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 know why teacups have it,but…
“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. It was near the town…
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 crowd gathered in an apartment…
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, just the pleasure of discovering…
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 to self-pollinate and propagate peculiar…
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 eel. ‘White spoors of cockle,’…
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 This other key is for…
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 To sell the public everything…
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 the waiting tongue. Here, have…
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 can’t visit – there is…
Most of us have done it at some point or another – accidentally locked ourselves out of the house. Raymond Carver’s poem tells a quite simple ordinary story but it becomes so much more. Read it to see what he does. He’s locked himself out and of course it’s raining and the people who have the spare key are away.…
The 2024 harvest moon is September 17th. First a poem courtesy of the Daily Poem at The Paris Review – from August 28. Time Is a Graceless Enemy, but Purls as It Comes and Goes I’m winding down. The daylight is winding down. Only the night is wound up tight. And ticking with unpaused breath. Sweet night, sweet, steady, reliable,…
As always, one thing leads to another. This time it’s the post from Gert Loveday’s Fun With Books that highlights Elizabeth Bishop’s tribute to her friend Robert Lowell – her poem North Haven .You can read it here Elizabeth Bishop Islands are Beautiful In an interview, Bishop spoke of North Haven – an island in Penobscot Bay, Maine: I sometimes…
One thing leads to another. How do you get from the Daily Poem in the Paris Review to a re-read of The Loved One and an exploding portable toilet courtesy of Evelyn Waugh? Here’s the Annmarie Drury poem that caught my attention: Walking in Hills of Which One Has Seen Many Paintings Your task differs: to leave the world to…
“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Julius Caesar Act 1 scene 2. There are those who agree with Cassius that we are in charge of our own destiny And then there are those like T.S.Eliot better grounded in reality who understand that we are all at the mercy of mysteries…