plastic

‘Singular and Moving; Rice is a true inheritor of Hattersley, or Voss; here is the extraordinary ordinary, the real work of real people, sat alongside, and sung, and celebrated’
— Andrew McMillan, author of Pity

‘Matthew Rice's plastic goes where poetry seldom does: the factory floor, the canteen, the night shift, and it does so astutely and with insight and grace. This is real and vital work.’
— Nick Laird, author of Up Late

‘In plastic, the hours are “bent out of time” and slowed to their minutes on a factory night shift, where workers are churned in liminal borderlands and clocked by the ever-present spectre of death. Here, the relentless and precarious cycle of avoiding getting fucked over or worse in “far too narrow” circumstances. Rice is attuned to sound, and in these moving, visceral and formally precise poems, we are given dazzling glimpses of whole worlds lying just beyond the relentless tightrope of these dented, “bastarding jobs”. At the outset, the speaker confides: “Really it’s my heart that wakes me”. In this way, genuinely beautiful moments of hope and revelation spring from cracks in the strange and ominous like sparks from a grinder: crisp packets “doin’ the tango”; a smiley on the window; twin hares in an industrial park; machinists as concert pianists in another life, another universe. Rice’s book is one of deep compassion and vulnerability. plastic is 4am light in dark times.’
— Dawn Watson, author of We Play Here

‘This is life, but not in the affirmative sense. plastic occupies the negative space between tasks, or the minutes stolen from one’s boss. It is the literary equivalent of the air within the concave plastic moulds that populate the factory in which our speaker yearns, mutters and dreams. We come to know him from the pop music, the holiday snapshots and the Arthurian romances that all march through him like a drunken parade. If Baudelaire believed that the modern man was a "kaleidoscope equipped with consciousness", then Rice has written his contemporary equivalent, iPhone in hand. A miracle of a text, proving that the centre of influence has always resided within the working person's heart.’
— Nathalie Olah, author of Bad Taste

‘plastic confronts the daily realities of work and labour, revealing how the body endures the relentless grind. Yet within these poems are flashes of light, moments of grace and a quiet, fond sensibility. This continuous narrative offers a hopeful, heartfelt reorientation, reminding us of the vitality found in the overlooked lives of many. Surprising, tender and true.’
— Hatty Nestor, co-author of The Aching Poem