Forge Zine #1 (June 2019)

June 2019

@ForgeZine

@ForgeZine @forgezine

Ed itio n

On e

Forge Zine

s lu y l te ctl u yo exa n ? e Ca her is is w th

Editor's natter and some of her work

Well why not? Having just finished our BAs we decided that we all needed a stimulant to keep writing, this fits the bill! And personally something like this would have been a real help to me, especially in first year of uni when I was in a strange and scary city! There's so much happening in life we thought we'd try and bring it all into one place whilst giving you the chance to show off your work (but us first, okay!). So grab yourself a cuppa and a biscuit and enjoy the madly sane work before you.

Also trigger warning: there is strong language. Please don't be offended by anything in here, it's just a bit of fun and things are meant in jest.

Lastly.

With a flourish of the quill, she signs her last characters into existence. That is it. She has done it. Or rather, he has done it:

Mr Currer Bell.

She sets her quill down, slumps rather unladylike into her chair. The black silent hallways of her family home haunt her ears. She closes her eyes, her attempt to draw a curtain over the horrific images that spring to mind.

That is when she appears. With her grotesquely short hair, adverse dress and strange stringy accent.

She says the same three statements as always: Own your work. It is yours. Sign it as so.

Currer’s ink sodden quill hovers over the signature.

The End o f Springtim e

When the morning g lories pus Forceful fi hed ngers thro ugh the gre en earth, Spring rec oiled on a bed of Lily-pads and black reeds.

When the geese cam e down to walk On water, did she wa tch, Or did she let them p ass her by And what ? of the flies ?

When the y came to How to Save the Lives of Moths. die With salm on-pink sp urts Upon her scrying m irror, she Looked pa When the inkwell runs low and my inspiration st pain, he r eyes Just out o f focus, ou Runs dry, God drops a new pain squarely on t of reach.

My head – gives me a blooming rosebush of She looke d past, an d stared in The face o to Ideas. I am a moth sliding down the plughole, f herself, a year from His fingers pick deep, their cotton tips grasping now.

Some poems by not so plural James Rance

At my ragged, sweating form and heaving me Into the dry. I sun myself in the shifting moons For all our faults Of shifting moods, of mania and the intertwining as a human race Of realities. There are things I’ve seen before at least we go at our own pace That bleed inside my retinas, make blots across My field of view. My eyes slide closed to see Lucky as we are in the Western Another field – of glowing clovers, purple and World Oh how we do destroy it White heads that bob like the hands of an orchestra, little by little; bit by bit The teeth of a shark that only listens to Saint-Saëns.

I am life, I am love, I am a bottle of calamus Inconsiderate, incandescent And liquorice-roots. I am the eschatological and revolting we are using, abusing and not reusing Pain that squeezes my own chest tight, presses the elements given to us, Ribs to ribs and makes lungs move higher refusing By the day. I am the heat of a cow’s skin, The cold at the centre of the earth. And you? to make drastic changes You are the wind that dries my wings.

Faults

Eleanor Hartley Smith

Hellebore

A collection of poetry

The grey bone you grew within yourself is Crawling up your thighs as the woman From Japan decomposes in the garden.

Her fingers are purple flowers, red veins Blooming across the petals. Her nails have Been plucked off by sparrows and placed in Her mouth – a replacement for the teeth They stole to make their weighted nests.

By some good poets!

Complaints and Vegan Wine

I sit and talk with my mother Since all her other kids are gone.

She drinks vegan wine, she tells me, We nest too, beneath covers wet with vodka And she complains about work And nag champa, we nest and hide from the And I complain about the PM Light that yellows the clouds above and And she complains about the entire system.

Carries the stars in its fishing-net.

She complains about her boss, The head teacher of a school, who is There is beauty in this, in the bells that blossom Constantly preaching the benefits of a Far beneath the soil. They ring for us, a sound Multicultural society.

Just heard through the dirty windows I complain about my years-past years of And the sin of closing the curtains. schooling.

I tell her about the martyrdom of St Did you hear it too, this time, over the rattling Catherine, Of your skeleton or the bendings-back of your The crucifixion of St Peter, the decapitation thumbs?

I wonder, when all the poetry has left my body Of St John the Baptist (baptiser of Jesus).

And hums in white on white, what will remain? She nods her head, nauseously, as I read From Wikipedia about the white fluid that Streamed from St Catherine’s severed I want to drink your breath, to own, neck.

And be, and move with every part of you.

I tell her these things because they feature In a recent poetry project of mine James Rance And we are feeling morbid following the Morning’s murders of two schoolboys on The street two minutes down the road from ours Which somehow made the national news, Even with the PM announcing her resignation That afternoon.

Paul Whelan. Sheffield, May 2019

DOWN

ACROSS 1) Agatha Christie became the first woman to do what while standing up, in South Africa (4) 2) Polish scientist, first women to win the Nobel Prize for her discovery of Radium (5, 5) 4) Queen of the Iceni Tribe during the occupation of Britain, famous for her flame red hair (8)

1) Sirimimavi Bandaranike, a socialist, became the first female Prime Minister of this country in 1960 (9) 3) Ada Lovelace was known for her work on The - Engine (10) 5) Kathrine Switzer became the first woman to run which marathon in 1967 (6) 6) Internationally famous designer, spans fashion, jewellery, and perfume (6)

And finally‌ In the fullne ss of time, you realize how your heart b eats and functio ns, as somethin g more than anatom y

Fish maaann Fish man, fuck yer giving me fish all the fuckin' day-ay

But real happiness.

For the first time in yea rs

Fish man fuck yeah bringing fish to all the fuckin' fish men

Imogen Pe

niston.

A little bit of context: This wonderful song was sung by a member of our team one night as we were planning the first edition of this hypothetical paper. To get the creative ideas flowing we partook in slorping a few beers. A housemate of mine came home with some amazing smelling fish and chips (Sea Catcher, I tell you best chips ever!) and the composer of "Fish Maaann" just started singing.

I think it's also important for you to know that he left my house by putting frozen peas down his underwear and proceeded to find them the next morning.

Fish man oooo dude give me fish feed it me all my life Fish man fuck dude is life and I love fucking fish-ish "I've never fucked a fish but if I were to I'm sure I'd love it"

'Tarah' and a drawing by Mr. Paul Whelan It’s been a month since I’ve come home But I still know my mother’s friend’s hated husband Is gone.

I drink ouzo my sister got me from Rhodes, I drink Kaiser lager I bought last year in Austria, I drink Carling I grabbed from the off-licence Just off my road, three hours ago.

I am alone in my bedroom now And I stick my hand into my trousers And drink beer and listen to music.

Then I finish my beer and go downstairs For another.

In the kitchen, I see a card on the crowded mantel As I am filling a mug of water.

It says Thanks for the lovely gift From my mother’s friend and her daughter, Addressed to my mother, grandmother, Siblings and myself.

I don’t remember getting her a gift and Certainly not a lovely one.

I’m pretty sure I never did But I think How my mother’s friend must feel differently Towards her hated husband And I feel I slide a beer from the fridge.

She couldn’t hate him so much after death It is a 568ml can.

Now he truly has relieved her.

I am pleased to be getting this much.

Rest in peace, you dead bastard.

Up there or below us, You’re doing better than me.

Sheffield, Oct. 2018

Things a-happening in June.

2&29/6/19 10.00-18.00 River Art 19/6/19 19.30 UofY (Okay maybe a little traitorous BUT it's Market Dame Judi Dench Walk (near Lendal Bridge) FREE! a fiver) Choir and Symphony Orchestra playing at the Minster 22&28/6 & 13/7/19 20.00 ADULT 21/6/19 16.00 Demand a Future: Deaths York Dungeons ÂŁWho knows!

Night Forum on Climate Emergency (Extinction Rebellion 25/6 -1/9 Shakespeare Rose Theatre From ÂŁ12.50 Tower York) FREE! Street.

Want to see your work here We welcome all forms next time?? of work, new and old Find us on all the media of social! We're more than happy to answer any questions you have. And of course please give us things to print!! theforgezinesubmissions@gmail.com

@ForgeZine

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theforgezinesubmissions@gmail.com

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