Three Poems by Ed Luker

Break Poem

for the comrades of Rigaer 94


and it is recursive this

line snatched from what we can

make of it a promise to

bear our burdens together by

throwing them upwards where

the sex of this is getting turned

from within so without

and in that sense, this is where

eros gets in as all the demands

of our thinking of our being

must urge towards that and its

limit of being turned inside out

where to break is to wrest away

whilst holding those who are too


                         and as Jasmine says

how do you cross the threshold

of that fire, of that burning moment

in the anticipation of being hurt

where what you most want is to

end the conditions that hurt you

your friends,

                         but eros is war’s

weapon, force means violation

as an open secret of territory & property

how do you expropriate those

for whom that continual violence is glee

is the fucked affirmation lingering in their pay packet

where the very possibility of these people being

made anew seems to bang your forehead through

a piece of continually shattering plate-glass,


thinking is recursive because that is the

turning and breaking of the copula

a duress that wills to be snatched back

as you and I cling to it,

                                          nails break in flesh




Song for no one in particular


I am starting from the question,

are the intellectuals the enemy, of

some possibility of commonness, against

their best wishes


how do you get them to throw down

pulled away from the pit of thought’s

production, into the dance


heal yourself and move, or

move to break your self

the same proposition


and what some commons means is, O

you are stoic in the face of isolation

and loneliness is not universal

but constituted by its diffusion

marking the spaces between,

the temporary break out

which you felt as the tonal rupture

but we stand on our word together

with the word being the communion

and there is lack where we look for it

as the lines moves to demarcate loss

getting thrown around like a dance

to stand against the lack there is

which we incessantly will to find

mastering the pen for our soft fingered prisons

that’s how it works                                 out

so many false hoods to try on

where the dress up is always disregarded

as surface play, yet how do you get to wear

down this life of the wronged round the best

way back to the way out from which you start from

distinction and our common touch

both abraded by the stolen life

wishing to sequester yourself behind all those books

we wrack our knuckles on your door and ask you to


             get down




That’s us

for Verity Spott


this is what I mean

something about that address

is always the signification

of some sort of absent temporality

it is the before we got there of some

sort of having with you

troubling the circulation of all this bad air

built on the motive working against us

and you are not even here to listen

as I am not yet capable of being the one

who speaks the words that sustain

our communion

                                   but possibility runs

across veins like the constant transformation

of matter into something other than the object


that the bare fact of life shrieks out

across all borders to it


and that is pop’s greatest lesson

that the instant gratified presents the phantasm

of some sort of universal joy

that it will never let you have

and continually works to suspend

but the radiant glimmer of its dispersal


             hangs in that suspension


but sometimes you just look out the window

and it’s full of cops

that’s no lie






Ed Luker is a young British poet and PhD student at Northumbria University, working on J. H. Prynne’s relation to Pound and Olson. He has published three chapbooks Peak Return (2014), Headlost (2014) and The Sea Together (2016) and runs the (in)frequent RIVET. reading series.

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