There’s something about paint layered thickly on paper under your fingertips, like running your hands over lizard skin. Local poet and publisher Amanda Earl has made a habit of bringing some of the most sensorially striking items to each Zine Off she’s attended. Although Amanda Randomage isn’t as complexly constructed as the G-shaped zine she brought last time, you can tell she had fun getting crafty with this one.
Each of the 26 copies she produced has a different cover and, I believe, a different sequence of poems. The poems themselves are printed on stickers, and are small enough that one may cover them up with “smiley faces hello kitty batman graffiti cheesie / smudge dust mites” as she modestly suggests on the first page.
These poems are fragmentary in nature, perhaps excerpts of larger works or impressions pulled from a notebook scrapyard. While Earl’s been working primarily on long-form poems recently, these little blurts are consistent with her usual style: sound-led and lent dense rhythms by chains of internal rhymes and consonance, concerned with sensory experience (often food in this instance). Most of these poems are so slight as to disappear after consumption; they’re intended to be fleeting treats, rather like the experience of taste itself:
“farcical popsicle flavours
licorice out of sorts”
JM’s JaM: Grimes – Vowels = space and time