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Cover art by Henry Stanton.

Hang In There: Poetry from John D Robinson

John D Robinson, a regular contributor to HOT, has published his first full collection of poetry, Hang In There. Most of the poems appear in book form for the first time. Adrian Manning of Concrete Meat Press gives his appreciation of the man and his work. There follow three of the poems.

I have been reading the poems of John D. Robinson in chapbooks, broadsides and magazines for a while now and I’ve always been impressed by the honesty and truth within them. Robinson pulls no punches – he documents life in all its beauty and terror. If it’s there in front of him, he records it for us all to see. It may not always be a comfortable ride, but it’s one worth taking every time.

It’s really great to see that this first full length collection of poetry is now available in Hang In There. Whether he’s writing about women or men and the relationships – intense or passing – or the joy, pain, sex or violence that are part of their lives, you know there’s no lie in the words he writes.

He has a camera eye that records the larger picture but also picks out the small details. He writes of the disenchanted, the disenfranchised and the disturbed, but always with an acute sense of understanding and an ability to make the reader feel something real.

Robinson is a poet who hits the mark over and over and Hang In There is full of shots on the bullseye. Read it. You may not always feel comfortable, but you will feel alive. So, buckle up for the ride and “Hang In There.”

 

Hang In There Collection of poetry by John D Robinson published by Uncollected Press in the US. The first edition consists of 100 signed copies. To order a copy (£12 in the UK, €15 in Europe and $15 in the US, plus p&p) contact John at <johndrobinson@yahoo.co.uk>.

 

 

HANG IN THERE

Hang in there

like a ghost falling

into the rain,

like a ship drifting

into a smothering fog,

hang in there

like it’s your last

breath, the final

word said,

the last page

read and turned,

hang in there

and scream the

injustice you feel,

that you see, as a

third of the world’s

human population

lacks

shelter

food

water,

hang in there

like heaven itself

awaiting its fate,

like waiting for the man

on a street-corner

who will make things

good again,

hang in there

whatever

it takes.

 

LISTEN, SPEAK, LISTEN

Learn to listen,

then,

learn to speak,

and then,

learn to listen again,

most stop

at the 2nd lesson

 

NOT WANTED

We arrived at the police station,

we stank of a 4 day riot of booze,

hash and assorted outlawed

drugs and we were in no mood

to be fucked-about with:

‘Let me see now’ said the

front-desk officer, looking

down at some paperwork:

‘And who are you in relation?’

he asked:

‘I’m his son’ I replied, my

friend was still incapable

of speech and stood smiling:

‘Okay and you’re going to

take him home, out of  our

town and back to his

own town’ he asked:

‘Yes sir’ I barked:

15 minutes later he was

released without charge,

he was singing lines from

‘Folsom Prison’ as he

shadow-boxed his way

into the streets of a

town he wasn’t

wanted in.

 

Posted 18:58 Sunday, Jun 2, 2019 In: Poetry

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