Am making printing plates and listening to Poetry Please on Iplayer. I loved this John Fairfax poem which you can read and listen to here:
http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetrya...o?poemId=13915
Am making printing plates and listening to Poetry Please on Iplayer. I loved this John Fairfax poem which you can read and listen to here:
http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetrya...o?poemId=13915
Its not poetry but I love the R4 programme that's currently on....Vampires versus Zombies!! They have 'experts' on discussing who would win in a vampire/zombie fight. awesome!:thumbup::thumbup:
Vampires YES
Zombies NO
Vampires = high gothic, melodrama, literature, looking good, the temptation of immortality
Zombies = grunge, downmarket horror, unthinkingness, looking bad, the curse of immortality
And I have no idea what I'm talking about.
Sorry, bit of an epic post. Skip it if you like.
Some poems might as well have been written in a continuous line form and word-wrapped like a paragraph, the words taken from their original vertical arrangement and spread out flat. The meaning and impact would be little changed.
I have sometimes thought that some of the prose produced by Iain Sinclair is worthy of the opposite treatment. I think of much of his work as being like a collection of broken shards of glass, shards of a mirror even. He often writes in short staccato bursts, and the outcome can be like poetry but arranged linearly. I have made an attempt at selecting a suitable passage and stacking it vertically, like a poem, to see what the effect is.
This is from the first and second pages of his book London Orbital, in a chapter entitled ‘Prejudices Declared’, where Sinclair sets out the stall of the book – why he chose to walk around London in the acoustic footprint of the M25, and what the M25 means to him. One thing it means is Thatcher, and he obviously has it in for our former glorious leader. This was written about the opening of the M25 in October 1986.
Thatcher, who never grasped the concept
of ‘dressing down’, her range going from
airfixed-in-pressurised-dimethyl-ether
(with solvent abuse warning on can) to
carved-out-of-funerary-basalt,
decided that day, or had it put to her
by style consultants
that she should treat this gig as an outside broadcast,
a chat from the paddock at Cheltenham,
not the full Ascot furbelow.
A suit, semi-formal (like Westminster Cathedral),
in a sort of Aquascutum beige.
Autumn. No hat.
A war footing: mufti-awkward.
Argie bashing, ranting.
Cromwell-fierce, hormonally stoked, she
wields her small scythe, dismissing
the unseen enemy, stalkers in the bushes,
eco-bandits, twitchers, pennypinchers,
lilylivered Liberal fifth-columnists,
bedwetters, nay-sayers.
‘I can’t stand those who carp
and criticise when they ought to be
congratulating Britain
on a magnificent achievement and
beating the drum for Britain all over the world.’
Rejoice. The military/industrial two-step.
That old standard.
Mrs Thatcher went on to rave
over the ‘the Sainsbury’s effect’,
the introduction of US mall-viruses,
landscape consumerism,
retail landfill.
YES was the word.
Thatcher filtered in perpetual green glow,
like a Hammer Films spook.
Bride of Dracula.
Green meant GO.
You may know of Sinclair from his increasingly prominent opposition to the imposed regeneration taking place in the east of London – firstly the Millenium Dome, now the Olympic Village. He identifies himself as one of the aforementioned liberal fifth-columnists and nay-sayers, and campaigns for regeneration to take place organically rather than being forced by central government.
Sinclair does also write and publish poetry, and perhaps I will find something I think you will like enough to post on here one day. I do recommend London Orbital though.
who will you vote for?
http://ticketing.southbankcentre.co....etry-parnassus
Wow! this is brillaint rev! i think the concept of tranisition i such a useful one in life to help us negotiate its various challenges... a beautiful poem thank you for postingOriginally Posted by TheReverand
very well put hes.. you are a very astute young lady! xHi Rev, I like this very much. The end of a relationship and the start of a new one are very poignant times I think. It sometimes seems inconceivable that you will ever give anyone your heart again but then, out of the blue, you find you are willing to make a leap of faith...I think the potential happiness outweighs the risk!
Last edited by freckle; 23-06-2011 at 10:22 PM.
The Hug by Thom Gunn
It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
Half of the night with our old friend
Who'd showed us in the end
To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.
I dozed, I slept.
My sleep broke on a hug,
Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
Your instep to my heel,
My shoulder-blades against your chest.
It was not sex, but I could feel
The whole strength of your body set,
Or braced, to mine,
And locking me to you
As if we were still twenty-two
When our grand passion had not yet
Become familial.
My quick sleep had deleted all
Of intervening time and place.
I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.
Considering Magic by Elizabeth Jennings
Don't think of magic as a conjuring trick
Or just as fotune-tellers reading hands.
It is a secret which will sometimes break
Through ordinary days, and it depends
Upon right states of mind like good intent,
A love that's kind, a wisdom that is not
Pleased with itself. This sort of magic's meant
To cast a brilliance on the dark trains of thought
And guide you through the mazes of the lost,
Lost love, lost people and lost animals.
For this, a sure, deep spell of care is cast
Which never lies and will not play you false.
It banishes the troubles of the past
And is the oldest way of casting spells.
Thom Gunn is not poet I'm familiar with, Freckle, but I like what you have posted. Thanks for the link too.
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