To celebrate the launch of Ghosts of a Low Moon (Lapwing, Belfast) I will be undergoing a virtual tour until May 2011. Rather than call it a virtual tour I have adopted the Carnival idea. It is a simple e-concept taken from the real world in which a group or an individual upsticks from their website and travels to other websites. In the coming weeks I will be on other websites, but no fear, there will still be content here. During March I will be popping back, keeping you all up to date with my location, as I camp out, put up my tents, side shows, ferris wheel and merry go round. As you will notice my twitter feed (@bongosherbert) is now linked to this website so you can follow me through this.
In April this website will also house a few other projects, including the Definitions Project (one question, many writers & poets) – originally conceived to run with Incwriters (now closed). There will be a reprise of the two week e-residencies featuring names you know and names you don’t. All this falls under the Carnival tour, the idea of every poet, every writer, leaving their websites to camp out beneath another.
From March 2011, you will find me on Peony Moon, Lancashire Writing Hub, on Charles Lambert’s blog and Tania Hershman’s fabulous website, roaming around on the Goggle Publishing Channel on YouTube, on twitter, on Facebook and many other places before I strike out on the road with Ian Parks taking in Leeds Independent Poetry Press Festival (website coming soon) and WordSoup to name a few.
The Carnival kicks off for one week on this website before it leaves for new places, new faces and new audiences. If you want me to camp out on your website, then do contact me via the About Us on the home page. I will leave you from an excerpt from American Vignettes (Travels in my Wigwam) taken from Ghosts of a Low Moon, signed copies available here:
21. Travels in my Wigwam
I have motorised my buffalo skin; fitted an outboard motor in
and taken myself upon the road.
My tipi has no wheels, the stumps of fallen trees,
shorn and axed square for my buffalo,
have left deep furrows in new fields behind me.
I have seen the skeleton of America,
you can see the bleached bones in Arizona
Where cowboys still roam around campfires, singing Hank Williams
and the Irish flee to the bar for last orders; return with buckets
full of booze and feign ignorance
and text beneath the moon
and run from jack rabbits.
Here, there is a cowboy who eats no desserts in the desert, for fear of diabetes
but still carries a gun with the safety off.
A cowboy called Sam has been married 6 times and is still looking
For lucky number 7, east of Las Vegas.