Ross Sutherland was born in Edinburgh in 1979. A former lecturer in electronic literature at Liverpool John Moore’s University, Ross works as a freelance journalist and tutor in creative writing. He is a member of live literature collective Aisle 16. His first collection, Things To Do Before You Leave Town (Penned in the Margins), was published in 2009.
In this limited edition, signed mini-book, Ross Sutherland presents the poem as honed, stripped and exposed. With trademark wit, Twelve Nudes (Penned in the Margins, 2010) interrogates the failures of love, exploding the dynamics of text, voice and body. In this elegant but uneasy satire, ‘to be naked is to speak without footnotes’.
Each book is packaged in a gold cellophane bag and comes with a special gift.
Our fear of public speaking began in childhood, when public speakers burst into our living rooms and murdered our families.
Those articulate bastards left us with nothing, just a handful of cue-cards escaping across spearmint lawns:
1. INTRODUCTION / QUOTE FROM LEFEBVRE
MY PROFESSIONAL CAPACITY AS ARCHIVIST
8. FATHER, OPINIONS OF WAITERS
NON-HUMANS (FORMATIVE EXPERIENCES)
ON ANSWERING PHONE: “A LEADEN CRAPULENCE”
14. 1989: THE ENCROACHING THREAT
POLICE MELODRAMAS AT 90°
“INTO THE GLITTERING PALACE OF TEARS”
How we swore vengeance on those public speakers! Quiet, incoherent vengeance; the best kind, muttered inside cupboards.
Ever so often we attempted to tell people the story of our lives, only to discover that they had already heard it, with smarter punch-lines and less insincere flippancy. Word came that someone had sold the TV rights to our fear of wasps.
In nightmares the public speakers appeared to us as demonic, fifty-foot rainbows. “We shall now say a few words on emptiness,” they chimed, their mouths descending like Tetris onto our beds, finishing our sentences.
We followed them through the periodicals, hating them so. Rain fell in perfect fallacy onto their palladiums. “My plus-one is this sniper rifle,” we said in unison.
174. BACKBURNER ISSUES
“ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL” (JOKE)
Behind the red curtain we could hear them rushing about, becoming more and more eloquent as their entrance approached.
We sat there in silence, frantically inventing opinions that our biographers had no use for. But it was too late. They were already imagining us naked.
from Twelve Nudes (Penned in the Margins, 2010).
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