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by Matthew Breen
In light of what was a somewhat personalised essay on the writer Buddy J. Finowicz, I have opted to make use of pre-existing material by way of a postface. Better that Finowicz is given an opportunity to articulate himself, than the reader relies on my own solipsistic tendencies.
In May 1996, Finowicz was interviewed by word/vision, a Denver-based literary magazine that has now been out of print for several years. See more »
by Matthew Breen
The closer I try and get to Buddy J. Finowicz, the stranger he becomes.
By coincidence, it was around the same time that he died that I began reading his books. His death, aged sixty-five, hardly made headlines on this side of the Atlantic. I remember a brief obituary in some newspapers, and I suppose perhaps a few literary magazines would have honoured him with a kind, reflective article. But for the most part, the name of Finowicz will mean nothing to most people inside and outside of America, his native land. See more »
by Brindley Hallam Dennis
I’m not sure where this story came from, but a friend of mine had produced a series of photographs of subway entrances, in which the glowing light of the opening at the bottom of concrete steps seemed to suggest a hidden adventure. See more »
by Brindley Hallam Dennis
Little Billy Grough lived with his Grandda, Old Bill Grough, his Da, William Grough and his ma, Nanny Grough, in a tower block beside the main road. They lived right next to the roundabout, where the dual carriageway into town crossed the dual carriageway round it. See more »
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