{"id":2369,"date":"2012-05-01T15:45:34","date_gmt":"2012-05-01T15:45:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=2369"},"modified":"2012-05-01T15:45:34","modified_gmt":"2012-05-01T15:45:34","slug":"matthew-howard","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/matthew-howard\/","title":{"rendered":"Matthew Howard"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong>The Bell Ringers and the Slaughterhouse<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>This is their rehearsal night:<br \/>\neach pull and release a feel for time<br \/>\nand tone, to peal exact. All just<br \/>\nexercise for the biggest of days.<\/p>\n<p>On these frost-glazed January nights<br \/>\neverything carries. Past those bells,<br \/>\ndown Edges Lane, pigs grunt<br \/>\nand shove &#8211; great barrows of flesh.<\/p>\n<p>Such long hours of industry &#8211;<br \/>\nthe driver\u2019s voices are heavy with blood<br \/>\nand breath. Houses are too overlooked<br \/>\nhere, streetlights grease each window.<\/p>\n<p>A Hercules churns over the estate,<br \/>\na low, level red eye, blinks.<br \/>\nSomeone else shouts &#8211; that child,<br \/>\nthree doors down, who will not eat.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Matthew Howard<\/strong> lives in Norwich and works for the RSPB as a fundraiser. He is currently working on a creative and critical PhD that considers the poetry of birds. He has had poems published or forthcoming in magazines including <em>The Rialto, The North, Poetry Salzburg Review, Stand<\/em> and <em>The Reader<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Bell Ringers and the Slaughterhouse This is their rehearsal night: each pull and release a feel for time and tone, to peal exact. All just exercise for the biggest of days. On these frost-glazed January nights everything carries. Past those bells, down Edges Lane, pigs grunt and shove &#8211; great barrows of flesh. Such [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2369","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2369","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2369"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2369\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2372,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2369\/revisions\/2372"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2369"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2369"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2369"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}