This is the 1,600th post at Eyewear. In the year 1600, the anthologist Allott published Englands Parnassus; or, The Choysest Flowers of our Moderne Poets, with their Poeticall Comparisons. And Sumo wrestling began. Let's hope this blog gets to 2,000. Or at least its 5th anniversary!
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
Comments
I have been brooding on Jeffrey Side's remark that it was a 'happy coincidence' that several young poets selected by Roddy Lumsden for Identity Parade were subsequently snapped up by Bloodaxe, Salt and Seren. Of course it was no coincidence at all but simply another egregious example of how the British Poetry Establishment operates. I never cease to be astonished by the fuss surrounding some young poets who have managed to complete one collection when poets like me, who have written ten, are systematically ignored.
Best wishes from Simon
I can see no real need for Identity Parade to exist. It seems to be a Bloodaxe marketing exercise, consisting of largely unknown or marginal poets.
No offence intended to these individual poets, by the way. I'm sure they are very nice people.