Adham Smart is a writer and translator from London. He was three times a winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award and has had writing in The Cadaverine Anthology (Cadaverine, 2009), Korsakoff’s Paper Chain (Sidekick Books, 2010) and The Salt Book of Younger Poets (Salt, 2011). He has contributed as a translator to the anthology Six Georgian Poets (Arc Publications, 2016). His first solo publication, yes yes mouth, was published by Valley Press in 2019.
This is a book for people who like to gorge on language; a meal too big for people who hate to throw away their food. It is about life’s extremes – those times when you do things to excess, and those when you avoid doing anything at all. Sometimes political, sometimes sexual and always hungry, this visceral, arresting debut pamphlet marks the arrival of an unforgettable new 'mouth' in UK poetry.
• To remember how to spell my name
• Myspace still there?
• Faster than calling my mum and asking
• Muscle memory got me doing myself again
• Numerology on the number of unique hits; calculate the day on which to hold my wedding
• Find out if there’s some way I can add myself as a friend on Facebook
• If I Google myself enough will they pay me royalties?
• Fantasise about being Adham Shaikh
• See if I can catch other people Googling me
• Remind myself what I’ve done (maybe I’ll do it again?)
• If I Google myself enough will they ask me to be a consultant?
• Pour scorn on Adham Faramawy
• How to get red wine stains out of white wine shirts
• Species of wasp coincidentally also called Adham Smart
• So that when people Google something beginning with ‘A’ or ‘S’ in my browser they’ll see how many times I’ve looked and with how many variations
• Unexpected tips on garden safety
• Observe any changes in results and either a) sigh because inertia or b) weep because can’t handle change
• Try to use Ask Jeeves but then realise I’m probably better off asking Adham Smart
• What if one day nothing? What if all the Adhams in their Shaikh and Faramawy and other guises conspire to squeeze me out of the written world, replicate in the cells of my online presence and burst my name apart, and then all I am is a boy in a room in a city, with habits but no habitat, connected but unplugged, drinking endless glasses of water and looking up from the empty screen at the ceiling where I’ve stuck pieces of paper saying DON’T | WASTE | YOUR | TIME
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