All Empty Vessels

This diurnal/nocturnal double act spits and wheezes an electro-magnetic sociology of the underdog spirit with venom and flare. Animated by a summonings or invocation of Edgar Allan Poe and a character named 'Poet', the reader is razed by a wild-card graffiti of the spirit. This is a Butoh of working class robustness/consciousness: a dance of death performed to the British class system, executed on an altar of flickering screens, night walks, radiophonic dead air and luminous introspection. A haunting is bad enough, but a double haunting, where Kent summons McPherson and McPherson responds to Kent, reads like a vigorous card game: the flickering deck of their contaminant thought laid down swiftly, card by card, and without remorse. And yet, there is bathos, tenderness and liminality. In a dual showmanship of a new warning for both past and future, these are 'new forgeries. . . for invisible dawns' housed in a 'coffin rolled across a minefield'. You stand warned.

  - MacGillivray

Two poets writing so brilliantly and wearing a full suit of artistic armoury; what's not to like? Aaron Kent and Stuart McPherson's poetics are simultaneously interfused and complimentary of one another, befitting a book of exceptionally nuanced, collaborative poems and texts. Open, ludic, tender, defiant and with multiple helpings of satiric wit, nothing appears off limits in these poems of lyric intimacy, cast across psychological (and socio-political) time and space. Kent and McPherson are a pair of shapeshifters, metamorphic, restless, and so continually uncovering and recovering perceptions within a spindled self. Here, hearts become mirrors in a family tree, the 'I' orbits 'delicately as a torpedo on payday' and desire is haunted 'with the eyes of a gundog'. Death is cast too, never far away like an eye at the porthole. This metamorphic effect tilts the poem from sea to sky and back down to earth again, ensuring the writing is located at all times, bound by both poet's perfect-pitch musicianship. All Empty Vessels listens in to the overboiling temperature of the times. This is a bicameral poetics that comes with stark and subtle warnings. Poets too are implicated, everything is at stake-it's all or nothing, as Jean Genet said it must be. Time to wake up from 'tone-deaf banjo' playing and 'ceremonial bootlicking', or else 'the future watches rabbits thrashing in the snares'. Read this and be fully nourished, yet hungry and, as I did, read it all over again.

  - James Byrne