About 20 pages of poems (from The Rialto and New Walk) from a new pamphlet publisher. I'm having trouble with them. Some seem rather inconsequential - "I stumble along the train as it grinds/ across the land. It carries me/ south, towards a sea and sleep. ... Beyond the door is a garden, hosed cool./ I'll borrow its shade and later,// plant an orange tree and watch it grow/ strong enough for me to climb/ into its branches as they sway" (p.16). Some (e.g. "When I was acht jahre alt") are baffling. In general I can't see what they're trying to do. Too sophisticated for me.
Dear Tim
ReplyDeleteI've read worse! If I don't get something, I tend to blame the writer rather than myself.
Best wishes from Simon R Gladdish