenkiewiczdrawings.html
poetshideout@yahoo.com
Images by Tim Power: Pages 6, 21.28,30,33
Tim Power: http://www.flickr.com/photos/gonzopix/
babelpower@msn.com
Introduction
Welcome to this special issue of Neon Highway that includes poems and writings from our performance at Liverpool Tate 5th Floor Project, titled ‘CRUNCH’. Writers read their poems and writings that revolved around the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and the Credit Crunch.
As a poetry magazine that has run since 2002, I decided to take into consideration the present financial climate, because I felt it would bring forth a variety of viewpoints.
Here is a quick run down of what I have perceived to be some of the main instigators of our present climate.
The so-called ‘New Era’.
The US economy experienced steady growth and expansion after the first world war, during the nineteen twenties. It is quoted as “the first truly modern decade and for better or worse, it created the model for society that all the world follows today.”
There were three main factors that fuelled economic growth.
a. Machines
b. Factories
c. Processing Standardised Mass production
Standardised Mass Production led to better Machinery in factories which then led to higher production which led to higher wages therefore producing more consumer goods which then led back to more standardised Mass Production.
Known as ‘The Great Boom’. The twenties had been a time of fun and partying, hence ‘The Roaring Twenties’. Many people, (although not everyone) during this time were having a comfortable life, able to afford luxury goods. Industry increased, Laws, Science, Arts, Beliefs, and much of social living changed. Americans considered play just as important as work. Confidence in consumers improved. Americans then became brave enough to invest in the market and set up businesses. Factory owners and companies made huge profits. The number of millionaires increased. The negative side was considered the violence, the gangsters, for instance, Al Capone who made money illegally as well as killing mercilessly which then led to the prohibition.
I found thinking about the whole era and how it relates to today quite challenging but also not easy. It conjured up many emotions for me and made me think about the obsessive consumerist that I really am. I am most certainly a victim of what is known as ‘Conspicuous Consumption’ the familiar term that embodies the cultural mindset of Post World War 1. I will never forget my first Ford Car. Henry Ford once said, “Americans can have any kind of car they want, and any colour they want, as long as it’s Ford, and as long as it’s black.” During this time, the relationship between businessman and government had never been closer. Calvin Coolidge, (Silent Cal) once said “Wealth is the Chief end of Man. The Man who builds a factory builds a temple, The man who works there, worships there.” Can you believe that a prominent figure known as Bruce Barton published a book called ‘The Man Nobody Knows’ a biography about Jesus as the ‘founder of modern business’ and the apostles as the ‘greatest sales force in history’? It is no wonder that people have become so turned on by money,(including myself of course). However there were also critics of America’s culture of consumption, including Sinclair Lewis, author of the novel ‘Babbitt’ (1922) who made fun of the businessman labelling him as a materialistic, amoral, superficial conformist.”
So where does that lead us? ‘The Great Crash’ followed ‘The Great Boom’.
Three phrases - Black Thursday, Black Monday, and Black Tuesday - are used to describe this collapse of stock values. All three are appropriate, for the crash was not a one-day affair. The initial crash occurred on Black Thursday (October 24, 1929), but it was the catastrophic downturn of Black Monday and Tuesday (October 28 and October 29, 1929) that initiated widespread panic and the onset of unprecedented and long-lasting consequences for the United States. The collapse continued for a month.
The October 1929 crash came during a period of declining real estate values in the United States (which peaked in 1925) near the beginning of a chain of events that led to the Great Depression, a period of economic decline in the industrialised nations.
At the time of the crash, New York City had become a major metropolis and its Wall Street district was one of the world's leading financial centres. The New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) was the largest stock market in the world.
Together, the 1929 stock market crash and the Great Depression was the largest financial crisis of the" 20th century. "The panic of that October day has come to serve as a symbol of the economic contraction that gripped the world during the next decade." The Wall Street Crash had a major impact on the U.S. and world economy, and it has been the source of intense academic debate—historical, economic and political—from its aftermath until the present day.
The "1929 crash brought the Roaring Twenties shuddering to a halt. The crash marked the beginning of widespread and long-lasting consequences for the United States. The main question is: Did the "'29 Crash spark The Depression?", or did it merely coincide with the bursting of a credit-inspired economic bubble? The decline in stock prices caused bankruptcies and severe macroeconomic difficulties including business closures, firing of workers and other economic repression measures. The resultant rise of mass unemployment and the depression is seen as a direct result of the crash, though it is by no means the sole event that contributed to the depression; it is usually seen as having the greatest impact on the events that followed. Therefore the Wall Street Crash is widely regarded as signalling the downward economic slide that initiated the Great Depression.
The poems written in this issue are a response to the past and the present financial climate.
Yours.
Jane Marsh.
Twofer
So he says to me, ‘What do you think?’ and I say, ‘Are you proposing?’ We’re sitting in the Beehive, eating two meals for the price of one, fish and chips, sausage and mash, a couple of pints. ‘Well yes,’ I say, though I’m actually thinking: can we run through this again? With moonlight? ‘Yes, if you’re asking, I suppose so.’
On this very weekend, Wayne and Colleen are getting hitched in Portofino. At the moment when they’re declared man and wife, each of the however many guests opens a gilded box, and out comes a butterfly, like Discord released into the world. On Paradise Street, the mirrored city’s open to shoppers. We could hardly get on the trains for the crowds coming in. Stumbling from the dark pub into daylight, I’m dazzled. It seems like I’m dreaming. The street clamour hits me, the din of conversation, the clatter of drills and the over-amplified backing track used by the blind man over on Church Street – dum dum dum dum DUM. Builders clamber over the scaffolding, a bright yellow crane completing a right-angled triangle.
Next to the hoardings – an exciting retail outlet due for completion September - two young guys are playing Purple Haze, playing it hard and for real.
‘Look,’ says Ed.
One of the guitarists has no right hand. He uses his prosthesis like a bow.
The shoppers course past us, heading upstream for John Lewis. We hang around listening, a couple of minutes, but we have urgent business too – Ed’s eye appointment – buy one, get a free pair of prescription sunglasses. And for me, the cosmetics counter - your exclusive beauty bag with complimentary products worth up to £75. We head in opposite directions – Ed to the opticians, me scuttling towards Boots on Clayton Square, passing the empty shops, closed for relocation. Everything’s different, and yet still the same - the blaring outdoor screen with your local news and weather; and the stalls selling Scarface mirrors and Everton scarves - the distances stretched and the geography shifted.
A young couple are bumping a buggy up that line of Odessa steps leading up to Lime St, the buggy loaded with Primark bags, carriers dangling from the handles, the woman clamping the pink baby at her middle. The baby stares out from its mother’s grasp, and everything stops just for a minute. Everything stops and starts over again.
Ailsa Cox
Carts are Objects they are Little Buildings
It is important to heal
and to hydrate
seek scraps fallen from fruit and veg
seller’s barrows
Straight pressed into survival
doorways home to blankets
Royal Mail Street public land
appears private
Behind the Adelphi Hotel
houses were built on wasteland
repayments are not being met
In Winter take on more hot liquid
wear layers
keep one room warm stay in it
venture out if only absolutely necessary
soup is a valid form of nutrition
Been listening to the Palies have you?
Of course there is absolutely
nothing wrong with listening
to The Pale Fountains in fact
it should be encouraged
particularly on hot summer days
when the fields sway heavily
and the daylight goes on and on
reflecting shadows long across
motorway verges encouraging
shelter
25 years listen on
watch midwinter Manhattan a
temporary writing
room wonder about the futility of
holding onto things that should
be cast off and thought about differently
the pound is worthless against the dollar
they are stripping the Chelsea Hotel
of its history in an effort to make more money
room 211 is partly demolished
How clever
Credit Crunch Hits Toyland as Stores Cut Prices for Christmas
I can’t imagine being
the last person in Lewis’s
Christmas Eve buying Macallan
10 year old though in 1993
that’s exactly what I did
I was drinking to forget that
my marriage was almost over
that the money in my pocket
was courtesy of HM Government
and that my parents were sending
food parcels I scribbled into
notebooks from the Pound Shop
and settled in Bootle library
for warmth and education
This Christmas Eve a payment
will arrive into my bank account
from Liverpool City Council for
work I did talking about my poetry
and I will read an edition of
The New York Times dated 23
December delivered via the red-eye
into Manchester
I will buy flowers take food out of
the freezer and be prepared
Andrew Taylor
After Black Thursday
“The 1929 crash was not a one-day affair. The initial crash occurred on Black Thursday (October 24, 1929), but it was the catastrophic downturn of Black Monday and Tuesday (October 28 and October 29, 1929) that precipitated widespread panic and the onset of unprecedented and long-lasting consequences for the United States. The collapse continued for a month.”
Through the blue yonder
Of a Summer’s sky
I saw a tranquil place
Where shadows
Danced upon the river
Perhaps slumbered
Then embraced the dark
Warm night
Out of all this chaos
I feel a sense of calm
Sitting in the morning light
A place of mirrors
In an instant knows
Virtues though proud
Seem to be near and
Help us repair
The solemn under-wood of
A withering dream
Out of corruption there is
Clarity and possible variety
In all that we produced
To work upon ourselves
Have we lost our way
I force my mind back
And now descend
A silence that made me dream
Of happiness so youthful
And serene
A luminous mist through the
Morning land
Sumptuous as summer’s heat
I search for some greatness
The sky with all its secrets
A quiet sparkling forest pool
Upon my lonely walk
Weaving the cities fates
Remember
The far off sun
And the mossy stone
The process of eternal love
The 1929 St Valentine's Day Massacre
The St. Valentine's Day Massacre eliminated Capone's enemies, but outraged the general public. Capone (through his henchman Murray the Hump) orchestrated the most notorious gangland killing of the century, the 1929 St. Valentine's Day Massacre in the Lincoln Park neighbourhood on Chicago's North Side.
we walked the river
land without shadows
everywhere knowing
you’ve lost all sense of shame
the sun unfastens a still
cafe triggers the "raid."
for hooch as the mob fired
seven victims at 2122
not a word spoken
each time returning
footsteps come into our lives
in the view of streetlamps
my eyes weeping
snow is falling
there he lies body black
dreaming of strange cities
secrets gather the sleepy
horizon to lose identity
re-enter the real world
to have nothing else to give
as the light fell away
i stood there beside the
wonder wheel
as the sea soothes this first day
The Fire Starters
In 1932
He shed his shoes
Walked past the grey
Drab apartment blocks
And entered the forest
Of rising flames where an unfamiliar
Sky followed a trail of amber smoke
Above the vivid horizon
An eagle watched
The empty silence the good
And safe place smoke
Moving but silent
There was a moment of consideration
As he entered the clearing
Redwood trees
And fragments
Translucent in shadows
Alice Lenkiewicz
Recession Song
2009
It was one of those days when I reached for the sales
Like a pirate craves silver on moon-swept gales
Faces I saw were eager to spend
The Banks apparently reluctant to lend
Church Street sparkled like silver and gold
In Liverpool's January bitter cold
Prices had fallen like leaves in the gutter
This is heaven I heard somebody mutter
It was one of those days
When the shops were warm
And my life should have been tattered and torn
As I walked around with a golden purse
I knew this was my social curse
Don’t stand there and blame the single mum
When it was with her you had so much fun
How can you leave the homeless in the street
To watch their dignity slowly deplete
It was one of those days when I wanted to cry
What’s happened to the trees
And the stars in the sky
And you may say it is forbidden
It’s a mystery where new jewels are hidden
The sun glimmers on a winter tree
Creating new chances
The young girl dances
And let’s build a statue as high as the town
Of nature wearing her green velvet gown
For as I walk up Bold Street and think of my life
Heaven’s forbid there’s been some strife
Let us not forget that we’re not here forever
Love and peace we will endeavour
And although it is easy to create a war
Life is too short so don’t close your door
And remember the banker for all his gloom
Deserves a friend too on this cold afternoon
Alice Lenkiewicz
Robert Sheppard
Sensual Music
‘Don’t write nature poetry,’
shouts the horny black bill.
R.F. Langley
Cormorant by the lakeside
Where the heron should be
As alert but hanging there
With wings half-unfurled
Like a man slipping a jacket
Down his back
Gulls with false eye feathered
Behind each real eye trot
To the freshwater and hop in
Geese side-step flat-footing
Their shit’s verdure but that’s OK
This isn’t a nature poem
For not all the fowl are real
The Liver Birds cast into myth atop
The life assurance capitol preside
Over acts-of-god and credit-crunch
But the cormorant dived oily
Into saltwater once in imitation
Of its food’s long flight. We
Did this and I found the words
Liverpool 2008
Patricia Farrell
Turned Figure (paperwork enclosed) – Reprise
BREAD
Too ugly for words
So who paid for his teeth?
She has not half the wit of this fish
I am telling you
Many mouths singing
Body leaves inside over
SALT
Watching the monitors
The sadness of seeing oneself seeing
I have burned his clothes
And find the body
Hand pick in those ready
Good hair helps
WATER
From behind the screen
Objects seem to desert me now
If they pulled him from the water now
You must shut your ears
Don’t buy selected skin
Load wrong find magic
FISH
A land as fine as this
Easier spot says step it
A bird on the windowsill sings
Do not sell me anything
Now close your eyes
Free to field customers
FOR THE LOVE
in a skyscraper
pale wood and a glass hedge
fund
insure me to the end of the
world
I have no time
left
I want to eat
time
sell my mortality
so I can buy into
the big one
the big infinite deal
the one
no-one sees coming
but everyone is waiting for
recycle private finance
into public gain or is
it the other way around?
an earthquake devastates California
a revolutionary Marxist government in Washington
insure me for the end
of the world
where fear trumps greed
again and again
or is it the other way around?
I want a private public fact
I can rely on
to credit credit
trust my trust fund
command a sociology of knowledge
an increased proportion of sellers
are desperate
transferring credit risk into
collateralized debt obligations
a special purpose vehicle
tsunami takes out
the Cayman islands
corporate bonds
loans
and mortgage backed bonds
set into the terror tower –
a hierarchically structured set
of investments in tranches thick
as Argentinian steak
impenetrable as water
start me on the equity tranche
where I practically freeze my
assets in fear but bank on
the risk of a high return
if I can penetrate the skin
of delirium I wash up on the next
tranche – the mezzanine trench
suspended above wrecked aspirations
we only hope equity doesn’t
get sliced out of the system
or we can’t hope to reach the
senior tranche
triple AAA
second only in safety
to the super senior
that we can but dream of
the air gets thin at this level
the gains privatized
the losses shared by all
or is it other way
social and cultural capital
so rare you kill for it
the end of high end art –
a diamond skull tops out the prospects
gazing over an oil slick off Cornwall
autonomy, spontaneity, rhizomorphous capacity, multi-tasking, conviviality, openness to others and novelty, availability, creativity, visionary intuition, sensitivity to differences, listening to lived experiences and receptiveness, informality, search for contact
are all fundamental to sound financial management
create fact in your investment grade art
rating:
risk of default
recovery rates
extent of linked defaults
work out the correlation of the risks
using a single factor Gaussian copula
gauging:
the health of the economy
connectedness of risks
the bell-shaped curve
We have no confidence
that this is a good measure
of your art assets
the artist part of the unnamed consortium
buying his own works
for cash
these facts offered to
banks, hedge funds, insurance companies, pension funds
for shedding credit risk
not private individuals
but based on private facts
buy protection / sell protection
trade in correlation
in a huge volume of liquid market
we take off senior and super senior
private citizens and we
work on the mezzanine
everyone now equally, heavily
exposed to risk
where does this leave us
the end of the world
only a few moments away
capitalism feels like crumbling, so what
or is it the other way around?
If the insurer doesn’t survive
who gets the big payout?
But you protect
You book your deal
Even if it would be gone long before
you could ever use it
apocalypse now so built into
the system
it underwrites the whole
as death makes sense of life
and the other way around
Scott Thurston
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
This poem is indebted to my reading of essays by Donald MacKenzie (‘End-of-the-World Trade’) and Hal Foster (‘The Medium is the Market’) published in the London Review of Books in May and October 2008 respectively.
Cliff Yates
TAKE HEART
Two pain-killers first thing, a black tea
with three sugars and I’m almost human,
the tooth a dull ache and the throat
a mere crackle. Cheer up, says the Express,
forget the economy – temperatures
in the 70s, sales in the High Street…
and my body’s a wire, strung across the Pennines
sat in a draught on the Transpennine Express.
No one talking, just the rustle of paper,
a slate blue sky, shadows getting shorter
as we enter a tunnel, then it’s a mist
and the presence of trees, the sun
inching up the absence of sky…
Telegraph poles are poor imitations of trees
the wires between them, bird flight.
Power hums not sings.
Cliff Yates
EXCHANGE RATE
Climbing the tree to pick fruit he fell and lost
most of his hearing.
He shakes my hand, talks in Slovakian,
tapping his pockets, looking suspiciously
around him for us to be careful, in the market, of thieves.
We don’t find any thieves, we find a kilo of walnuts
for less than a pound but we can’t eat a kilo of walnuts.
Four thousand crowns on the table, a bag of poppy seeds
in the kitchen and we don’t know what to say or how to say it.
She draws a bath in her notebook and climbs in.
Cliff Yates
FUN
Al said he was glad that his wife wasn’t with him
when he watched American Beauty
he’d have been embarrassed.
We’d just got back from Paris.
Best bit was outside the bar, not being able to stop
laughing.
Such as when the telephone rings at one
in the morning like it did last night
and your neighbour’s just chased your son
off his garden – his daughter’s having a sleepover
and the scallywag climbed his wall
and pulled out the tent pegs
or hire a gipsy caravan in the Outer Hebrides
like the bank manager and his wife
(‘you’ll pass somewhere you can wash on the Thursday’)
who packed three carrier bags with baby wipes.
Stazia Xenia Lenkiewicz- Morrill
There was nothing there
The children playing in the meadows
There was nothing there oh
Oh Oh Oh Oh
There was nothing there
Dancing through streets broad and narrow
There was nothing there oh
Oh Oh Oh Oh
There was nothing there
The grass was green
The sky was blue
There was nothing there oh
Oh Oh Oh Oh
There was nothing there
Above the windows of the houses coloured awnings
Are pulled down
Today’s the day for fun and laughter
For this little country town
There was nothing there oh.
Oh Oh Oh Oh
There was nothing there
Duncan Stewart
Money
Money,
It's the capital way,
I've resisted for years,
But I'm ashamed to say
That I'm now - I'm now - I'm now,
Not where I have been,
I wonder where my share is coming from,
Wonder at what it means to me.
So share me your secrets,
Lock them up in a jar,
And I'll throw it as far as I can,
From the point that I stand in your heart.
Matt Fallaize
it follows
decline, sudden and dramatic
exeunt omnes, bears pursuant
quick words from the wings
quicker words from the gods
no takers for the ice cream in the interval
copy that
central points of information
are as lit windows
or stools
to be caught between
way down in the hole
I attempted to place a commodified
price on the
secret of fire
as stolen
from various gods
so
they were disinclined
to extend my credit line
antic
make hay while
there’s hay
to be made
I hope you like hay
I have an opinion
It will affect
percentage points
listen to me or you’ll lose your house
exports
as it turns out
hills still exist
the end of history
bin the exhibits
throw out the jars
burn the labels
it’s done, it’s finished
choke the bylines
garrotte the margins
run for the hills
cherish your mattress
we’re all going to die especially you
piss in the wind
write a placard use capitals
imagine some numbers
imagine them gone
Commodity
Friend, feel some comfort
You’re doing your bit for macroeconomics
Punch and Judy
I wrote this, initially on
a typewriter
somewhere towards
the end of the last century
at which point
I had a clear idea
of how it all mapped out
there would
of course be a period of struggle
but this, naturally
would be followed by triumph
easy to imagine
the gates of a city somewhere
gaping ajar for my open topped bus
adoring kisses blown
by the better sort of blowsy type
a few years of graft
a small price to pay
I could of course
chat cheerfully about
shoulders and noses and grindstones
etc
secure in the knowledge
that when some
unquantifiable amount of dues had been paid
then that would be that
there’d be a tap on the shoulder
and from then on out
well it would mostly be gravy
and occasional emails from regretful school crushes
apologising and wondering if there was a chance
I could liberate them from their middle managers
and area representatives
maybe, I’d reply, you never know
nice to know
I thought as I typed
it all works out for the best
dissonance
action and promises of action
and acting on intention and the evils
of inaction and the intention to act
and acting due to inattentive actioning
something’s worse than nothing’s
worse than something worse than
his idea is worse
than his idea is worse than his idea
is worse than nothing is worse
than inertia is death to the macroeconomic
flow is a spur to microequanimities
are a blockade to retrenchment
is the spur to advancement is
the fault of defaulters is the damage
of collateral is the easy punchline
readjustment readjustment readjustment
this point goes here
and this point goes here with
concomitant effects on that point there
colloidal and compound and fractal and
prime and ponzi and pounding
percentage and shifted liquidities
this debt is this debt but it’s also that debt
and his debt is your debt I sold it to her
Biographies
Robert Sheppard studied economics at A Level and though he steals its vocabulary now and then he is careful to leave its specifics out of his poetry – Ezra Pound being the minatory example. He has written about recessions, in the 1930s ‘Empty Diary’ poems, and in many poems written during and against the Thatcherite project to change human consciousness through economic deprivation – all of which are found in his compendious recent volume Complete Twentieth Century Blues (Salt 2008). In his next book Warrant Error (Shearsman, March 2008) he notes the undeliverable lesson on the £20 note but otherwise his attention is diverted by humanity’s need to survive the ‘September 12’ we seem to be living through co-terminously with the credit-crunch. He is also a critic (Iain Sinclair, 2007) and is Professor of Poetry and Poetics at Edge Hill University. See his Pages: www.robertsheppard.blogspot.com.
Patricia Farrell has had work published in Stride Magazine, Shadowtrain, Great Works, and Shearsman Magazine. Her work is included in the 4-pack anthology New Tonal Language (Reality Street Editions)
Andrew Taylor is a Liverpool based poet. Co-founder and editor of erbacce and erbacce-press, his latest collection comes from Sunnyoutside Press. Poems have recently appeared in Opium Poetry, The Journal of Heroin Love Songs, Eviscerator Heaven and Shoots and Vines. He has a PhD in Poetry and Poetics.
Ailsa Cox’s stories have appeared in various magazines and anthologies, including London Magazine, Metropolitan and The Virago Book of Love and Loss.. Like Ice, Like Fire is published as a story pamphlet by Leaf books. A collection is forthcoming from Headland Press in 2009. She’s also the author of Writing Short Stories (Routledge 2005). Ailsa Cox teaches at Edge Hill University.
Scott Thurston’s most recent book is Momentum (Shearsman, 2008). He edits The Radiator, a journal of poetics, and edited The Salt Companion to Geraldine Monk. Scott lectures at the University of Salford and has published widely on innovative poetry. See his pages at www.archiveofthenow.com/.
Cliff Yates is the author of Henry’s Clock (Smith/Doorstop), which won both the Aldeburgh First Collection Prize and the Poetry Business Book & Pamphlet Competition. He wrote ‘Jumpstart Poetry in the Secondary School’ for the Poetry Society. He lives in Skelmersdale and teaches at Maharishi School, where his students are famous for winning poetry competitions. His new collection of poems is forthcoming from Salt.
An earlier version of ‘Fun’ was published by Smith’s Knoll, and an earlier version of ‘Exchange Rate’ was published by The Slab.
Alice Lenkiewicz edits the poetry magazine, Neon Highway along with ‘Jane Marsh’, Matt Fallaize and Dee McMahon. She is the curator of The Toxteth Art Gallery online. She is also an artist and writer and has exhibited her work as well as having been published in poetry magazines and the small press. Further work and information can be found on: toxtethartgallery.wordpress.com and www.geocities.com/poetshideout/alenkiewiczdrawings.html
http://www.geocities.com/poetshideout/Neon.html
Matt Fallaize is a poet and lecturer. He also edits Neon Highway Poetry Magazine.
Duncan Stuart on Music
www.myspace.com/duncanstuart
duncanstuart_1@hotmail.com
The Public Service Announcer
Nigel Harrison (A&R man)
Email: publicservice2008@yahoo.com
L1 Ropewalk Recordings
The new record label of Liverpool (website coming soon)
http://www.geocities.com/poetshideout/Neon.html
Neon Highway, the magazine for experimental and innovative poetry.
Submissions of innovative poetry to be sent to editors:
Dee McMahon: 14, Tower Hill, Ormskirk, L39 2EG
Matt Fallaize: 54, Chapel St. Ormskirk, L39 4QF
Alice Lenkiewicz: 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD
Neon Highway is available bi-annually, with 2 issues costing £5.50, or a single
Issue available at £3.00. Order your next issue by sending a cheque to Alice Lenkiewicz, 37, Grinshill Close, Liverpool, L8 8LD.
