Refugees They have no need of our help So do not tell me These haggard faces could belong to you or I Should life have dealt a different hand We need to see them for who they really are Chancers and scroungers Layabouts and loungers With bombs up their sleeves Cut-throats and thieves They are … Read more
Another daily poem from The Paris Review – this time an early piece by Adrienne Rich. Recorders in Italy It was amusing on that antique grass, Seated halfway between the green and blue, To waken music gentle and extinct. Under the old walls where the daisies grew Sprinkled in cinquecento style, as though Archangels might … Read more
All this week The Daily Poem from The Paris Review has featured work by Alberto Caeiro, Álvaro de Campos, and Ricardo Reis. In other words, it is featuring the Portuguese writer Fernando Pessoa (1888 – 1935). See the sidebar below for the explanation from the Review. On Tuesday, there were three sonnets by Álvaro de … Read more
The Hammer Test: What Happens When a Poem Rings Hollow? “I like poems you can tack all over with a hammer and there are no hollow places.” That’s a saying often attributed to John Ashbery. He never actually said it except when quoting the poet Robert Duncan, who offered the words in praise of Ashbery’s … Read more
Poets: Nosey, Needy, and Daft I can’t speak for other nationalities, but as far as the English go, I hold with George Orwell, who said: “The most hateful of all names in an English ear is Nosey Parker.” And that brings me to poets. Who do they think they are, sticking their beaks where they’re … Read more
I read a great poem just before bed last night: The Ingredient by Martin Stannard. I found it here and it’s one of what Anthony Wilson calls Lifesaving Poems – essential poems for hard times. I love the whimsical and ironic tone, playful ambiguity, and the idiosyncratic significance of the ordinary “Teacups have it.I don’t … Read more
“In Capri, housetops are the world” – John Singer Sargent. Sargent visited the island of Capri in the summer of 1878 staying in the village of Anacapri which was popular with artists at the time. He met and became friends with the English painter Frank Hyde who persuaded him to lodge at the Pagano Hotel. … Read more
Before the fragmented world of Instagram poets and TikTok book clubs, there was New World Writing: fifty cents, one paperback, and a whole literary world right on the magazine shelf at the drugstore and at the corner newsstand. Paperbacks, a Party, and Poets: The Story of New World Writing One evening in December 1951, a … Read more
This week marks the start of the #1952Club, a reading event co-hosted by Simon Thomas (Stuck in a Book) and Karen Langley (Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings). The idea is simple: Pick any book published in 1952, read it, and share your thoughts – on your blog, on social media, or just in the comments. No pressure, … Read more
As might be guessed from Seamus Feamus, I’ve been reading – and thoroughly enjoying – The Pilgrimage of Peregrine Prykke. (How did I get to this age without having read it before?) This is Clive James’s parody of 1970s literary London and it got me thinking about the enduring and peculiar proclivity of poetical types … Read more
In what would have been the week of Seamus Heaney ‘s 86th birthday – here is Clive James ventriloquist. Performed at the ICA in London in 1974: These were the Belfast poets — all called Seamus — Of whom the leading light was SEAMUS FEAMUS, Who even now attacked his midday meal: Two slabs of peat around a conger … Read more
For if ever you are in danger of feeling a wave of quite unreasonable cheerfulness descend, here is a simple antidote: The Three Miseries This is the key to misery It opens its miserable door Attendants glum & gloom greet you half way You bring your fears you call a number They provide the tissues … Read more
I take my title from the South African poet Roy Campbell (1901-1957), who knew a thing or two about lovers and haters. It’s from Georgian Spring, in which Campbell lampooned his fellow poets for their cosy triteness: New quarterlies relume their yellow covers, Anthologies on every bookshelf sing. The publishers put on their best apparel … Read more
In the Kitchen, Where I Lay My Scene Upon the counter where I lay my scene – (Do join me, if your hands are clean). From tamarind I strip the shell, And pluck the seeds that there do dwell. A curry brews – a fragrant blend Of cumin, garlic, spice to send A spark upon … Read more
A cold, wet February day – perfect backdrop for a journey into Romanticism—off on the M4 bus to the Met to see Caspar David Friedrich: The Soul of Nature The exhibit is there until May 11, 2025 so if you are in NYC it’s highly recommended. To whet your interest – or to compensate if you … Read more