This is English writer, John D. Robinson’s latest full-length collection of poetry. The book consists of 112 poems which were selected by Arthur Graham, the editor and publisher of Horror Sleaze Trash. Robinson first published a few poems as a young man and after a hard life of heavy drinking & drugs he decided in his early 50s to again get the shit down. Since 2016 he has published over a dozen books and chaps. The most notable, which I have read so far, include When You Hear The Bell There’s No Where To Hide (Holy &intoxicated Publications, 2016), Hang in There (Uncollected Press, 2019) and The Barbed & the Beautiful, a masterful collaboration between Robinson and the Dutch artist Marcel Herms (Petrichor, 2020). Always More: New & Selected Poems provides general readers with an overview of Robinson’s work to date in the hope that they may perhaps pursue more of his incredible work.
In a recent interview on Bold Monkey, Robinson says of the process of putting together the book: “Arthur Graham was a complete joy to work with: he is an editor that has a good idea of how he wishes for the finished product to look like: Arthur is open and approachable and the ride was a smooth one: I initially selected some poems from all of my chapbooks and full collections and forwarded to Arthur: He came back with some additional poems that he wished to include: From the cover and the title and the layout, sequence of poems, Arthur had his kindly pulse on the beat: I am extremely pleased with this collection and Arthur Graham is a wicked fellow with an editorial talent that is quite something else, let alone his own quality poetry.”
In Always More the reader will quickly be injected with Robinson’s manic spirit, his cast of sad, fucked-up, often drug-addled acquaintances or clients, his snap-shots of tender but fraught relationships- some dredged up from memories distilled over decades and his humorous & scathing take on the poetry world.
Robinson writes mostly narrative/confessional poems which carve down the left side of the page dagger-like every 3 to 5 words. What is most remarkable about his work is his honesty and his revved-up drive to get the word onto the page. There is no elaborate, wanky art here. No pretence. Just continuous clear, hard lines cascading down page after page. Sometimes the words are deeply sad. Sometimes wickedly humorous. Sometimes horny. Sometimes totally mad.
In a 2019 BM interview, Robinson says of his poetry, “I guess it is mostly confessional and for sure is based on true events that I have been witnessed to, experienced or they are stories given by the people I meet, sometimes only very briefly, but sometimes that is enough to sense the sorrow or the joy and I try and capture this with a straight forward direct delivery, I think any other approach would not possibly have the resonation, the clarity and depth that I am reaching for.”
At first glance, the title of the book Always More appears to refer to Robinson’s daily knack of settling down after dinner, opening a bottle or two of red and then getting it onto the page. This is reinforced by the book’s front cover, designed by Graham, which shows a bottle of beautiful red being poured into a glass.
The title poem ‘Always More’, a third the way into the collection, suggests there may be a further meaning behind the book’s title. In the poem, Robinson telescopes the life of his friend Julian who suicides after his latest partner dies of AIDS. The last stanza concludes that “there’s a lot more/ to this story…but for now/ for Julian/ this will do” inferring in Robinson’s rich fount of experiences- there is always much, much more to be told.
The poem is characteristic of Robinson’s simple free verse writing style and his use of lurid subject matter:
ALWAYS MORE
Julian was tall and skinny,
too skinny perhaps, and
he was gentle, creative,
articulate and very
effeminate in his
mannerisms
and manners
When we first met
he was kicking heroin
and for 3 or 4 days
I witnessed his
withdrawal and I held
him and he clung to me
and then he found
God and fell in love
with a friend of mine
who had also recently
been reborn
They married and had
2 sons, the marriage
lasted perhaps
several years, and
then Julian split with
God and his wife and
children and found
a male lover and moved from town
to city
His sons visited
a few times and
returned with tears
and cigarette burns
and bad dreams
and they never saw
their father alive again
and neither did I
Later, his lover
died of AIDS
and Julian had
the same diagnosis
He committed suicide
and I remember Julian
one time telling me
of blowing truck drivers
in midnight deserted
car parks and that
he would have done
anything for a push
of heroin but God
had saved him
There’s a lot more
to this story
as there will
be to yours,
but for now,
for Julian,
this will do
(all poems in this review are posted with the permission of the poet)
As you may now know, Robinson often explores the seamier side of existence- alcohol & drug use, mental illness, suicide, domestic violence and sexual assault. He knows the low life. He’s been there -either through his previous life as a pisshead or druggie, or vicariously, through his decades of working as a housing officer for the disadvantaged. Robinson is typically the speaker of his poems or he records from memory the voices of the depraved & the dissolute he has encountered.
Robinson says candidly of his young adult life, “I was an alcoholic by the time I was 17 or 18: I drifted, never had any ambitions of any kind, just wasn’t interested in anything else except getting drunk and high: Hash has been forever present: speed, cocaine, amphetamines were party pieces : Heroin scared me, I had lost half dozen friend’s to heroin: Codeine: Valium or any ‘downers’ was my choice.”
To Robinson, writing is a kind of exorcism for him and he never deliberately creates a poem for its shock effect or to offend anyone. He says of his writing in the more recent BM interview, “I would like to think that it has remained honest, direct and humorous and passionate, insightful: I would like to think that any subject can be written about, no matter how dark or depressing it may seem: writing is like an exorcism: if something needs to be expressed then so be it: I have never deliberately written a poem or short story for the ‘shock’ effect: that is bullshit: truth hurts but it also enlivens and informs and creates a different space, not always comfortable: I have never deliberately written a poem to offend/attack: that is bullshit also: ultimately poetry is about love, it is always about love and that will always be a good starting point: I shall never lose sight of this.”
Gently pressed about his favourite poem in the collection, Robinson is quick off the mark, “This would have to be ‘Consultation Room 1’: “I have been, amongst many other things, obsessed with cats from a very early age: I cannot ever remember a time in my life when I have not been around cats: Souly was the most charismatic and lively and entertaining cat that I have ever known/loved: Souly was fearless, truly, he had a grace and a style that belonged only to him: he was a teacher and I his student: Souly was the cool of James Dean and the meanness of Vinnie Jones : the poem reflects the agony of finally accepting that the end had come for him and the final journey that we took together: it was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do and certainly one of the hardest toughest poems I have written and it took many efforts to get the words down and tight and I’m sure that he would have enjoyed: he is an ever-lasting inspiration to me.”
Robinson’s love of his cat Souly provides another aspect to the man and poet:
THE CONSULTATION ROOM 1
A black and white fluffy
tough-fucker veteran
warrior brawler
of 16 years
He’d take no prisoners
and he’d take no shit but
he was very sociable and
one time he went walkabout
for a couple of weeks and
returned home hungry
and limping with a slashed footpad
He was almost mute;
he would open
his mouth wide and
make all the gestures
but no more than
a squeak would come out
He had feared nothing
in life; I had seen him
square up to an excited
Rottweiler and challenge
moving vehicles and
noisy garbage trucks
didn’t bother him none
And I always figured that,
following a nuclear war,
only 2 beings would
be left alive:
Keith Richards and
my old cat, Souly
I’ve my doubts now:
he’s no longer moving well,
he’s neither eating nor
drinking, but when
he looks up at me,
I can see no trace
of fear in his eyes
He still gets outside
to toilet, making sure that
if it’s the last thing he does,
he’d shit in the next door
neighbour’s garden
His mouth opens and
emits a small cry and
I lay down beside him
to stroke his back and
he purrs just as
loudly as ever
And he lasted
a further 3 days
after that, moving
ever closer to his end,
until finally it was
time to let him go
I took him to the vet
and I spoke to him
as the nurse depressed
the syringe
‘Goodbye my old friend,’ I said
‘I’ll see you around the corner’
I kissed his face
one last time and
then walked away,
heading for
the nearest store
to buy some wine
Apart from his portrait poems, perhaps the most lauded of Robinson’s work are his poems about his relationships with women- especially the transparency in which he writes about sex and his representation of the precariousness of young love. ‘The Garage Roof’, ‘A Key Moment’, ‘She is Beautiful’, ‘Alphabet Tongue’, ‘The Anticipation of Goodbye’ and ‘A One Time Young Man’s Blues’ are all Robinson classics.
‘A One Time Young Man’s Blues’ is a sad but uplifting poem:
A ONE TIME YOUNG MAN’S BLUES
‘You’ll have to get rid of it’
she said in a harsh whisper
to her daughter
And then, looking at me
with cold steel eyes
of resentment and
disappointment
she said:
‘And you’ll have to pay for it
I walked out
of the bar in silence,
leaving the two
of them alone
We were teenagers
and we were in love;
she was seventeen and
pregnant and months away
from a university dream;
I was eighteen and
a factory worker
with no ambitions
But we saw it through;
I raised the money and
visited the private clinic
that was way out of town
It was a sad place
full of sad and ashamed
faces of young women
and we were in love
and we held hands and
I wanted to say things to her
that would be of comfort but
I didn’t and I couldn’t;
I was sad and I didn’t
know what to say
After a short while
at university she bought me
a copy of Kerouac’s Scattered Poems
and she said goodbye forever
That was three and
a half decades ago;
I still have the book but
the inscription she wrote
has since faded
Faded like a heartbeat
never heard,
even once
In his collection Always More, Robinson is more than happy to share his work, particularly to the general public who are unfamiliar with his work. The collection is available free through a download from HST but as he gently but commercially expresses:
“I believe that if you are a book lover, then you will buy the book!: There is nothing that quite relates to holding a book in your hands, turning the pages, creative literary objects that you don’t need a charger for.”
Download or buy John D. Robinson’s poetry collection Always More: New & Selected Poems (Horror, Sleaze, Trash, 2020) 17O pages here: https://horrorsleazetrash.com/2020/11/23/always-more-by-john-d-robinson/
Interview with John D. Robinson (Bold Monkey: 22 January 2021): https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2021/01/interview-with-john-d-robinson-22.html
Read a previous interview with John D. Robinson on BM (26 July 2019): https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2019/07/book-review-interview-john-d-robinson.html
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