Poets are perverse. In the mid-19th century William Ernest Henley wrote what he intended to be a self-descriptive poem about a strict verse form called the Villanelle. How strict is the Vilanelle? Let's just say the Villanelle is as artificial as a Fabergé egg. It repeats, not merely two rhymes, but two whole lines throughout… Continue reading The attraction of the Villanelle
Category: verse
The Red Wheelbarrow
By Reg Rumney Not much depends on the red wheelbarrow Not much today and little tomorrow. The red enamel’s glazed with water. So? The chickens, white or black, bestow No meaning on the scene, nothing profound. Two colours, two objects, things found In the yard, but who or when, why or what? Left out the… Continue reading The Red Wheelbarrow
A poetic manifesto of sorts
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
And suddenly …
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, by Arja Salafranca
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
Reg Rumney 