clinic II

  
 
 
clinic is a poetry, arts and music platform based in New Cross, South East London. They hold multi-disciplinary events which aim to bring together poets, artists and musicians – both emerging and established in their respective fields – in an ongoing artistic collaboration.
 
 
Following a sell-out run of their first anthology, clinic return with the second installment in the series: a more ambitious endeavor collating the work of the most exciting young poets, illustrators and photographers. The book stands as a manifestation of the workshops, readings and exhibitions that clinic have orchestrated over the UK in the past year.
 
 
  
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Poets in clinic II
 
Rachael Allen, James Brookes, Sam Buchan-Watts, Niall Campbell, John Challis, Kayo Chingonyi, Tim Cockburn, Sophie Collins, Dai George, Matthew Gregory, Nathan Hamilton, Emily Hasler, Oli Hazzard, Kirsten Irving, Luke Kennard, Amy Key, Caleb Klaces, Alex MacDonald, Edward Mackay, Toby Martinez de las Rivas, Harriet Moore, Kim Moore, Andrew Parkes, Abigail Parry, Declan Ryan, Jon Stone, Ross Sutherland, Olly Todd, Jack Underwood
 
 
 
Illustrators
 
Hanna Andersson, Kohei Ashino, Sophia Augusta, Alexey Berezkin, Harriet Bridgewater, Michael Dotson, Mike Goldby, Jack Hudson, Rob Hope-Johnstone, Paul Layzell, Bob London, Aaron McLaughlin, Olja Oblvco, Sean Roy Parker, Aimee Parrott, Thom Rees, Jack Teagle, White White Brown Twig
 
 
The publication includes, at its centre, the photo essay, ‘Modern Times’, by Patrick Tsai, documenting the tumultuous cultural concern of China in the Twenty-First Century.
 
   
 

© Aimee Parrott

  
 
Stems.
Olly Todd
 
 
Through the dark hallway of antlers,
dozens nailed high to the splitting oak,
she walks before strolling
out to the summer garden
with the nap of the lawn and, blowing
into jars says, ‘candles, why candles?’
 
Although the flowers don’t need it
she cuts shorter their stems and rearranges
them in their green glass vase.
 
Lilac and white blouses and pants
pulled earlier along the line.
 
He brings the whisky bottle wrapped
in the white serviette. They have never
jumped into a river holding hands.
Never have they jumped in a river and
only for peace does he agree the nightingale
at the fountain is romantic
 
 
 
*
 
 
 
The Drowned Fields
Kim Moore
 
 
Although being without him now
would be like standing on one leg
still everything seems paper thin.
 
If my foot slips and breaks the surface,
I’ll fall to a land of drowned fields,
where the only language is the language
 
of the sky and the birds make endless
patterns in the air and the pools of water
are words the rain has left behind.
 
The birds are like shadows in the corner
of my eye, or silver, as if the sky
is throwing money to the ground.
 
Next to the path the grass moves beneath
my feet. Hummocks store black water
while his thoughts, impossible to ignore
 
push their way across the land like large
enthusiastic dogs. The lives I could
have led are silver threads across
 
the drowning land and birds come
together , then spread apart, as if the sky
opened its hand and let them loose.
 
 
 
*
 
 
 
Deco
Tim Cockburn
 
 
I love you because you are like love
a flimsy and preposterous thing,
like a deco bedside cabinet
whose gold trim is coming away,
whose quilted sides are yellow and punctured,
but that you buy anyhow,
if only because, among the serious junk,
its cheerful stab at flair seems
a certain defiance, a retort.
 
 
 
*
 
 
 
Talking Panther
Sophie Collins
 
 
paces the room, his raised tail beating
in time with the grandfather clock.
His long claws click against
the polished wood floor. He wears a crisp blue suit
 
to compliment the iridescence in his fur.
His cravat was a gift,
from a benevolent tsar. His cufflinks are fangs
won in a duel with an Indian rattlesnake.
 
He tells me the panther is a solitary animal.
He tells me they are under threat
but they are skilled climbers.
He tells me of his scaling the Norwegian coastline;
 
he is the only quadruped to have conquered
the Seven Summits.
As he chews and licks at his words
I notice his gums are black. He never blinks.
 
He is about to recount an early memory
from his birthplace of Burma
when his perfect head bursts
into the greenest of flames.
 
 
 
*
 
 
  
Order clinic II here.
 
clinic II was made possible, in part, by a donation from Ideas Tap, and is co-published by Egg Box Publishing.
 
Visit clinic’s website.
 
 
 

© Tom Rees

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