Sunday 21 August 2016

Sunday Poem


All those years, before I became lost, I lived a different life. 
I am like the stones people place on graves to make them a little heavier. 
Some bring boxes of burning words grown from roots. 
Each attempts to read what the other has scripted. 
The rocks here are volcanic. They rise from the sea. 
They give a light unequal to the light that's cast on them. 
I've seen how the sky becomes the echo of what's flown through it. 
Not that it's easy to keep certain moments. 
What makes me break this silence and speak to you this way? 
Graveyards have things to say, and say them gently. 
There's nothing so wonderful as to be heard to the very end.

By Ruth Roach Pierson, from Untranslatable Thought (Anstruther Press, 2016)

Saturday 20 August 2016

Rare Books, Ctd

David McGimpsey's tumblr site is a cache of rare treasures found while secondhand book shopping in Montreal. Check out his latest spoils. (I featured his previous discoveries here, here and here.)

Friday 19 August 2016

The Idiot Boy

Jana Prikryl has a hate-on for William Wordsworth:
Poetry tends to resist smug certainties and predetermined conclusions, but Wordsworth has a kind of genius for self-transcription: He thinks a thought or holds a belief, and then he spells it out for you, and in that transaction—which is hardly a transaction! Nothing has really been exchanged, or changed— there’s no room for anything to surprise him much less the reader. I think his unquestioned pedestal in the canon has more to do with people’s admiration of his positions, his “message,” than with the ways he got that message across—which seems to me a function of the tastes of the prose-based community, warping what poetry is meant to do and capable of doing. Plus, he was personally and professionally cruel to Coleridge, whom I love in an awfully personal way. I tend to take my own partisanship on behalf of Coleridge past the brink of self-parody… because somebody’s got to.

Wednesday 17 August 2016


Scottish poet Robin Robertson earns his living as a fiction editor at Jonathan Cape. He has a tip for aspiring writers:
If I could advise all of your younger readers, I would tell them not to go into publishing or into academia if you are writing. It's difficult, because if you're working at close quarters with text during the day, the last thing you really want to do, or the last thing you really can do in the evening is to turn your mind to your own work, because you've too many other voices in your head if you've been doing your job properly and are deep into editing and the deconstruction of a text. Your mind, then, is somebody else's. That has been an impediment. I mean, I enjoy my job and working with the 50 or so authors I look after, but it takes me a couple of weeks to detox from their creativity and try and turn my mind to my own.