…and then Lawrence Welsh came in from the desert

I’m a fervent follower of The Outlaw Poetry Network.  Those cats have turned me on to mystic journeymen such as Todd Moore, Attila Jozsef and Hosho McCreesh, among a treasure trove of others.

These tales, burnt from despair and sorrow, are filled with dust and weariness.

They recently bowled me over with some words by Lawrence Welsh.

If you take a seat at this dude’s campfire, you may hear someone say:

Lawrence Welsh doesn’t pen and ink his poems, he uses his fingernails and martyrs blood.  He’s a sleeping insomniac with both eyes open.  Watch out for these poems, for they are made with a passionate, witty, indomitable dynamite.  Read what’s in this book before it explodes in your hands.”

The intro to his new collection Carney Takedown includes:

“One gets the feeling that the poet walked into the desert, abandoned his clothes, then his skin, and scratched absentmindedly at his musculature as he wrote.”

You can read some of his words at Outlaw Poetry.

Who are you digging these days?



Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “…and then Lawrence Welsh came in from the desert

  1. gnunn

    As Dylan might say, these are the words of a tightrope walker. Lawrence Welsh is a name I need to be checking out more closely. Who am I digging? Well, I know it ain’t poetry, but I am really digging Willy Vlautin at the moment. Lead singer/songwriter for Richmond Fontaine and author of three novels, the latest, Lean on Pete. This guy is another outlaw… he takes you right to the head of the burning match and is unafraid to leave you without the comfortable conclusion we have become so accustomed to. He always leaves me with an ache in the gut.

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