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E l e c t r i k   E l e g y   f o r   t h e   M a d

A   c o l l e c t i o n   o f   p o e m s 

b y   P a d r a i g   M c C o r m a c k



W a k i n g ,  a s   i f

H i s t o m a n c y

E l e c t r i k   E l e g y   f o r   t h e  M a d

P i e c i n g   i t   a l l   T o g e t h e r

A p o l l i n a i r e   m e e t s   H e s i o d

E f f i g y   E f f a c e s

A y t o m a t i x m a n

  p a d r a i g    w r i t e s :
The strictest dictation of Poetical Fact, then? Ideally. The poem itself has its own work to do, its own reach, its own mind, its own spin, quite apart from what the “author” may have intended or orchestrated. The thesis? That the overlay of pluralisms of phenomena turned to epiphenomena tuned to noumena heralds antitheses. Hopefully? That words can shed light on delight on realms dreamed and undreamed on the horizon of our consonances.

b i o :
“A hallucinatory reality poem with shimmering corners,” was what I replied when asked, as an adolescent, what kind of poems I wanted to write. It still makes sense to me now.

Born and raised in New Orleans. From a family of writers, talkers and visionary nuts. My brother is an accomplished author and poet, responsible for 4 novels of incantatory autobiography, a book of essays, a biography (of our father), and an anthology of poems. I started writing myself in earnest about the age of 17. We, my brother and I, surrounded ourselves with the outré everyday of our lives. Our champions and influences ranged from Charles Olson to Celine to Artaud to Basil Bunting to Zukofsky... well, you get the idea. Anytime from 1981 until 1988 or so our gang of poets could be counted on for fresh lines and the poised lunacies / lucidities that led to and away from them. It was an unheralded Apollonian Golden Age of Verse in New Orleans, the 1980’s were. Which, in and of itself, is quite a statement! But there it is.

I took as many divagations as could be humanly imagined from there to here, shunting myself variously around the south, south-east, north-east and to Central America. When September 11th arrived I decided to cash in my chips (and almost my citizenship, but I was dissuaded from that) and headed for Costa Rica. An idyllic 3 years ensued. But the alchemic thresher of my life had other ideas, and I returned stateside in ’04.

A mad oscillation followed and has only just begun to stabilize. The poem has been a constant throughout.

My processes, practices and artifacts can be found at these sites:

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