
Hedonism
by Chris McCabe
Genres: PoetryPages: 101
Rating:
Synopsis:Join a carnival of characters including Bez from Happy Mondays, Jorge Louis Borges, and a medieval pilgrim on a journey to buy a PlayStation, in McCabe's sixth and most daring collection. Part-written in Scouse dialect and invented languages, Hedonism offsets the comic with the elegiac in a spectral and polyphonic work exploring the intersection of grief, place, memory and imagination. This is a book where haunted pasts and futures collide; in a post-Brexit landscape, through cities both imagined and real, McCabe's poems merge through timeslips and ghostly encounters, all the time electrified by the great connector of language at its most radical and unruly. These incandescent poems surge and resist expectation and formula â declaring "can it be, after all, that hedonism is the only activism?"
Okay, I confess, I went into Chris McCabe’s Hedonism pretty certain that it wasn’t going to be my thing, based on the description. That’s the lovely thing about libraries, after all: you can just try something, even if you don’t think you’re going to love it, and sometimes you strike gold.
This time, well, I’m not sure about striking gold, but definitely some kind of precious metal! I didn’t get on with all the poems in here by any means, but there were several that jumped out at me immediately, others that grew on me, and some where I liked parts of them, such as a few lines or phrases, or an image.
Here’s one excerpt I thought was great:
 Futurists are living ghosts, like the self-hauntedness of Tony Blair,
spectral / spectographic / sparkplugs of machinistic thought,
medievalists of a culture-to-come, cruising in a six-gear typewriter,
mistaking quick print for acceleration & accumulation for progress,
stalling at time’s hedgerow.
I couldn’t tell you exactly what “the self-hauntedness of Tony Blair” means, but it’s perfect all the same, absolutely. “Medievalists of a culture-to-come” is pretty great too.
Then there was this snippet of a longer poem:
 The snow falls as we conjure Robert Denos
His body alive in a dead lover
What is my body doing here packing a bag
Checking a ticket to London
Feet printing out steps
Marking an EXIT that is writ without me
Whose policy decrees we part today?
“Feet printing out steps”… perfect.
A great experiment for me, and a poet I wouldn’t actually mind reading again, even if not all of it was to my taste. I had fun.
Rating: 4/5 (“really liked it”)




























