Issue 9
John McAuliffe

MR9 Editorial

As we move to this newly designed site, we are keen to maintain the onscreen integrity of the poems and prose we publish …

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Janet Frame

Between My Father and the King

My father fought in the First World War that used to be called ‘Great’ until the truth of its greatness was questioned and the denial of its greatness accepted.

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Frances Leviston

Two Poems

All along the skyline, cranes
quiet above rooftops

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Andrew Cowan

Worthless Men

After one long winter dredging the waterways for Meek’s Steam Navigation Company, and a second short summer hauling ice …

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Michael Symmons Roberts

The Wounds

Betrayal begins at home, a fine-boned fledgling,
blown-in through your window, heart a-shiver.

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Rachel Cusk


Gerda Fuchs owned the guesthouse at the highest point of the village of Zander.

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Gwyneth Lewis

Soundtrack for the End of the World

‘Promise me leaf-blowers will cut out first,
Spinning in sparkless Catherine Wheels
Then dying like blue-bottles.’

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Nick Holdstock

The False River

Number of this bus: the 6838, which starts in L.A. and runs to Sacramento.

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Seán Hewitt

Two Poems

Not even the owls had eyes hollower
than mine after the dark had emptied them.

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James Robison


I try to sleep on Miriam’s silk divan, can’t, and walk far in a snowstorm to some 24 hour porn booth …

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Tom French

Two Poems

He slipped out in the intermission with binoculars to gaze at the stars for inspiration.

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Adam Day

Two Poems

The pig with the black feet is an insomniac.

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Maurice Riordan

Two Poems

For a good half hour this morning, from five
till the mobile’s ringtone woke me in a sweat,
I was young again and Mammy was alive.

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Kirsty Gunn


My sister Ailsa didn’t talk much. She didn’t want to. It was because she listened instead, and she watched.

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Joshua Weiner

Two Poems

The kumquat tree you brought for me
from Florida, it likes the sun, you said,
so I found a place outside

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Claire Powell

Rich Jim

Karen starts it. ‘Tell you who’s got loads of money,’ she says, ‘that Jim. Hasn’t he, Des? Bloody minted he is.’

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Luke Samuel Yates


The room is empty apart from the plants,
the people and all of the furniture.

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Sebastian Agudelo

Three Poems

If what wakes you of a sudden, past midnight
are the war or mating calls from roaming kids

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