Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Reviewing books? What is the point? How can reviews serve any useful purpose; even if taking the words to heart, you cannot amend something which has been published.

Carole’s view

I mean, really, isn’t it like what they say about teachers:

Those who can do,
those who can’t review?

An argument I used years ago, stung by a polite suggestion that the tone of one of my earliest poems was ‘hectoring’. Having calmed down, paused for reflection, OK, OK, well, maybe. I rewrote the poem and submitted it elsewhere, to a competition rather than a magazine. Reader, it ended up shortlisted for ORBIS Rhyme International.

Reviewing is extremely useful, and yes, I would say that, being the author of Writing Reviews. And despite having been on the receiving end as well as dishing it out – the best being the discovery that somebody with not a good word to say about said book, had had one of his even more mercilessly demolished. Well, ‘constructive’ criticism often comes in for something of a bashing. Sometimes a case of a rock and a hard place, more often soft soaping, which may massage the ego but does not a thing for the quality of the work. Everybody should be free to write, how they want, what they want. But once they want others to read it, it simply is not going to work when they write purely for themselves, in particular, those who notoriously can’t be bothered with reading others’ writing. The true aim of critiques, for example, surely should be to help make something good even better. This is one of the hardest parts of being Editor, having the temerity to suggest amendments to poets, whether renowned or newly discovered – that, of course, being one of the perks: people you’ve long admired submitting work, along with those you’ve never heard of, but feel sure it won’t be long before everybody knows of them.

Booksellers will tell you that the two things which help shift volumes off the shelf are having them on display and having them reviewed. Endorsements are a moot point; one well-known author is equally well-known for have a few kind words for everybody and anybody. Yet, in general, most established poets are well disposed to newcomers and will come up with useful comments. Some remain unconvinced that their opinion, or anybody’s, will help sales, Roger McGough for instance – when I asked him. But if a publisher ever suggests you ask somebody high profile to do an introduction for a book, well, having requested such a favour, bit difficult to quibble with their words of wisdom. You can’t tell them what to say, after all, and have to rely on good will; had I realized just how much Jimmy Mulville disliked reviewers . . . Still, heading press releases for Writing Reviews with his injunction ‘please don’t buy this book’ does not appear to have hampered sales.

Today’s constant deluge of information means reviews help make your name stand out. And reviews are regarded as aiming to assist readers to be discerning, to choose something worthwhile out of the tons of stuff which gets published. . Who could fail to be intrigued by William Oxley’s comments about Roger Caldwell’s This Being Eden: ‘extraordinary reasons . . . tantalisingly explained on the . . . cover’? There’s also, always, the consolation of knowing that bad publicity in a world as competitive as poetry is better than none at all.

Matt’s View

I am a fan of one-star reviews, not just of the Dorothy Parker school, but the reasoned step-bystep explanation why a particular film/poem/play is unacceptable. This is best summed up in an article on the greatest singles of our time, which included the line ‘It is easy to forget, for all the hype surrounding today’s popstars that the historical import of someone like Robbie Williams is, like that of the Osmonds, nil’. It’s the job of the reviewer to draw attention to what is good, whilst knowledge of what is bad prevents its dismissal out of hand.

Reviews can revitalise neglected classics and indicate the strengths of a poet, providing the reader with representative quotes. In many cases, it is possible to recognise what a poet is reaching for, even if they achieve it only once or twice. When most articles are recycled glossy copy, magazines which contain honest, stalwart reviews should be prized.

In his introduction to Sylvia Plath’s Collected Works, Ted Hughes writes that, for all Plath’s paring, her work is ‘plain speech’ once you familiarise yourself with her palette. A mature poet’s style is recognisable from almost any line of their work, but it is only fair to read a new poet’s collection several times before coming to judgement.

My favourite writing has always been that in which you can see the writer: Ted Hughes walking the fields above the horses before dawn or Philip Larkin approaching ‘The Dance’. A sense of being out of time with current trends also appeals, proving strength of vision and providing an alternative to common thought: William Blake’s adapted mythology; Hughes, again, his violent/ vital verse during the time of The Movement; Bob Dylan’s emulation of an archetypal Folksinger; Mark E. Smith’s disregard for critical and popular regard.

Good writing possesses the poetical equivalent of prosody, a marriage of expression and musical sound. I cannot explain my love of the opening of Sylvia Plath’s ‘Wintering’, ‘This is the easy time, there is nothing doing.’, except to say that the words ‘nothing doing’ hang in the mind, rub against each other. How can ‘nothing’ be doing anything? Almost impossible to picture, yet the repetition of sound has a redundant quality and irreducibility that can’t be opened no matter how many times you read it. Prosody is not just present in poetry; alliteration, assonance and consonance all appear when writers find a rhythm.

Regular exposure to new poetry is an education in which patterns appear and the subject becomes clearer. The more I read, the more apparent the value of punctuation – better to be clear than open-ended – specific rather than vague. Originality is also a virtue. These days, the only way to rebel is not to be seen to rebel; poses struck draw a blank. Simplicity is a virtue. It is surprising how much good work is out there, to review six books by unfamiliar poets and find that two of them are excellent.

Reviewing is also a discipline, helping me to edit and hone my thoughts. The ability to introduce a subject, unpick it and wrap it up in 150 words is an art, similar to creating haiku. And the effort which goes into producing poetry magazines is evident in the character of each.

As someone who believes you can in fact learn from things done badly, I’ll end with some verse by George Everleigh, whom Christopher Logue, in his autobiography, dubs ‘the businessman poet’:

Thus, if a Government agrees to give,
Whenever Public companies are formed,
To each a dividend – say, six per cent
Per annum for a certain fixed time,
And for security inspects accounts -
Then, of the profits which each yieldeth more
Than the same dividend of six per cent,
Two thirds the Government itself shall claim,
The other third remaining to afford
The company an extra dividend.