The latest Shearsman, no. 39, landed on my doormat this morning. It opens
with an engaging 90 line poem by Ken Bolton, called, simply, _poem_ and is
dedicated to Martin Munz. The pretext for the poem is fairly slender, the
poet is walking along the street wearing a leather jacket and carrying
presents for some children, thinking of this and that and people he talked
to. Contrasts between modernity and the past hold it together pretty well,
the 90 lines themselves suggestive of the brightly lit present tense of the
poem beginning to trail behind time's arrow.
quote
Its scale is increasingly
and loveably inappropriate
to North Terrace, as it modernizes
and the lion seems small
earnest, and straghtforward.
And the sky looks great beyond it.
I have chocolate frogs
for Becky and Julie
unquote
A three part poem, _Touring Vienna_, by Karin Lessing follows. The first
section is interestingly mysterious, particularly for me since I know
little German and it mixes said language with English. Second two is a
change of pace, a close up description of a photo Sigmund Freud with Oskar
Nemon and a dog. The witty literal passes into the psychological half way
through, thereby drawing a witty enough comparison,
quote
the sculpture, the clay head, the model
and the model's pet dog
form a spiral, a
whorl
from which the dog alone
looks beyond the self-contained scene
intent with listening
the sculptor is in profile
his stance as in a frieze
where offerings are presented
to rulers or to the gods -
but the portrait, its
inward gaze,
is for us
incurable, prodigal
economy of love
unquote
Perhaps the dog was on loan from Pavolv. Section three is more elegiac,
ending very abruptly. Very effective.
Next is Geoffrey Squires' _UNTITLED POEM_ which he read at the recent
conference in Cork. It opens with long rhythms, the acoustics uppermost
since the visual referents are deliberately indeterminate.
quote
that move sometimes and are sometimes still
what they are each one only what it is
this or because
..*
Ahead of itself in advance of itself
as always as usual
unquote
After a page and a half of this the simple description "A small wood a
copse / at the bend in the river / between green fields /" is lent a
surprising amount of drama. Read this one aloud, moderato, with feeling,
but not too much. As it happens, I've found myself reading a lot of Squires
recently. It becomes quite addictive. I think what I like about it is that
it takes you somewhere quite different but you don't know where.
Then there's Charles Hadfield's two poems, the first being, _Stepping
Stones_
quote
The streets whisper
where ghosts walk
lizards flicker up the walls,
these piles of stone all that remain.
unquote
I find the sound patterning -- whisper/lizards/flicker, and ghosts/stone,
walk/walls/piles/all -- combined with the high definition visuals pretty
exciting. And like the lizard, the poems flickers along its way, as it
broadens out giving a sense of the poet's struggle, he being half way up
the wall himself.
I'd better get on and start the dinner. Probably better not to show all
the goodies at once anyway.
Poems too by Martin Anderson, Peter de Rous and David Heminway. Not to
mention two pages of useful notes on "books acquired, received and
otherwise notable." Excellent magazine, beautifully produced, and at a
price scarcely merits the name.
Available from Tony Frazer, 47 Dayton Close, Plymouth PL6 5DX, England
or from Peter Riley (Books), 27 Sturton Street, Cambridge, CB1 2QG England,
email [log in to unmask]
"price" £1.50
Randolph Healy
Visit the Sound Eye website at:
http://indigo.ie/~tjac/sound_eye_hme.htm
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