About

Danny D. Ford’s poetry & artwork has appeared in numerous online and print titles. He has a number of chapbooks to his name, as well as the full-length collection What’s a Monday Called? (Yellow King Press, 2024). He can be found in Bergamo, Italy.

interview july 2024 - https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2024/07/book-review-interview-danny-d-ford.html

chapbooks: ‘overthinking the flamingo’ - crying heart press, ‘store beyond the styx’ - between shadows press, ‘heaving in heaven’ - between shadows press, ‘son of a milkman’ - scumbag press, ‘shame’ - back room poetry, ‘RUM LIME RUM’, ‘thug nasty’ - LAUGHING RONIN PRESS, ‘Sucking on a Wet Pint’ - Anxiety press, ‘uphill smuggle’ - two key customs, ‘Ponderous Flukes’ - River Dog Press, ‘Rocket Propelled Rectum’, ‘three poets’ – Hickathrift Press, ‘raffle’, ‘wellbeing’ - poems for all/scattered like seeds, ‘Petite Poems FIRING SHOTS at the Hippy-Critical Flip Flop Machine’ - indigent press, ‘polenta poems & other obscenities’, ‘GARCON MEANS BOY’, ‘seven letter cities’, ‘Sunshine Junkie’, ‘Flexeril Haikus’ , & ‘Slides for Alberto’ - Between Shadows Press, and 'Perforated by Sirens' - Analog Submission Press.

The Unfolding Head has exhibited works, both in his hometown of Bristol, england and bergamo, italy & is resident compère of 'Dust Your Broom' open-mic night and co-founder of print collective ‘Never kill a rainbow’.

good reads

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21714803.Danny_D_Ford

- INTERVIEW with bold monkey review april 2022

https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2022/04/a-conversation-with-danny-d-ford.html

- read & buy - https://www.theunfoldinghead.com/read

- contact - https://www.theunfoldinghead.com/contact-1

SHAME - BACK ROOM POETRY (MAY 2024). After seventeen chapbooks and a host of assorted appearances in print and online, you might rightly ask yourself: what could Danny D. Ford possibly have left to say? Well, unfortunately for the haters out there, shame shows that there's no shortage of incisive and surreal material in that Bristol-bred noggin.

Ford approaches this latest collection with the same mix of candour and irony as usual, but there's also a wide-eyed sincerity that lurks beneath amorous nights (solo and otherwise), shit reality TV and the epic demise of a hornet. For every weirdo determined to turn a sneeze into a conversation, there's a jolting reminder of mortality, an ordinary scene that brings a childhood memory racing back, an idyllic cosmic moment offset by an absurd discussion.

Where so many contemporaries get mired in cynicism or settle for trite IG-ready snippets, Ford's poems feel wide in scope and feeling. There is space to breathe, inviting interpretation and relatability as the micro turns macro. But, most of all, these poems are honest reflections, evidence that the titular shame needn't be a debilitating barrier, but a way to excavate complicated emotional terrain.

Dive in. There's space in the existential cider for everyone.

- Lewis Wade, The Wee Review

There is something hopeless in Sucking on a Wet Pint. With these poems, Danny D. Ford sketches (as though with shivering fingers on cold streets) human lives “struggling / with the shattered glass / of another day” – sad scenes into the absurdity of humanity, expertly juxtaposed against “the indifferent trees”. This poetry draws all its power from the real, the everyday images that (if it weren’t for the multiple speakers) could be taken as the observations and lived experiences of the poet himself. Ford contents himself with capturing life as it is, with all its problems, and never attempts to offer solutions. There is little in the way of redemption for us here, and the closest we get to hope, to a suggestion, is when “the niece / questioned / everyone / in the room / as to whether any of this / had to happen / at all”.

There’s a wintery sadness to this book that blows in gusts and deepens at its zenith. Nevertheless, while outlook is bleak, Sucking on a Wet Pint is also stuffed with treats of transgressive humour; celebrating shits, “tits” and criminal habits. And then, after everything, it ends in “ecstasy”

I wanted more. This book is criminally short. So too is this review.

- Roy Duffield, author of ‘Bacchus Against the Wall’ (Anxiety Press)