I’ve just read 131 from cover to cover, as they say. The poems that appealed the most were Maggie Butt’s Stonemason, both for its sculpted quality and the way she channels the mason’s feeling into his work. John Whitworth is the funniest poet around; his metrical gift is on a par with Kipling’s. Secret Agent, by Steven Blyth; he is always so unaffectedly domestic and anecdotal. And Michael Riley: Because there is no enough, as it is the most untypical and philosophical poem in the issue (William Oxley)
I don’t think this was as strong as its predecessor overall, tho most of my favourites in #130 – Viki Holmes, Gavin Salisbury, Aurel Stancu and Patrick O’Donnell - which were all great didn’t even get in the honourable mentions, though I did like the poems by Fred Johnson and Liz Zacharias. John Whitworth’s just got on my nerves.
In 131, there was too much self-conscious literary name-dropping: Jim Wilson’s Pen Friends; Anthony James’ Now Might I Do It; Nora Nadjarian’s Lemons. Others were overlong; a bit of an edit could have made Jim Carruth’s Barnbeth the best thing in the magazine, while Paul Pacifico’s Seagulls stood or fell on how great the initial image was; found it a bit too whimsical myself, although it as nicely written. Still, there was a lot to like: Falling by Hilary Mellon; Jessica Harman’s New York City; Laurence James’ Companion Piece and Bill Greenwell’s Genius. Also worth giving a nod to Bryan Beattie’s Baxter Park – short and sharp (Miles Hadfield)
No special order:
Lynette Craig, A Game: Stark, taut, not a superfluous word; a cruelly apt and ironic title for a poem that accurately and powerfully reflects on the devaluation of human life.
Adrian Blackledge, Wedding for a daughter: The conversational tone with his unborn niece is just right; it exudes pride, hope and love with every little detail.
Hilary Menos, Men in Cars. I like the way it moves one’s view from the mundane, tedious and repetitive, to the insular shock of natural beauty and calm. The three line stanza format is just right.
Pamela Coren, The eye of the needle. Quite disturbing, but mesmeric; still not sure I’ve grasped precisely what she means but it has a particular meaning for me (Ann Froggatt).
Lovely issue, and I do appreciate the comments on my poems; made me feel good. Great cover and poem. I love the concept of the Green Man and have a fairly long GM poem coming out in OWP soon. Not much good at picking out first, second and third poems but I was moved and made jealous by some of the images in this issue: the final stanza of Emily’s Voice by Sarah Wardle - superb, ‘peels of moonlight’ in Transpiring by Lorna Dowell and ‘as candles inside/burn widening eyes’, and ‘harelipped as her dwelling’ in Dark Sister by Robin Furth, brilliant (Mary Maher).
Another good read, and here are my favourites:
1. Steven Blyth: Secret Agent (excellent pacey narrative and humour, and the questions raised about the father who loved too too well; not to mention the perfect rhythms and stresses; line-endings, and the subtle rhymes.
Adrian Blackledge: Wedding for a Daughter (admired the highly original subject).
3. Richard Toovey: Spanish Fly ( humourous and sad).
Joint 4th, both with good endings:
Maggie Butt: Stonemason and Lynette Craig: A Game
Commended: Ruth Smith: Penguin Watch; Hilary Menos: Men in Cars; Susan Richardson: Kulusuk Crossing (Heather Young)
Richard Toovey’s castigatory Spanish Fly was the only poem that had me saying ‘Yes!’. But I did also find myself entranced by Robin Furth’s Dark Sister (Sam Smith)
Maggie Butt (Stonemason), nicely-done shifts of perspective; Hilary Menos (Men In Cars), the slow build-up to a breathless crescendo of voice and imagery; Steven Blyth (Secret Agent) for its casual, unabashed, conversational simplicity; Jessica Harman (New York City) with its equally unabashed, but skilfully sleazy tone (Alan Hardy)
Ecclesiastical buildings come out top for me. Ruth Smith’s beautifully structured The Angels in the Roof are Continually Falling encapsulates three episodes in the life of a parish church: the neglectful early 19th century with the falling angels, the iconoclasm of the Puritans that supplied the reason, and the present restoration. Of all the imagery, I loved the way the men would ‘stack the wings like oars/beside its slender torso’. And what indeed were they looking for in those oaken faces? Maggie Butt’s Stonemason is a less spectacular, more personal poem, an extended metaphor for our craft. Early drive for public acclaim gives way to a more modest ambition, but as a poet she is still ‘careful in each chisel-chip’, as these three stanzas neatly demonstrate.
Anthony James’s Hamlet actor’s soliloquy Now I might Do It was thought-provoking. That ‘somebody in the ringed audience’ (James) urges the Hamlet-actor to assassinate his uncle for political reasons to purge the state of Denmark of its rottenness. The trouble is that Shakespeare’s Hamlet has little interest in good government or in thecommon people, grave-diggers and the like. He is not a politician like Brutus, ready to kill in defence of the Republic. Still, the ringside James urges the actor to switch his role with such powerful rhetoric that it looks as though the latter is going to sabotage the plot and send the audience home early. Here, James to some extent reflects his contention that poets are better than novelists these days in lambasting social evils. He’s probably right about this, but my feeling is that investigative journalists and TV documentary producers have (some of them) taken over that role.
Finally, who ever said poetry was unpractical? Jacqueline Saphra’s Knife actually is a well-honed poem about her mother’s life and the sharp lesson the poet has learnt. But we have blunt knives too, and cutting each slice of bread is still a victory. Got to do something about that. No more of this Hamletian indecision. (David Gill)
I’ve immediately read your editorial; can’t resist enjoying at once the bright, busy hurry that always characterises it. I’m not quite sure how you appreciated Simon Armitage, I have a cassette of his and I loved that Yorkshire accent which was similar, to my foreign ears, to the Manchester one of a bilingual girl (mother from Manchester, father from Italy) who, alas, got her degree last year and is in my class no more; imagine how helpful she was for an English atmosphere! About Armitage: almost 10 years ago, I found unforgettable the poem Five Eleven Ninety Nine, the long one at the end of the Faber collection ‘The Dead Sea Poems’. It’s one of those works one enjoys for the fireworks of words, where energy is word-physical as the great fire the poem tells about... even if I have never understood the title.
So here I am (a middle aged man in an icy month being read to by my dog. Sorry, but old Eliot gets easily in ) with my favourite four, too quickly, I’m afraid but I couldn’t wait and there were at least eight I really liked. Genius by Bill Greenwell is a real feat of imagination, concise and with a weirdness absolutely on target. It’s something I would never be able to write and just for this reason, I appreciate it more. It could become a good performance poem and read aloud, probably would even convince Mike Shields that something so piercing can also have a captivating effect in
the world of those who are ‘merely players.’
Knife by Jacqueline Saphra, sober and sharp, with the great ending about the danger of the blunt knife, a metaphor and a truth opening horizon.
Lemons by Nora Nadjarian, whose Mediterranean intensity is stunning. It shows once more what R.D. Laing kept preaching in the 70s, how the boundary between madness and sanity is an almost invisible line, with poetry tremendously active in the no man’s land.
Barnbeth by Jim Carruth, full of tension and determination and a longing for the Beyond.
Not at all sure that the whole of Amnesia by Anna Berry could be eligible; vivid and transfixing with a touch of the late, (last!) Sylvia Plath in it.
And, I am not flattering, at the end – you. Simply delighted by your ‘Just let me grab the mike back for a moment’... it could be the start of another bit of performance poetry (Davide Trame)
Now of course, the one and only reason I included this bit was to demonstrate that you really can vote for any writing which takes your fancy, not just the poems. Oh and this one is just for the hell of it. You write so terribly well, I could cry. Americans are in a hurry too, but they (we) sure don’t write like you do (Christine Despardes)
I liked Terese Coe’s translation of Rilke. She did a good job with the music of the poem. Number two: Hilary Mellon’s two poems, because she captures a sensuousness in poetry that’s quite lovely. Number III: Lorna Dowell’s Transpiring, where the alliteration and playfulness was apparent. For number 4, I’ll pick a man, since there seems to be a leaning towards the women: Laurence James, Companion Piece was a rather simple poem making our common day objects have more meaning, reminding me a bit of Gertrude Stein, with her ‘tender buttons.’ The ‘You’ at first stays behind, then someone sits on the chair and by the end, the ‘I’ stays on in reverse and the chairs decide which table they’ll be at and grow. Interesting idea (Erika Lorzentzen).
Easy decision this issue.
First is Cliff Forshaw’s Mapplethorpe With Horns - unusual, exciting, visual.
Second, Andrew Mayne’s Avant-Garde - clever, funny, readable.
Third, Ruth Smith’s The Angels In The Roof Are Continually Falling - I like the angels literally collapsing into the church, particularly with the troopers taking potshots at them.
Fourth, Bryan Beattie’s A Mountain Speaks, because having read it, I kept remembering it (Marianne Burton)
I don’t think this was as strong as its predecessor overall, tho most of my favourites in #130 – Viki Holmes, Gavin Salisbury, Aurel Stancu and Patrick O’Donnell - which were all great didn’t even get in the honourable mentions, though I did like the poems by Fred Johnson and Liz Zacharias. John Whitworth’s just got on my nerves.
In 131, there was too much self-conscious literary name-dropping: Jim Wilson’s Pen Friends; Anthony James’ Now Might I Do It; Nora Nadjarian’s Lemons. Others were overlong; a bit of an edit could have made Jim Carruth’s Barnbeth the best thing in the magazine, while Paul Pacifico’s Seagulls stood or fell on how great the initial image was; found it a bit too whimsical myself, although it as nicely written. Still, there was a lot to like: Falling by Hilary Mellon; Jessica Harman’s New York City; Laurence James’ Companion Piece and Bill Greenwell’s Genius. Also worth giving a nod to Bryan Beattie’s Baxter Park – short and sharp (Miles Hadfield)
No special order:
Lynette Craig, A Game: Stark, taut, not a superfluous word; a cruelly apt and ironic title for a poem that accurately and powerfully reflects on the devaluation of human life.
Adrian Blackledge, Wedding for a daughter: The conversational tone with his unborn niece is just right; it exudes pride, hope and love with every little detail.
Hilary Menos, Men in Cars. I like the way it moves one’s view from the mundane, tedious and repetitive, to the insular shock of natural beauty and calm. The three line stanza format is just right.
Pamela Coren, The eye of the needle. Quite disturbing, but mesmeric; still not sure I’ve grasped precisely what she means but it has a particular meaning for me (Ann Froggatt).
Lovely issue, and I do appreciate the comments on my poems; made me feel good. Great cover and poem. I love the concept of the Green Man and have a fairly long GM poem coming out in OWP soon. Not much good at picking out first, second and third poems but I was moved and made jealous by some of the images in this issue: the final stanza of Emily’s Voice by Sarah Wardle - superb, ‘peels of moonlight’ in Transpiring by Lorna Dowell and ‘as candles inside/burn widening eyes’, and ‘harelipped as her dwelling’ in Dark Sister by Robin Furth, brilliant (Mary Maher).
Another good read, and here are my favourites:
1. Steven Blyth: Secret Agent (excellent pacey narrative and humour, and the questions raised about the father who loved too too well; not to mention the perfect rhythms and stresses; line-endings, and the subtle rhymes.
Adrian Blackledge: Wedding for a Daughter (admired the highly original subject).
3. Richard Toovey: Spanish Fly ( humourous and sad).
Joint 4th, both with good endings:
Maggie Butt: Stonemason and Lynette Craig: A Game
Commended: Ruth Smith: Penguin Watch; Hilary Menos: Men in Cars; Susan Richardson: Kulusuk Crossing (Heather Young)
Richard Toovey’s castigatory Spanish Fly was the only poem that had me saying ‘Yes!’. But I did also find myself entranced by Robin Furth’s Dark Sister (Sam Smith)
Maggie Butt (Stonemason), nicely-done shifts of perspective; Hilary Menos (Men In Cars), the slow build-up to a breathless crescendo of voice and imagery; Steven Blyth (Secret Agent) for its casual, unabashed, conversational simplicity; Jessica Harman (New York City) with its equally unabashed, but skilfully sleazy tone (Alan Hardy)
Ecclesiastical buildings come out top for me. Ruth Smith’s beautifully structured The Angels in the Roof are Continually Falling encapsulates three episodes in the life of a parish church: the neglectful early 19th century with the falling angels, the iconoclasm of the Puritans that supplied the reason, and the present restoration. Of all the imagery, I loved the way the men would ‘stack the wings like oars/beside its slender torso’. And what indeed were they looking for in those oaken faces? Maggie Butt’s Stonemason is a less spectacular, more personal poem, an extended metaphor for our craft. Early drive for public acclaim gives way to a more modest ambition, but as a poet she is still ‘careful in each chisel-chip’, as these three stanzas neatly demonstrate.
Anthony James’s Hamlet actor’s soliloquy Now I might Do It was thought-provoking. That ‘somebody in the ringed audience’ (James) urges the Hamlet-actor to assassinate his uncle for political reasons to purge the state of Denmark of its rottenness. The trouble is that Shakespeare’s Hamlet has little interest in good government or in thecommon people, grave-diggers and the like. He is not a politician like Brutus, ready to kill in defence of the Republic. Still, the ringside James urges the actor to switch his role with such powerful rhetoric that it looks as though the latter is going to sabotage the plot and send the audience home early. Here, James to some extent reflects his contention that poets are better than novelists these days in lambasting social evils. He’s probably right about this, but my feeling is that investigative journalists and TV documentary producers have (some of them) taken over that role.
Finally, who ever said poetry was unpractical? Jacqueline Saphra’s Knife actually is a well-honed poem about her mother’s life and the sharp lesson the poet has learnt. But we have blunt knives too, and cutting each slice of bread is still a victory. Got to do something about that. No more of this Hamletian indecision. (David Gill)
I’ve immediately read your editorial; can’t resist enjoying at once the bright, busy hurry that always characterises it. I’m not quite sure how you appreciated Simon Armitage, I have a cassette of his and I loved that Yorkshire accent which was similar, to my foreign ears, to the Manchester one of a bilingual girl (mother from Manchester, father from Italy) who, alas, got her degree last year and is in my class no more; imagine how helpful she was for an English atmosphere! About Armitage: almost 10 years ago, I found unforgettable the poem Five Eleven Ninety Nine, the long one at the end of the Faber collection ‘The Dead Sea Poems’. It’s one of those works one enjoys for the fireworks of words, where energy is word-physical as the great fire the poem tells about... even if I have never understood the title.
So here I am (a middle aged man in an icy month being read to by my dog. Sorry, but old Eliot gets easily in ) with my favourite four, too quickly, I’m afraid but I couldn’t wait and there were at least eight I really liked. Genius by Bill Greenwell is a real feat of imagination, concise and with a weirdness absolutely on target. It’s something I would never be able to write and just for this reason, I appreciate it more. It could become a good performance poem and read aloud, probably would even convince Mike Shields that something so piercing can also have a captivating effect in
the world of those who are ‘merely players.’
Knife by Jacqueline Saphra, sober and sharp, with the great ending about the danger of the blunt knife, a metaphor and a truth opening horizon.
Lemons by Nora Nadjarian, whose Mediterranean intensity is stunning. It shows once more what R.D. Laing kept preaching in the 70s, how the boundary between madness and sanity is an almost invisible line, with poetry tremendously active in the no man’s land.
Barnbeth by Jim Carruth, full of tension and determination and a longing for the Beyond.
Not at all sure that the whole of Amnesia by Anna Berry could be eligible; vivid and transfixing with a touch of the late, (last!) Sylvia Plath in it.
And, I am not flattering, at the end – you. Simply delighted by your ‘Just let me grab the mike back for a moment’... it could be the start of another bit of performance poetry (Davide Trame)
Now of course, the one and only reason I included this bit was to demonstrate that you really can vote for any writing which takes your fancy, not just the poems. Oh and this one is just for the hell of it. You write so terribly well, I could cry. Americans are in a hurry too, but they (we) sure don’t write like you do (Christine Despardes)
I liked Terese Coe’s translation of Rilke. She did a good job with the music of the poem. Number two: Hilary Mellon’s two poems, because she captures a sensuousness in poetry that’s quite lovely. Number III: Lorna Dowell’s Transpiring, where the alliteration and playfulness was apparent. For number 4, I’ll pick a man, since there seems to be a leaning towards the women: Laurence James, Companion Piece was a rather simple poem making our common day objects have more meaning, reminding me a bit of Gertrude Stein, with her ‘tender buttons.’ The ‘You’ at first stays behind, then someone sits on the chair and by the end, the ‘I’ stays on in reverse and the chairs decide which table they’ll be at and grow. Interesting idea (Erika Lorzentzen).
Easy decision this issue.
First is Cliff Forshaw’s Mapplethorpe With Horns - unusual, exciting, visual.
Second, Andrew Mayne’s Avant-Garde - clever, funny, readable.
Third, Ruth Smith’s The Angels In The Roof Are Continually Falling - I like the angels literally collapsing into the church, particularly with the troopers taking potshots at them.
Fourth, Bryan Beattie’s A Mountain Speaks, because having read it, I kept remembering it (Marianne Burton)
Page(s) 22-25
magazine list
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