:: Poetry archive ( 2000-2005, click for articles pre-2006)

Short fish poem & other poems published 04/07/2013

i spend each and every day swimming

swimming is what i like to do best

aw i just love to swim in the sea

and i will die

By Ben Stainton.

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attempt at a love poem & other poems published 28/06/2013

you drool over the shelling massacre,
all to get in mooning like smilingly
effective, shred the window baedeker
take as read, which the stapler underlined,
was arresting the pdf of know
ing a true to life story juts behind
our current research, you watch it all grow
the slinking untwists towards the cryptic
peace, throughout the land jump for joyful hope,
soldier within multimedia mystic prittstick

By Robert Kiely.

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Pastoral & other poems published 27/06/2013

the way they dance,

their
effect on the audience

:
young mothers in court for tax evasion.

By Bruno Neiva.

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thought experiment 31 published 04/06/2013

thought
experiment
matters

By Nick-e Melville.

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the extreme clarity of things published 03/06/2013

I have a problem…
I’m seventeen,
I’m gay
and I’m into
farts

By Ilenia Madelaire.

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Maintenant #97 – Tadeusz Różewicz published 24/05/2013

It was as if I had two different men living inside me then. One was full of admiration and respect for ‘fine’ arts – music, literature, poetry; the other was full of mistrust of all the arts. The site for this struggle inside me, between those two personae, was my poetic practice. I felt admiration, reverence, for works of art – the aesthetic experience replaced the religious experience – but at the same time I felt a growing disdain for those ‘aesthetic’ values. I felt something had ended forever – for me, for humanity – and it was something that religion or science or art hadn’t protected.

In the 97th interview of the Maintenant series, SJ Fowler speaks to the legendary Polish poet Tadeusz Różewicz.

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that I am responsible for your death & other poems published 14/05/2013

our heads conjoined
by woolen wire
in the country

side of the head
to the olympic park
where nothing not done
across a table
with one younger
and one older
a difference in hair colour
is not much really
when dancing

By David Kelly.

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Naked in Front of Strangers #4 published 13/05/2013

When I show up to the canvas it happens,

And when I show up to the brush, out it bleeds

Or when I glance out from the upstairs window

To see him planting trellises

For verdant green grapes in ninety nine degree heat

Waves in an earthquake-laden summer

The fragility of life calls it forward as well.

By Kimberly Cooper Nichols.

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Maintenant #96 – George Szirtes published 07/05/2013

The poet is personal: the language is impersonal. Language is not a stable or static entity – it moves and crumbles and grows at the same time. The poet’s art lies in listening intently to the micro-movements of language while never forgetting the sense of the world as the pre-language – as instinct, apprehension, desire – that drove him or her to the threshold of language in the first place. Of course there are subjects and themes but that’s about as far as intention can go. As I see it is not a matter of wanting to say something, then finding the words to say it. You discover what you and the language have to say by entering the process of saying. The ethical power of poetry lies in its precise tension with language not in any broadly stated programme of doing good. The programme is advertisement. Technique, suggested Pound, is the test of sincerity. I think he was on to something.

In the 96th of the Maintenant series, SJ Fowler interviews the Hungarian poet George Szirtes.

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48 & other poems published

on the ground, the black hand flapping
the brown hand spread as if to grasp
grasp what?    a paving slab   a street   a sweep
of air    then some cruddy music    and leaf
leaf flattens, is pressed    is what?   is the body
as flat as this as brittle as surrendered   to what?
and some you burn and watch fly   and this
is    what?  an analogy as the mind makes it
of war perhaps    which war? dare we answer? dare
the body be its own dialogue? dare the
long, shall we say? rain beat down on us
and our music    is that the music? that cruddy
music you make in your bones and teeth?

By George Szirtes.

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