{"id":85591,"date":"2017-06-02T10:51:52","date_gmt":"2017-06-02T10:51:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/?p=85591"},"modified":"2017-06-02T20:27:03","modified_gmt":"2017-06-02T20:27:03","slug":"duos1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/duos1\/","title":{"rendered":"Duos #1 – Simultaneous Writing and Simultaneous Reading"},"content":{"rendered":"

In the first of the Duos<\/em> series of collaborative poetry on 3am magazine, new work by Ian McMillan and Robert Sheppard.<\/p>\n

Simultaneous Writing and Simultaneous Reading<\/strong><\/p>\n

Liverpool Monday 23rd January 2017: 19.00 onwards\u2026 A Man Walked into a Bar <\/em><\/p>\n

Dirty knowledge in the Hague online. Suicide babies and insults and wildfire. The<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bar<\/p>\n

people at number 97 flood their rooms with light, bleeding into the night’s open<\/p>\n

A man walked into a \u2018man walked into a bar’ joke<\/p>\n

borders. Pacific start. He’s increasingly uncomfortable building Jerusalem in<\/p>\n

A man walked into a fight<\/p>\n

England’s green and peasant land in case it wants a US Embassy built there. What is<\/p>\n

A man walked into a place where the argument happened<\/p>\n

Ian doing? Kith and kin only. Diving below the coral and the decisive shift and the<\/p>\n

A man stood in a bar, looking round<\/p>\n

Tsunami deal. The breakfast brexity brevity. There is nobody moving through the<\/p>\n

A bar enveloped a man in that thing they call HISTORY<\/p>\n

rooms in 97, not even a blurry ghost taxing the frosted glass. The global gag has been<\/p>\n

An envelope licked itself and surrounded a man<\/p>\n

stuffed into the mouth of poetry. What is Ian doing? Actualising embodied<\/p>\n

A HISTORY stood aside and watched the envelope fall<\/p>\n

rhythmising consciousness again. Sniff. Not prepared for a new push, at 14 degrees<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bar and turned a calendar over<\/p>\n

below zero (no wonder no one walked out). Forty years ago I was writing a class<\/p>\n

A man looked at a calendar and found it had gone backwards<\/p>\n

paper on the Gaelic League. The guitar hasn’t moved from against the wall in 97. It’s<\/p>\n

A man walked into a calendar and found himself in the past<\/p>\n

good, this, because I can develop other things than the usual. I write I, and the<\/p>\n

A past walked into HISTORY and found itself slipping in nuance<\/p>\n

discourse curls around me, waiting for revelations, but I meant \u2018he’. I meant \u2018he’ was<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bar and everybody turned<\/p>\n

walking across the room, an ever-compensated-for falling, if we want to take it that<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bar and everybody stared<\/p>\n

way. The veteran poet blogs goodbye, a good run, and a lot of fun, his elegy. The<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bar and people said YOU ARE THE STRANGER<\/p>\n

president has cancelled a trip. A collection of white ducks and lives and livestock.<\/p>\n

A man talked into a bar and the bar was listening to a TV on the wall<\/p>\n

Sparks need fire. From the corner of a faster moving eye, ducks pepper the lake.<\/p>\n

A man talked to himself in a bar as the TV on the wall caught fire<\/p>\n

Babies avoiding detection. Patrolling the edge of consciousness. Vigilantes in<\/p>\n

A man watched a man throw a man out of a bar<\/p>\n

Sherwood Forest unfree from fracking. What is Ian doing? The washed up body<\/p>\n

A man watched a man throw a man out of a bar<\/p>\n

brings the situation to life. The hope is that today I have brushed aside the rhythm of<\/p>\n

Abide with Me walked into a bar<\/p>\n

argument, in favour of reiteration. The cat-like demon that descends from the sky to<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bar singing Abide with Me<\/p>\n

feed on corpses before cremation descends now. The lit windows face the night now,<\/p>\n

Abide with me walked into a bar and nobody spoke<\/p>\n

have acquired a gloss of irony, as though they have something to tell us in their sheer<\/p>\n

A man walked into a hymn and opened his mouth<\/p>\n

immobility. They’re in, those humans. On his misogynist bull he rode, triumphant.<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bar and gazed at the TV on the wall<\/p>\n

Filmed as a long shot we’d look suspicious enough. Pretending to be a vicious killer,<\/p>\n

A President of the USA walked out of a TV and said Abide with Me<\/p>\n

the fool was arrested. In close up, we’re happily banal, constructing an ordinary day.<\/p>\n

A President of the USA walked out of a TV and said I am a zebra<\/p>\n

But the fool is not a vicious killer but a fraudulent corner. Policemen whispering in<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bar and climbed onto a zebra<\/p>\n

the night tell their foreign wives all sorts of national secrets. I wonder what Ian’s<\/p>\n

A man walked into Abide With Me and sang<\/p>\n

doing. But people often react in a way that’s hectic. People who hold the levers of<\/p>\n

A man walked around a bar on the back of a zebra<\/p>\n

power look straight at a bank of cameras and lie. Thirty years ago I was moving<\/p>\n

A man walked around a bar and sang to a zebra<\/p>\n

towards eviction. You’ll see this place in dozens of movies, on TV and in adverts.<\/p>\n

A man walked around a bar and stared at an empty TV<\/p>\n

Separated from the blues by a slab of vinyl, the people are still not appearing and we<\/p>\n

A zebra walked out of a bar and ran down a street<\/p>\n

policemen are giving up; there is nothing to whisper to our wives in the night. Candid<\/p>\n

A zebra howled at the moon and said WHERE IS AIRFORCE ONE?<\/p>\n

commonalities. Sometimes listening to grime is a total headfuck. If not us, then who?<\/p>\n

A bar closed down like a flatpack bar and was sold<\/p>\n

Me snapped with two Quarrymen, embodied in a fleshly embrace with space. What is<\/p>\n

A bar was thrown in the air and twirled like a cheerleader’s baton<\/p>\n

Ian doing? It’s 19.37 of a Monday evening in Liverpool, 19.38 before you can say.<\/p>\n

A zebra ran round a city and said I AM THE LEADER<\/p>\n

Twenty years ago I was doing light executive dusting, and a decade ago I was still<\/p>\n

A man hung onto a zebra’s back and felt, you know, unwell.<\/p>\n

revising a poem I wrote in 1979. Have the lights in 97 dimmed, as though night<\/p>\n

A zebra reared up on its hind legs and said LISTEN TO ME LISTEN TO ME LISTEN TO ME LISTEN TO ME<\/p>\n

remembered the stretch of time until morning? (Or was that uncompromising?) Those<\/p>\n

A man walked off of a zebra and stood feeling, you know, unwell.<\/p>\n

glass tubs of. Dirty knowledge in the Hague online. Suicide babies and insults and<\/p>\n

A man walked into a ZeBar<\/p>\n

wildfire. The people at number 97 flood their rooms with light, bleeding into the<\/p>\n

A man walked into a White House from a TV on the wall.<\/p>\n

night’s open borders. Pacific start. He’s increasingly uncomfortable building<\/p>\n

A man walked into a White House and wasn’t too visible because he was a zebra. Visible, invisible. White on black on white on black.<\/p>\n

Jerusalem in England’s green and peasant land in case it wants a US Embassy built<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bide with me.<\/p>\n

there. What is Ian doing? Kith and kin only. Diving below the coral and the decisive<\/p>\n

A man walked into a bide with me.<\/p>\n

shift and the Tsunami deal. The breakfast brexity brevity. There is nobody moving<\/p>\n

A man<\/p>\n

through the rooms in 97, not even a blurry ghost taxing the frosted glass. The global<\/p>\n

A man<\/p>\n

gag has been stuffed into the mouth of poetry. What is Ian doing? Actualising<\/p>\n

A man walked into a four year Zebra dance<\/p>\n