Typos - beauty mark or cancer on the face of our poetry collections? What poet does not turn to their poem, their bio, in a journal, to see if it has been blighted? What book, no matter how carefully screened, vetted, pruned, pried at, inspected, and glowered upon, does not seem to smuggle in a typo, or two? Like bedbugs - where do they come from? Something there is in language that does not love perfection - or at least, in type-setting. Even with a slew of eyes on the text, they come in, unwanted visitors, stowaways, thieves of our ideals, mocking us, belittling the book. Or, should they be read as delightful imps, welcome scallywags? Reminders of our flaws, modest interlopers, gadflies of marring benevolence? Either way, what you print is not always what you get, or what you wanted is not always what's inscribed. Eyewear is riddled with them, so is the wider world. Let's dunce.
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
The other reason, I'm afraid, is that too many poets and editors these days don't know "it's" from "its", and similar potential errors, in the first place...
The surprising thing is how often a typo actually improves a poem! I agree with Sheenagh. I think it's (correct, Sheenagh?) sometimes the subconscious mind endeavouring to have the last word.
Best wishes from Simon