David Miller, photo by David Menzies

David Miller 



Robert Lax, Journal C (selected by David Miller), Pendo Verlag, Zurich, 1990 

How the Net is Gripped: A Selection of Contemporary American Poetry (with Rupert Loydell), Stride, Exeter, 1992 

A Curious Architecture: A Selection of Contemporary Prose Poems (with Rupert Loydell), Stride, 1996 

The ABCs of Robert Lax (with Nicholas Zurbrugg), Stride, 1999

Music while drowning: German Expressionist Poems (with Stephen Watts), Tate Publishing, London, 2003



Undergraduate teaching in English Literature at Nottingham Trent University (from1998)


BA (1st Class Honours) in History of Ideas, Middlesex Polytechnic, 1981

Dean Betty Jones Prize for Academic Distinction (Middlesex Polytechnic), 1981

PhD in English Literature, Royal Holloway College, University of London, 1986


Plays clarinet in the trio The Mind Shop (with Armorel Weston and John Gibbens); has also collaborated on music projects and performances with Ken White and others.


Kater Murr's Press: http://home.freeuk.net/katermurr, katermurr_uk@yahoo.co.uk 

Frog Peak Music: www.frogpeak.org, fp@frogpeak.org 
(For US distribution of selected publications by David Miller)

Burning Deck Press: www.burningdeck.com

Small Press Distribution (for Burning Deck Press): www.spdbooks.org, orders@spdbooks.org 

Stride: www.stridebooks.co.uk, editor@stridebooks.co.uk 

Poetry Salzburg & Poetry Salzburg Review: www.poetrysalzburg.com, editor@poetrysalzburg.com 

Wild Honey Press: www.wildhoneypress.com, poetry@wildhoneypress.com 

tel-let: www.johnmartone.netjophilmar@yahoo.com 

Little Magazines Project at NTU: http://english.ntu.ac.uk/littlemagazines

CD cover - "Mindshop" - with David Miller on clarinet
The Mind Shop

e-mail: TouchedUK@aol.com 



"From: Commentaries" by David Miller
© From: Commentaries, Kater Murr's Press, Piraeus, Greece, 1999


From: Spiritual Letters

For an end, a constant ending: images from a life counterpoised with imageless reflections. Smoke rises, spreads over roofs. In the room a sparrow huddles against the wall, near books and china. We discuss the transcendent and the satirical, and find ourselves wondering: a novel? The sheets of paper blacken. Burning animals amongst burning trees haunted the child. You cannot get from A to B by walking a line from one to the other. The girl's eyes habituated to begging touch your lips, burning them. Memory's blasted. He'll keep a record of the epiphany in his breast pocket, if not sewn into the lining of his coat.

(Series 1, #1)


The woman has entered through the doorway, a metal cup in her hand; her face, through the thin veil, is that of someone still very young and unwilling to believe in her beauty. A caption reads "Sacraments" and pertains to the act of blessing taking place in the foreground. In front of the underground station a little girl pisses in the gutter, while her mother holds her hand. You leap high in the air; the leap is held through categories of pain. Bruises and welts beneath your clothing. Nights when there has been no one you would call to your aid. I remember a taxi-cab ride at night in a downpour, when someone got into the cab beside you and all sense of protection failed. The predicament: as if having fallen into it, I found I could do nothing at all. A silence that harms; an absence of writing that calls for an outpouring.

(Series 1, #2)


...letter by letter. Having no wish to be detained by clever fabrications, stories that might distract. A dark courtyard, a lecture on aesthetics. - And if art is only lies, for the sake of rapture and power? Facing the wall, away from the wind, she struck a match for her cigarette - the flame drawing my look. Feckless, volatile girl; in the dream she began shouting at me as I turned away from her. - Flung across the hospital room by the Holy Ghost, the musician said. A phone-call: the driver survived; he died - the friend I'd stopped seeing. I thought of how he'd insisted on reading poem after poem to me at dinner; I'd looked (but not wanting to) at the spittle ejected upon his lip as he spoke the words. Faces of friends by my bed. Memory's unquenched: her long hair that she tossed around her neck; her hand that reached for mine. Eye toward eye.... Slow phleboclysis (drop by drop; into the vein).

(Series 1, #3)


(© David Miller; published in: Spiritual Letters (1-12), hawkhaven press, San Francisco, 1999)

"From: Commentaries" by David Miller
© From: Commentaries, Kater Murr's Press, Piraeus, Greece, 1999


© photo of David Miller by David Menzies

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