I foresee a coming earthquake In verse, the death of diffidence: The driver will no more dispense too little fuel, too much brake And crawl along the roads of sense Like someone stoned. A poet in fear The audience may find him clear Instead of distant, dark and dense. Politeness! Fuck it, let’s… Continue reading A poetic manifesto of sorts
Re-reading the poems of the great Italian Hermetic poets it strikes me again with some force how much understanding poetry is not a matter of analysis. Take this poem by Salvatore Quasimodo. Ed è subito sera Salvatore Quasimodo Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra trafitto da un raggio di sole: ed è subito sera.… Continue reading And suddenly …
Beyond touch – Poems by Arja Salafranca I can think of no greater compliment to a poet than to say that you have read all the poems in a volume. Often, I dip into poetry books, reading some poems that look promising, or which particularly resonate, and pass over the rest. I read all of… Continue reading beyond touch, by Arja Salafranca
I was always surprised at the number of people Harry Owen managed to entice to his open mike Reddits' poetry readings in Grahamstown. It may partly be the nature of the residents of Grahamstown. It's also that Harry's Reddits' events made poetry accessible and fun. Poetry or more accurately verse is not exactly, let's say… Continue reading No more poetry?
Again, it has struck me that translation surfaces the issue of meaning in verse. When I was studying English literature, the assumption seemed to be that there was only one true reading of a literary work. Poems could, as it were, be unlocked by sufficient effort and intelligence. Our ideas of the reality of communication… Continue reading Gained in translation