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What Fell Out In Life: Matt ffytche

What Fell Out In Life
Matt ffytche

Containing 'Emergency Measures', 'Transitional Objects' and 'Fall Out': three sequences of dialectical lyrics, whose outermost impulses thrash through news of the latest global emotion, and whose innermost horizons condense in shell fragments of perception.

£4.00, 48pp, ISBN 978-1-903488-53-9, Feb 2006

Author Biography

Matt ffytche is a researcher in the history of psychology and lectures on poetics and literary theory at Royal Holloway, University of London. A long-term contributor of music criticism to theWire, he has also worked as an editor on the magazines The Modern Review and Marxism Todayand has written on cultural theory for the Guardianand the Independent on Sunday.

More about Matt ffytche»


from What Fell Out in Life:

this carries , as the burn , where truth splays its

sweet heart , fresh from the frozen shadow, of the watch

to halt the bare , outline , in quietness , what a beautiful

touch descends , with the crest and rise : the brow from ,

which an event watches . and truly so halted - to tender

as much , in the tearing , with the merest . close of

motion , keeled . the oblique and , tempestuous wash of

everything that remains . carefully and carelessly un

created , and still remains , without a head . but with

all the thickness of the word , written , and carried and

scored into the , painless history : except for the pair

we press forward , as a - gift , abroad, and almost to each.


counterpane , silt , decider . blows slivers of zinc

as altitude . terrored . quick to curl , lithe and for a

clip at the hem - touch , and touch , hisses which

appear unarmed . as laid , clear severance - of small

hours . and then , uproar . a watch , romantic agile

few - glide of the paramedic , sure as unseen , wakes

not to leave , not to believe , not to clip, white cherries

in season - a choking hut & cull - with what ,

menace , the hunt descends , to amount , the break

walking off - there - with cloud trail, a vista, my only and


dawn folded , a wing grey over the face , a

haven of sorts - pigeon head , crop and tip

wind a slant across this third . made to bring

equality of appearance - lurch of , bed-set , rises

in a cool wave , across the morning - grandpa

at the wheel , and kids in - the merry spray of

recurrence - glides through our fingers in turn


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