The Journal
'...plenty of different styles of poetry in each issue. The result is that, whilst The Journal will never have that sense of comforting familiarity that some 'zine have developed, it will always stretch your boundaries.' The Supplement #73
'...an international magazine in the tradition of Poesie Europe, Ecuatorial, and Labrys. It publishes poems in English, in particular by English-language poets in exile, translations into English alongside the originals, interviews with poets, and appraisals of current poetry scenes...' Wolfgang Görtschacher 'A plainly elegant layout, making the most of its size to incorporate sequences and longer poems, articles and plenty of reviews .... The contents are global ... all saying what has to be said, in ways and words you wish you'd imagined. Shining intelligence, to brighten and inspire serious poetry lovers.' Orbis 'Few publications deliver consistently good issues — The Journal is among them. Filled with well-written poems from some of the best contemporary poets I've ever read, The Journal is the definitive showpiece of the small press. Each issue also contains thorough book and journal reviews composed by writers whose love of literature is evident.' Hyacinthe L. Raven Via Dolorosa Press (USA) '...interesting and experimental while avoiding the obscure and unnecessarily difficult. Add to the excellent selection of poetry, some interesting and insightful reviews and The Journal is a must for anyone who loves poetry and is not afraid of a bit of experimentation and the new insights that this can bring.' Juliet Wilson
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Front cover poem for #61 by J.S. Fink
Consider the Frog (Matter)
Stretched and pinned, unstrung on its zinc table,
a sign not of impotent protest or something worse,
limp resignation,
The carcass won’t flinch at the needle’s cold probe, no,
Prepared, organ by organ
it invites investigation
into its expressed nature.
Kidneys polluted with the dregs of dirty blood
Lungs desiccated to mere raisins
Muscles worn down to thready straw bundles
Plasma dust in the blue-lobed liver,
Each future of putrefaction and breakdown
to chemical residue was decided
in the instant
its stubborn web of frogspawn claimed an inch of pond.
Work backwards from this formalin hallucination,
Reverse his future, give him back
His straight white teeth and heavy redbrown hair,
Tighten his flesh, smooth his crosshatched skin,
Shrink his prostate, rescue his kidneys,
Bolster his heart to
Look again for the source and flower of his nature
among these sieving, pumping organs,
Quid erat, he will observe
his inborn variety makes him
Indistinguishable from the next specimen.
Stretched and pinned, unstrung on its zinc table,
a sign not of impotent protest or something worse,
limp resignation,
The carcass won’t flinch at the needle’s cold probe, no,
Prepared, organ by organ
it invites investigation
into its expressed nature.
Kidneys polluted with the dregs of dirty blood
Lungs desiccated to mere raisins
Muscles worn down to thready straw bundles
Plasma dust in the blue-lobed liver,
Each future of putrefaction and breakdown
to chemical residue was decided
in the instant
its stubborn web of frogspawn claimed an inch of pond.
Work backwards from this formalin hallucination,
Reverse his future, give him back
His straight white teeth and heavy redbrown hair,
Tighten his flesh, smooth his crosshatched skin,
Shrink his prostate, rescue his kidneys,
Bolster his heart to
Look again for the source and flower of his nature
among these sieving, pumping organs,
Quid erat, he will observe
his inborn variety makes him
Indistinguishable from the next specimen.
