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A Magazine for Sheffield

Lauren Phillips-Kirby. Lorna Festa. Jane Galletly.

Dear teachers in primary school and professors in college and mom and dad and everyone else who always told me I was a bright kid and could go far if I applied myself:

"Fuck you."

You did not prepare me for the real word at all. Okay, so maybe you had no idea how much your generation and all the assholes that voted for Maggie and Georgie would fuck up the economy. But I blame you anyway. So you filled my little impressionable brain with all these brilliant thoughts and idealistic bullshit and then set me free into the world.

But every fucking sign says:

"No vacancy."

And this isn't Bethlehem.

This isn't even Calcutta.

Here is worse. This is fucking England. The US is just the same; I've been there.

"We are your jobless, we are your tired, and your poor."

We are your own children.

You fed us, taught us to speak, to read, to write, to speak for ourselves, to love the classics, to do complex math. But I'm not using those things slinging coffee at men in business suits on their way to their cubicles.

(At his job his receptionist will send me a form letter telling me she's sorry, but due to a high number of applicants blah blah blah love from a machine. I am not a human being.)

I am a screen. Each of us will be replaced by a machine.

So thanks for the Lit Degree.... And the extra honours. A lot of good that's doing me now.

You've taught us, raised us, motivated us, encouraged us...

But for what purpose?

To be replaced. To learn to accept defeat. To close our mouths. To follow.

I would break the mould, if I could run with these leaden sneakers.

Believe me I'd keep running. Trapped in my own escape.

We were never really kids, and we will never truly be adults.

So thanks a lot.... For nothing.

And thank you for your time,

Signed - the anonymous youth.



Spring Loaded.

I can't deny that all it takes
Is one clear look at you
And it's one hundred plastic cowboy hats
And my heart buckaroos



All the songs.
by all the beautiful boys.
Touching myself to a love song
I lay,
far from the throes of love.
Thrown off my horse and
into the sand
where all my severed hands
have been buried.
In the Mojave desert.
Waiting for a radio and
touching myself to all the love songs.
Setting fire to the silence
I imagine you strode over to me,
great big footsteps (he' s got big boots on!)
and leant into my shadow
so that you melted into mine.
Transcending death.
Forming stars.
The nebular smiles,
whispering I shall form my own stars,
Planets that I can rule
Just like a Demiurge.
Yearning all the while just to touch myself
to all the beautiful love songs.
By all the beautiful boys.


A Reminder.

The key scratch marks around the door
From a drunken night a year before
When you tried to use your key not mine
When our limbs and bricks were that entwined
A reminder of my heart's complaint
Strange hieroglyphs scored into paint


Word Life in Bradford.

Coming up on April 15th
Theatre In The Mill, 7.30 pm
£6.50 / £5 concessions / Students Pay What You Can.
Denis Jones, Polar Bear, Joe Hakim, Andy Cook and Open Mic.

Dead Language Alive in Sheffield.

The Moor plays host to an exhibition of Latin poetry in the old Sunwin House department store windows. Rockingham Street writer James Blackwell, who studied Latin at the University of Sheffield, is exhibiting his new translation of a famous Horatian ode in bright, eye-catching colours. It is hoped that the seven foot by 22 foot poem will attract the attention of passers-by and commuters on the bus home.

The poem has been called the most beautiful in classical literature by A. E. Housman, and was chosen by James because the ancient poet Horace's self-deprecating humour and love of life closely echo the outlook of many present-day Sheffielders.

Open Mic Nights in Sheffield.

There's a whole range of poetry events going on in Sheffield all the time. Here's a snapshot:

The Shipping Forecast Check Rude Shipyard for more informaiton.
Speak Easy At Hallam Union. For more information search Facebook.
Cake Currently running events at Bank Street Arts.
Northern Lights New open mic night at the Rutland Arms.
Story Forge Storytelling night at the Fat Cat pub.
Vocal Poetry and music night at Trippets Wine Bar.


Next article in issue 37

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