Quick Fire At The Slaughterhouse With U.V.Ray

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In a world of political correctness UV Ray stands out as an unrestrained voice. He is an impassioned poet whose verse reaches for the heart of modern urban decay. His book Road Trip is out and readily available. He met me at The Slaughterhouse where we talked about publishing and poetry.

If you could hold hostage those responsible for the present state of publishing what would you say to them?

I put the blame mostly on writers themselves. If I were to drag them down the hospital and stick their heads under an X-ray machine I’m certain it would reveal their brains to be the size and consistency of a Brussels sprout. I’ve seen these writers, eyes on the floor, all hunched over with their snivelling snotty noses and scuffed shoes, apologetic in demeanour. And rightly so, their work is a crock of shit!

They don’t need me to say anything to them; they know it in their own hearts and secretly feel shame.

Oh yes, they’re out there alright, pissing hundreds of them, all licking each other’s genitals. It’s a foul and pestilent orgy of mediocrity.

But there’s just as many bad editors around as there are bad writers. I no longer do them the favour of submitting my work to magazines. They want something, they can ask. I’ll then take a look at their publication and if I like it I’ll send them something. But otherwise they can fuck off; they’re not wasting any more of my time. The truth is this: my own website pulls more visitors than most of those online zines. I’m the one holding the cards. Submitting work to these magazines is like begging a hooker for sex. It’s taken me 20 years to realise it’s me that’s the whore. If they want me to put out, they owe me. Not the other way round.

Tell us about your book Road Trip and do you think the road consumes some people?

road-trip-and-other-poemsA writer must make sacrifices if he wants to write anything worthwhile. Great work comes from isolation, emancipation, chaos. You have to keep moving in some sense. The ultimate destruction is the destruction of self. That’s what it will cost. You can do nothing else but be consumed by it.

Writers may well articulate a sunset seen through the pin-eyes of heroin addiction or alcoholism. Great literature is where the rubber meets the road. Writers must be a construct of the society that forged them.

Road Trip & Other Poems is my second chapbook, out now on Erbacce Press. It’s a collection of poems previously published around the indie presses from 2005 – 2011. It has been getting some really good reviews. I try to remain as objective as possible and I’ve read other works and I’ve read mine. It’s probably the best chapbook released this year. But of course, those fairies amongst established literary circles never mention me. I think they try and close their eyes to my existence. Numerous “best of” poetry anthologies are released annually and I’m not even included in a single one of them. It’s a fucking fallacy.

Do you think it is necessary to disturb the general public out of its complacency and how would you do it?

I was on a bus the other morning and as we sat idling at the traffic lights I was watching lines of teenage kids obediently marching in through the school gates. It reminded me of the old films of the Nazis’ victims being marched off to the extermination camps. The only difference is that this is not a death of the body; this is a death of the mind. People are institutionalised and indoctrinated from an early age. I don’t think it’s possible to disturb them out of it. The government banned smoking in public places and even that didn’t spark them into any real action. They just comply with utter servility. But I don’t care because I have no burning message for the world.

What are you working on at the moment?

A bottle of Talisker. I have retired from writing. I gave up in disgust and exasperation.
I’m also considering trying to arrange a charity event. I’m not sure yet to whom the money should go but I propose that people sponsor me to break John Cooper Clarke’s fingers with a hammer. Afterwards, as a grand finalé, we could set him in a barrel of hot tar and roll him down a hill into the river. If he floats I’ll throw a thousand pounds of my own money in the pot.

250x333 uvrUV thank you for a subversive and expressive Quick Fire. I hope it will lure readers to your work and entice you out of your retirement.
U.V.Ray news, interviews, videos, links, road-trip-and-other-poems, and more – it’s all here.

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