I had one of the best poetry experiences of my life last night when I attended Declan Ryan's cutting-edge poetry series in Hoxton, East London, Days of Roses. Set currently in a hyper-cool if-small basement bar (With Lee Scratch Perry posters, red walls, a cavernous series of little snug rooms, and a great DJ), the series is pulling in the elite of the younger set of British poets. I read with Sam Riviere, Jon Stone, Kate Potts, and Katrina Naomi last night (among others) - a very good line-up, indeed. Ryan is himself a fine serious younger poet, and a personable host. The audience, jampacked in, stood attentively over the two hour event (with breaks of course) and really got into the poems. The vibe was very friendly, cultured but also hip. If this is the coming generation, it is a great sign indeed. Riviere has a forthcoming pamphlet, Faber New Poets 7; Stone's new pamphlet is SCAREcrows; and Naomi's is Charlotte Bronte's Corset (she was the writer-in-res at the Bronte Museum). Looking forward to reading them all. I enjoyed finally meeting Stone in person, after his many comments online. He's a charming, intelligent young man, who dresses in a spiffy, dapper way, and his highly-verbose and complex poetry is erudite and entertaining.
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.
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