8 Poems by J.D. Nelson w/ Art by Robert Frede Kenter

IceFloe Press

the galaxy is the key of the brook


underground (where we ate the snake)

I lost a finger in the garden
the parrot on the iceberg is eating charcoal chowder

above the gulf was a cloud
I was coiled for the radio of the sainted knuckle

in the cloned apple room there is a book of these poems
we are in the pages, too

when I am the galactic, I shall remain in the soil to tend the garden

there is a bear here


eating the popcorn of the normal world
we blame the furnace when there is no ice

we are in the streets
we are in the stew

in the luck of the world there is a new elm
(in the forest of the light)

in the stomach there are birds
and in the air we have a rain

the name of the world is the blinking noun

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Sex on Toast by Topher Mills (Parthian Books)

Tears in the Fence

Once again I find myself discovering poetry by a poet I’ve heard about but never got around to reading. Until now that is. This book, – a ‘Collected Poems’ more or less, – is a real treat. Written in chronological order these poems represent a lifetime’s work from the pen of a writer who, unusually, writes about manual labour, as well as swimming, politics, literature, unemployment, class, sexual matters and an array of other subjects. These poems are deceptively sophisticated, often rhythmically intriguing, surprisingly moving and complex in the range of emotion and of thinking they deploy. There are performance pieces and some wonderful pastiches including the following which takes a commonly reworked classic and gives it a somewhat new spin:

DIS IS JEST TUH SAY LIEKE

dat I scoffed

duh sarnee

yoo id in

duh freezuh Kumpartmunt

an wat

yooz wuz praps

kraabin

fuh laytuh like

soree yuhno

it…

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Estill Pollock: Landscape with the Shipwreck of Aeneas

The High Window

peter paul rubens aeneasLandscape with the shipwreck of Aeneas (1605) by Peter Paul Rubens

*****

Estill Pollock‘s first pamphlet selection of poems, Metaphysical Graffiti, was published in England. This was followed by a principal collection, Constructing the Human (Poetry Salzburg), which was later developed into the book cycle, Blackwater Quartet. Between 2005-11, in collaboration with Cinnamon Press in Wales, he published a second major book cycle, Relic Environments Trilogy. His latest collection, Entropy is published by Broadstone Books (2021) in the United States. A native of Kentucky, he has lived in England for forty years.

NB: Landscape with the Shipwreck of Aeneas is a narrative poem about the painter Peter Paul Rubens.

*****

LANDSCAPE WITH THE SHIPWRECK OF AENEAS

Old hand of the addict wards, homeless
The schizophrenic rages
In the street, screaming at no one
I’ll kill you I’ll kill you all again

Then gobs a Covid oyster…

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Wombwell Rainbow A Growing Into Book Reviews: “gathered poems falling slowly” By Amantine Brodeur

Diving into a poetry collection images swim passed, metaphors transmogrify, elemental, ideas become physical things, physical things become ideas. It takes time to take it all in. I grow into my reviews. Once entered collections stay, sink into me, my reviews grow slowly in time. I will add to this review and the others over time.

Falling Slowly Amantine Brodeur

Amantine Brodeur

Amantine Brodeur’s poetry and fiction has appeared in numerous online and print journals,
among these, in paragraphplanet, December 2019, Deep Time, Volume One, 2020, published by Black
Bough Poetry, iamb- quarterly journal and poet library, wave three, summer 2020, Pink Plastic House Journal, July 2020, Pendemic.ie, August 2020, and in the online and print anthology 100 Words of Solitude, edited by Philippa and Simon Holloway and published by Rare Swan Press 2021. Her piece on Beckettian women, written on the 30th anniversary of Samuel Beckett’s death in 2019, is featured in Thrice Fiction, Volume 2, Issue No 1, December 2020. alongside Ann Bogle, Eckhard Gerdes and Franny Forsman. Her piece Solitude is part of the Alternative Stories and Fake Realities podcast featuring the 100 Words of
Solitude project directed and produced in the UK by Chris Gregory. Her second poetry collection augustea is due for release soon.

twitter: @Amantine.B

https://www.iambapoet.com/amantine-brodeur

Short Interview:

  1. How did you decide on the order of the poetry in your book?

The original collection came about after several years of reclusiveness following the suicide of my closest friend. It was an attempt to work through the loss of her and other very dear friends over the years. I had submitted it for publication and withdrew it. It sat untouched until 2019 when I took a look and decided I was not entirely happy with the original selection and ‘took it apart’ – I was after something a little broader in scope in respect of its themes of love and loss. There was a body of work written around that time which tied in with more recent pieces I’d written and so I started from scratch using Falling Slowly dedicated to my friend who took her life and worked ‘outward’ as it were listening to the works and how they ‘spoke’ to those around them. I gave the initial draft to Marcelle and from there it became a process of editing and selection through discussion and her critical feedback. Some poems were culled and replaced while the ms was also read by a select few whose feedback was also taken into account. Several poems were also heavily edited during this process as is always the case and so really, the final selection has been a deeply collaborative process.

2. What are you poetic influences?

It’s funny because during much of this time – a decade or more from which this collection is gathered I wrote way more than I read- I’ve just been going through an old file that runs to a staggering 3740 pages of Gogyohka (1) written between 2009 and 2012 – that aside from numerous unfinished collections up to 2017 – so if anything my influences likely came from much earlier. I’ve been told more than once my work reads like this or that poet, and in every instance it was the first I’d heard of them- something which I took as a compliment somehow and which reinforced in me that my work is headed in the right direction. Many of the poems written in this collection, when read at the time of writing, by strangers, took me to be a man – so there’s that ambiguity at play too, which I find interesting. As far as writers who remain with me – it is broad and eclectic; from Apollinaire, Bréton, to Steinbeck, Auden, Yeats, Joyce, Nin, Henry Miller, Lawrence Durrell, Octavio Paz, Lorca, Garcia Llosa, Rilke, Herman Hesse, Milan Kundera, Adrienne Rich, Woolf, to Nathalie Handal, to Brecht, Tom Waits, Simic, Ali Liebegott, Angifi Dladla and list of stunning African poets – I could go on and on – and then there’s Sonia Sanchez, Ferdinand Pessoa and Philip F Clark whose ‘Carnival of Affection’ just stops me dead in my tracks. Not sure how any this helps you..

(1) From Wkipedia:

Gogyohka(五行歌) is a five-line, untitled, Japanese poetic form. Unlike tanka (57577 syllables), Gogyohka has no restrictions on length.

Poets such as Kenji MiyazawaJun IshiwaraYūgure MaedaHakushu Kitahara, Toson Yashiro and Shinobu Orikuchi have written five-line poetry as free-style tankas since the Taishō period around the 1910s. However, they did not name the form.

In 1983, Enta Kusakabe named it Gogyohka (五行歌) and for the first time laid out the five rules of five-line poetry. He trademarked Gogyohka in Japan. The form of English Gogyohka is the same as that of free English tanka because both are untitled and are written in five free lines. As of 2018 at least five Gogyohka magazines existed: Gogyohka, Hamakaze, Minami no kaze, Sai  and Kojimachi club.

Five rules of Gogyohka by Enta Kusakabe (1983).

  • Gogyohka is a new form of short poem that is based on the ancient Japanese Tanka and Kodai kayo.
  • Gogyohka has five lines, but exceptionally may have four or six.
  • Each line of Gogyohka consists of one phrase with a line-break after each phrase or breath.
  • Gogyohka has no restraint on numbers of words or syllables.
  • The theme of Gogyohka is unrestricted.

The Review:

“This collection is where I began to reflecting on what it means to be woman and how it feels to experience love, life, loss and betrayal through a feminine gaze.”

from “A note from the author

It is the fluidity of Amantine’s poetry that strikes me first. “Falling Slowly”. Inner and outer indistinguishable. Fluid movement between both. Blocks of text. Imagery evolves out of imagery. It is a brilliant, amazing read from page to page. Inspirational. A book to dip into when your creative process is not operating correctly. Her book acts as oil to get the gears working again.

In Paris and Beyond

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

In Paris, we walked–through Montmartre, perhaps–
where people carried baguettes under their arms,
like my mother’s purse. Look, my parents said,
there, the Seine, the Mona Lisa, the Eiffel Tower—

and they glanced through guidebooks and at maps
for lost love, and Paris’s hidden charms
rekindled their passion for only a moment instead.
As the bells tolled the new year, the passing hours

my older sister read, and fed us scraps–
the story of the Danish prince; no harm
in telling this story of ghosts, the dead
return, my mom still sits amongst the flowers.

For dVerse, an attempt at Rimas Dissolutas.

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Waiting

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Waiting

Odilon Redon, The Muse on Pegasus

On a long wander, cold-breathed,
I think every spring’s a poet born
as from rain a rose—
yet, if we recall the red petals’ fall

in sun turns and moon cycles,
and after dusk’s berry-glow and bird-light flickers,
the deep song of ancient souls
carried on wind-fiddles–

now wait for light whispers
and the caramel breath of dawn,
a honeyed smile that lingers on treetops
and beneath, the lichen rocks
and moss blankets,

seeds rest,
knowing when to bloom.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. It’s cold here today.

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Colors of Time

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Monday Morning Musings:

Another Tree Spirit

Follow the shadows
through dreams colored with deep-time
longing. The seeds nested, specks
of hope, driven by time—
unleashed cycles, harmonic notes

star-born melodies
heard without, but held within
blood, skin, and organs—dust of
ancient incandescence
infinite shades of light from yesterday

merge with tomorrow
harmony and dissonance,
my parents speak in dream-time
enrooted in my mind
and heart, we are united

as midnight blue shifts
to violet, then golden
blaze, an ageless song of light
captured, remembered as
it passes, every color

in time, of time, time-
charged, time-changed by shifts of chance,
a crash, a brief encounter,
a prism of color
light reborn, transformed, transcendent.

The rising sun captured in a bottle.

I didn’t go anywhere this week or do anything special, but the changing temperatures and weather have made for some incredible skies. Influenced by Jane Dougherty, I decided to try…

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Listen, Recall

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Odilon Redon, Orpheus

In early morning hush,
the moon sings farewell,
gelid murmured notes
through white cat-paw clouds

if you listen, recall
light recalls time recalls light,
the ancient ships of night seas
ask when
ask what
you want
from the whispers and pulses
of mother music from earth and sky,

the fiddle, flute, and drums of
wind-beats and tree rustle,
the cardinal chirps and crow caws,
black on red on blue and green, every color
a promise, a warning
of what is and what was.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.

Ingrid at Experiments in Fiction is hosting a Global Assembly on Climate Change. Read more about it here.

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Listen, Recall

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Odilon Redon, Orpheus

In early morning hush,
the moon sings farewell,
gelid murmured notes
through white cat-paw clouds

if you listen, recall
light recalls time recalls light,
the ancient ships of night seas
ask when
ask what
you want
from the whispers and pulses
of mother music from earth and sky,

the fiddle, flute, and drums of
wind-beats and tree rustle,
the cardinal chirps and crow caws,
black on red on blue and green, every color
a promise, a warning
of what is and what was.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.

Ingrid at Experiments in Fiction is hosting a Global Assembly on Climate Change. Read more about it here.

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A Universe of Ghosts and Words

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Monday Morning Musings:

Ducks swim through sunrise clouds.

Apparitions slip
between worlds, linger like words–
the spoken and unsaid–each
waiting to be seen, heard,
read and remembered, infinite

combinations, in
every language, past, future
meld in the timeless sea where
yesterday’s twinkling light
haunts and comforts. Does tomorrow

on the horizon
give a straight-lined smile? Or false
the glimmer of hope? Sound and
fury—nothing or all?
Candles burn bright, yet mimic stars.

The light comes again
reverberations, colored
by space-time meandering
carrying messages
in microscopic dust missives.

Early Morning Reflections

Evening Snowfall

Now, winter’s blanket
lays etched with sharp lettering–
yet beneath, cursive tendrils
wait to write new stories
spirits and words hover, beckon

with endless stories,
whole books, unfinished chapters
brief verses, epic sagas,
chronicles and reports.
The universe shouts and whispers.

Sunrise!

I decided to try a wayra again. It forces me to think and choose words in…

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