Death Magazine is a neutropian vision of our soundbite, snippet-obsessed, digital and print magazine culture. It employs the Dadaist technique of cut-up to produce poems that range from the blackly comic to the surreal, from the nonsensical to the prescient.
Many of the poems confine themselves to the precise aesthetics of magazine columns, doing away with line breaks entirely to find new meaning in their Modernist forms. Added to the mix are a range of free verse poems more traditional in form. This monster hybrid of styles, of fact and fiction, aims to replicate the untrustworthy, hyperbolic stream of media that absorbs our lives every day.
This radical work creates a futuristic landscape of human emotion as product – a pink, shattered diamond refracting our chaotic times.
‘“But it’s difficult for a 6 year old to articulate how few things / are as satisfying as the click of a tiny drawer in a tiny cabinet.” Barbie, Grace Jones, silicon immortality, The Alien, computer games – some of the subjects around which Matthew Haigh’s poetry coalesces in this sparkling collection. Despite a kaleidoscopic mixture of cultural references, there’s a sense of an uncompromising and focussed vision emerging from a still presence at the heart of the poetry. The book is funny, sharp, touching and completely itself. I wholeheartedly recommend it.’ —Mark Waldron
‘Your luxury fitness lifestyle is undoubtedly lacking in poetry. It is also, like the famous people poetried in this book, mediated by invisible hands. Hands that tool your well-being up and down with the weather. You need armour. You'll find it in these pages. Full of surrealistic intensity, black humour, linguistic and formal play, all allied with a dark wit that might protect your brain in the depths of night, Matt Haigh's Death Magazine is a collection of poems that skewers without cruelty, observes with its teeth, and sees what now needs seeing.’ —S. J. Fowler
‘Death Magazine is a caustic satire of advice, empty mindfulness and self-promotion masquerading as humanity. But what sets Haigh apart are the brilliant flashes of insight amidst the beautiful chaos, the sense of endurance against having ‘known so many men who see no point in living’. It’s powerful and heartfelt, almost in spite of itself. As a poet he pushes on through the emptiness, the ephemera the soft-soap interviews and plastic monuments and finds meaning, and it’s an honour to be taken there with him.’ —Luke Kennard