Neu! Post-Truth Poetics DAY TWENTY-FOUR – Return To The Valley Of The Squibs

Kate Noakes
The Fake Beetle

always flounders and, limbs akimbo
falls from his ball of dung.

At night he tries navigation by the stars
but, fixed in their firmament, they do not
stoop, or aid, or grace his stage.


Stephen Barnaby
Securing of Borders in 50 Words

Experts analyzing the backgrounds of those responsible for terrorist outrages in this country have found one indisputable factor linking them:

They are all from Planet Earth.

Consequently, for the safety of our nation, it is clear that only one group of individuals should be allowed to become Legal Aliens:



Finola Scott
Not Me!

Mum used to wash my sugar-coated mouth
if I told of biscuits not stolen. Later scrubbed
lies slipped easy from lips foam-frothed.
I’m not alone. Politicians smoothly talk
of lowered taxes, increased spending,
benefits extended, expenses not fiddled.
Thing is, at least I’ve got
my mother to blame.

Kate Noakes sixth collection is Paris, Stage Left (Eyewear, 2017). She was elected the Welsh Academy in 2011 and her website ( is archived by the National Library of Wales. She lives and writes in London and Paris.

Stephen Barnaby has two pamphlets of Fifty Word Epics via Calder Wood Press and Vlad the Impaler Press: a collection of longer pieces I Never Realised It Was As Bad As That, will be published in April by Postbox Press. To his astonishment, he recently illustrated Alan Gay’s poetry collection Habitus.

Finola Scott’s poems are widely published online and in print including in The Ofi Press, Raum, Dactyl, The Lake, and Poets’ Republic . Her work is included in many anthologies, most recently in Aiblins and Umbrellas of Edinburgh. She has also been selected for the Clydebuilt mentoring scheme.

Capitalism Stops Play (Temporarily)

Due to a coincidence in our work schedules meaning both editors will be away next week, New Boots is just resting for seven days but not actually pining for the fjords. Hopefully, there will still be a world to return to when we plan to resume posting.

So please do continue to send in lots of poems about the madness of Imperator Trumpo, the impulse cruelty of PM M, and the jolly japes of laughable faux FO Sec BoJo.

If any of these issues have affected you, send to azjackson65 at gmail dot com, or contact me by direct message on Effbok or in Much Twittering.

In the meantime, here is a pic of Trumpo being punched by Polar Bear Number Six (the one that shouts ‘I am not a number, I am a free polar bear!’ while, in Mexico City, the ghost of Carrie Fisher devours Devilled Brains of Bannon.


Neu! Post-Truth Poetics DAY TWO – George Szirtes 


Hail to the chief blatherer blusterer, hail!
Who speaks for The People
Like a dog speaks for its tail
Like the whaler speaks for the whale
Like the hammer speaks for the nail
Like the sewage speaks for the pail



George Szirtes’ most recent book, Mapping the Delta, was published by Bloodaxe Books in 2016. It was a Poetry Book Society Choice. His blog can be found here.

Neu! Post-Truth Poetics DAY ONE – W.N. Herbert

Inaugural Rain

Czar Trumpo’s tiny hands try to receive
the harlot raindrops: gold as Aspen leaves
in Fall, they flood his Rushmore of a face –
lachrymal simulacra with a tannic trace.

As Danae once was quickened by that gold
coined by Old Thunder’s testes, so The Donald
takes omens as critiques, but merely lounges:
soon Heaven itself shall know the future must be orange!


W.N. Herbert is just a placeholder to keep the momentum going while you send in your poems. Like most of Trump’s cabinet, he has no qualifications whatever to represent this Pantisocratic constituency, and is clearly exploiting his privileged position as co-editor of New Boots and Pantisocracies to get this far, so for God’s sake hurry up before it all goes to his head.

NEU! Boots Supplementary (1) – Georgi Gospodinov

God of Berlin
(Translated from the Bulgarian by Tom Phillips)

God of Berlin
of the Berlin clouds
and its sky
God of the Berlin wind
of the Berlin rain
which falls plumb straight
and its fog
God of the early dark
in November, of Sundays
and of empty streets
God of the blossoming
crocus beside Halensee
at February’s end
God of the late
Willmersdorf widows
(blue hair and silk)
survivors of bombardment
exhausted by the peace
in which they have to rest
God of the wedding cakes
at the end of the Ku’damm
of the biscuit newlyweds
and egg-white cherubs
God or Allah (as they call you)
of pitta breads
buttermilk and kebabs
God of the new Turkish quarters
their satellite dishes
the old Turks on benches
more there than here
– the new Jews of Kreuzberg
God of the Chinese women with tulips
only 2.50 for ten
God of mass consumption
(I spotted you on Stuttgarterplatz)
God of bargains
crockery cleavers saucepans
Chinese pots for Turkish coffee
blood pressure monitors knives shawls
and cigarette lighters
Lord Buddha and Shiva
of the Indian shops
in front of Zoologischer garten
God of Alexanderplatz
occupied by cranes
God of the Wall
which fell and didn’t fall
God of the great circle
the kitsch – in history
the history – in kitsch
God of Madonna and the child
who stuck up her poster
but will miss the concert
God of the mothers and
God of the new-born
Babies’ God

be merciful to us
the ranks beneath your heaven


Боже на Берлин

на берлинските облаци
и на небето му,
Боже на берлинския вятър,
на берлинския дъжд,
който пада отвесно,
и на мъглите му,
Боже на ранния мрак
през ноември, на неделите
и на празните улици,
Боже на разцъфтелите
минзухари край Халензее
в края на февруари,
Боже на закъснелите
вдовици от Вилмерсдорф
(сини коси и коприна),
оцелели от бомбардировките,
уморени от мира,
в който трябва да се умира,
Боже на сватбените торти
в края на Ку’дам,
на бисквитените младоженци,
ангелчета от белтък,
Боже или Аллах (както ти викат)
на арабските хлябове,
на айрана и дюнера,
Боже на новите турски квартали,
сателитните им антени,
старите турци по пейките –
повече там по-малко тук –
новите евреи на Кройцберг,
Боже на китайките с лалетата,
само 2,50 за десет,
Боже на ширпотребата
(мернах те на Щутгартерплац),
Боже на евтинията,
порцелани сатъри тенджери,
китайски джезвета за турско кафе,
апарати за кръвно, ножове, шалове
и запалки,
Боже, Буда и Шива
на индийските магазини
пред Zoo,
Боже на Александерплац,
окупиран от кранове,
Боже на Стената,
която падна и не падна,
Боже на великия кръговрат
кичът – в история,
историята – в кич,
Боже на Мадона и младенеца,
който лепи афиша й,
но ще пропусне концерта,
Боже на майките и
Боже на новородените,
бебешки Боже,

бъди милостив към нас,
поредните под небето ти.


Tom Phillips is a writer based in Bristol, and is the author of several
pamphlets of poetry and the full-length collections Recreation Ground (Two
Rivers Press, 2012) and Unknown Translations (Scalino,2016). Plays include
Coastal Defences, 100 Miles North of Timbuktu and the solo show I Went To
Albania. He is an editor of Balkan Poetry Today and Raceme.

Georgi Gospodinov is a Bulgarian poet, writer and playwright. His four
poetry collections have all won national literary prizes. The first,
Lapidarium (1992), won the National Debut Prize. A selection of his poetry
was published in translation in A Balkan Exchange (Arc, 2007), edited by
W.N. Herbert.

Gospodinov became internationally known with his Natural Novel, which was
published in 21 languages, including English (Dalkey Archive Press, 2005).
And Other Stories (2001), a collection of short stories, came out in German,
French, English, and Italian, and was longlisted for the Frank O’Connor
Award. His second novel, Physics of Sorrow (2012), won the National Award
for Best Novel of the Year 2013 and the 2016 Jan Michalski Prize for

New Boots Were Made For Walkin: Dawn of The Donald

My fellow unAmericans, give us
your poor, tired poems, huddled missives
rhyming ‘fear’ with fear for four more years,
your wrenched refusals of that fascist galoot.
Send these, the hopeless, Trump-despairing, here:
we’re gonna need a bigger boot…

– Open submissions on the recent US Election result will be received at the usual address till Wednesday, November 16th.

Political Poetry and Poetic Politics

At the 2016 Poetry Book Fair, in his capacity as New Boots co-editor, Bill Herbert took part in a panel discussion chaired by Fiona Moore and including Choman Hardi, Sophie Mayer, and R.A. Villanueva. The room was packed, and the discussion and readings were filmed.

You can see the film by clicking ‘Poetry Book Fair panel‘. If you want to comment below, the panel is happy to reconvene in the virtual sense and engage with your points and questions.