No game can capture the phrase Poetry in Motion like the beautiful game of snooker. Fryup Publishing is excited to announce its future publication, Baize Passions: An Anthology of Snooker Poems, edited by publisher and conceptual writer, Mark Staniforth (@MarkFlux1) and poet @RMFrancis. Staniforth and Francis share a passion for this glorious, and most poetic of games, and are excited by the possibility of using snooker’s slow, patient regulations and its subtle deviations as formal and thematic experimentation. We’re looking for poems related – however obliquely – to snooker: it could be an ode to a mighty champion or a paean to a long-forgotten nearly-man; an asemic rendering of Tony Knowles’ complex love-life, or a limerick about Bill Werbeniuk bursting out of his trousers. It could rage like a Hurricane, or embrace the minimalist ethic of Whispering Ted. Perhaps a sestina for Lianne Crofts, snooker’s notorious first streaker. We’re particularly keen on reading submissions of poetry that engage with formal experimentation and poems that use snooker’s rules, tricks and meticulousness as points of departure for the theme and style of the verse. What will unite these poems is a passion for the baize.
For the sake of expediency, the anthology will – initially at least – be published via Lulu. Please its editors or send submissions to: staniforthmark @ hotmail .co .uk.
R. M. Francis is a writer from the Black Country. Author of four poetry chapbooks. Transitions and Corvus’ Burnt-Wing Love Balm and Cure-All (Black Light Engine Room), Orpheus (Lapwing Publications) and Lamella (Original Plus).
Mark Staniforth is a writer from the quasi-fictional North Yorkshire village of Fryup. He is a sports journalist, and is pursuing a PhD at Leeds Beckett University. He has self-published a number of works, including Fryupdale.
Almost ten years after its original inception as an e-book, Fryupdale is now available in physical form.
Porn stars and serial killers, nazis and nymphomaniacs, hunchbacks and bare-knuckle boxers: just a few of the disparate cast of characters who call the remote moorland community of Fryupdale their home. These 18 short stories reveal the truths behind their lonely, sad and sometimes hilarious lives – and why the world beyond village limits will always seem so distant.
PRAISE FOR FRYUPDALE
“It certainly ain’t the Yorkshire of Heartbeat or James Herriot” – AJ Kirby, The Short Review
“Brilliant. Fun. Bizarre. Delightful. *****” – D. Patrick Morris, Smashwords
“By turns hilarious and heartbreaking, grimly realistic and deeply surreal *****” – Morgan Spenwell, Smashwords
“This is unlike any short story collection I have ever read, and I mean this in the best way possible *****” – Brandy Hunt, Smashwords
“England in a microcosm.. there is something that is captivating about this collection ****” – M. Dowden, Amazon
If your stuff fits some/any/most of these boxes, Fryup Publishing probably wants it…
‘Publishing the Unpublishable’ is an intriguing and evidently paradoxical concept explored at some length via Kenneth Goldsmith’s Ubuweb. What makes a piece of work ‘unpublishable’ and by extension, who is the arbiter of such a decree? Is a piece of work ‘unpublishable’ because it is regarded – subjectively, obviously – as immature and/or misguided, or because it’s a shining paean that somehow doesn’t fit into its author’s finely curated canon? At what point do repeated rejections render something ‘unpublishable’, and having been deemed as much, why is it still resisting deletion on your hard drive?
I’m courting submissions for a prospective anthology of so-called ‘unpublishable’ works. I’m fascinated by the contextual elements which transform an ‘unpublishable’ work just as soon as it is published. Goldsmith says: “While this exercise began as an exploration and provocation, the resultant texts are unusually rich; what we once considered to be our trash may, after all, turn out to be our greatest treasure.” A truly ‘unpublishable’ work has been languishing on our computers for some time, resisting countless opportunities for permanent removal. Interestingly, in the years since Ubuweb’s ‘unpublishable’ section was originally established in 2007, some of its works appear to have been withdrawn, or at least un-linked: once the ‘unpublishable’ has been published, can it revert to being ‘unpublishable’ once more? Submitting them for inclusion in a physical entity will remove the get-out clause, and possibly require some degree of bravery. It’s a mega-subjective conceit, in the sense that one’s overt subjectivity – that of the idea and its (semi-) fulfilment – is presented objectively. From that mega-subjective point of view, I’m particularly interested in works of spontaneity: rash flights-of-fancy or passionate juvenilia. Barely-edited stuff. Stuff that’s riddled with contradictions and/or an all-round sense of preposterousness. Rude stuff. Stuff that, for whatever reason, you just can’t bring yourself to permanently erase (frankly, I’ve contrived this whole project as a means to get my script for ‘Arrival of the Mud Men’ out there). There’s no limit on length, although longer works might need to be excerpted. See Contacts or tweet @markFLUX1.