Dave Eva
There are some volumes of poetry that seem impressive but oddly out-of-kilter when they are published. It’s hard to see where the imagery and ideas come from, powerful as they are. Years later, the poems cohere, come into focus, as if they had been way ahead of their time. When I first read ’Drysalter’ by … Continue reading ‘the crack that lets the desert in’
‘The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was Spawning snow and pink roses against it Soundlessly collateral and incompatible: World is suddener than we fancy it.’ In a recent piece of detective work in Poetry Nation Review, John Clegg identifies the location of Louis MacNeice’s 1935 poem ’Snow’. The roses were brought from … Continue reading ‘Soundlessly collateral and incompatible’
Three thoughts on understanding poems, or on not understanding them, where understanding may not be the point, or not understanding may be beside the point. Kayo Chingonyi: ’teachers are rarely encouraged to say ”you might not get this because there might not be anything to get but you still might find it interesting”. I think … Continue reading ‘to half understand a poem’
From time to time I try to catch up with the Forward Book of Poetry. Like the Best American Poetry series, it lets me scan what’s out there - not in any great depth, and ’keeping up’ is impossible - but as a taster, a sample. I’ve been looking at the Forward Book of Poetry … Continue reading ‘Snow fell cold and soft on fold and croft’
Another note on book design. Poor design doesn’t ruin a book of poetry, but if you’re feeling hesitant or reluctant, then it doesn’t help. The spacing of words on the page, the feel of the book in the hand, even the way the spine falls open; it all matters. There’s no shortage of other books … Continue reading The long line
In September 2020, in that improbable window when we thought Covid was almost over, I went on holiday to Greece and stayed for a few nights in Monemvasia, a walled coastal town. It turned out to be the birthplace of Yannis Ritsos, the great poet of the Greek left. He grew up in a house … Continue reading ‘Night comes slowly here’
If I’m unsure about a book of poetry, if I like some poems but not others, I will copy out the ones that work. It means I have the poems to re-read, but more importantly it slows me down enough to have a proper look, or listen (I could, after all just photocopy them). Copying … Continue reading ‘High hopes or none, we’ve no idea where we are’
Ive been interested in the recent articles at the back of PNR about book design - interviews with Phil Cleaver and Sarah Schulte. It’s led me to compare editions, where I have two copies of the same book. Here is David Jones’ ’In Parenthesis’, one of the great long poems of the twentieth century; the … Continue reading ‘Physically, the book was not clearly readable’
A couple of weeks ago I took the tube, then walked to Palmers Green to find the house - 1 Avondale Road - where Stevie Smith lived from the age of three (1906) until her death in 1971. She lived there with her mother, sister and aunt, latterly becoming sole carer for her aunt. It’s … Continue reading ‘A house of female habitation’
I’m working my way through the collected poems of the American poet Donald Justice (1925 - 2004). Half a dozen of his poems turn up regularly in anthologies, and deservedly so. Here’s ‘On the Death of Friends in Childhood’ in its entirety: We shall not ever meet them bearded in heaven, Nor sunning themselves among … Continue reading ‘In the deserted schoolyard at twilight’
the word-road home 