Drop in by Sanjeev Sethi

Nigel Kent's avatarNigel Kent - Poet and Reviewer

It is generally the practice in this blog to invite poets to reflect on their debut collections. Just occasionally, however, I have invited more established poets whose work has been recognised nationally. Today, however, I am honoured to invite a poet with an international reputation, the remarkable, Sanjeev Sethi to reflect upon his latest publication, Wrappings in Bespoke (Hedgehog Poetry Press, 2022)

Let me begin by thanking Nigel Kent, the stellar poet, for this opportunity. In our global village, we have much to thank for technology and its subsidiary: Socmed. Nigel and I ‘met’ on Twitter, which is the genesis of my being on this blog.

Wrappings in Bespoke is my seventh book of poems. It was launched on August 14, 2022, by the Hedgehog Poetry Press, UK.  Mark Davidson, as all of you reading this know, is the brain and bazooka behind Hedgehog. I participated in the Full Fat…

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Celebrate #WorldPhotographyDay. Join Gaynor Kane and I. I will feature your photography/published/unpublished poetry/short prose/artworks about photography, or ekphrastic work inspired by a photo. Please include a short third person bio.

20220514130044_IMG_124120220514131827_IMG_130320220514140222_IMG_146720220514140714_IMG_147820220514142449_IMG_154120220514144328_IMG_1609

-photos by Gaynor Kane

Instamatic

Apple cake wedges and currant buns
downed with ambrosia from brown chequered flasks.
Only chipped cups with blue and white stripes
made it outdoors –
alfresco dining saving the hay,
inhaling the musty black and white square.

-Marie Studer ©2022

WP_20170807_20_55_56_ProWP_20171130_19_47_49_Pro

Two photos by Paul Brookes

Bio and Links

Gaynor Kane

is from Belfast and dabbles in writing, painting and photography. Her latest poetry pamphlet examines love in all it’s forms. More info at www.gaynorkane.com 

-Marie Studer

is a past winter of the Trocáire Poetry Ireland Competition, twice winner of the Bangor Ekphrastic Poetry Challenge and shortlisted in the Northwest Words Poetry Competition. Recently published in The Stony Thursday Book, Drawn to the Light Press, Bangor Literary Magazine, Spilling Cocoa Over Martin Amis, The Storms, Not the Time To Be Silent Anthology.

Poem featured in Raining Poetry in Adelaide

Thom Sullivan's avatarThom Sullivan

One of my poems is among 20 that have been tagged on the footpaths of Adelaide’s CBD, using invisible paint that appears only when it rains. My poem (‘To remember that a tree / is aired in sky as much / as it’s grounded in earth.’) can be found near the corner of Union and Grenfell Streets, opposite the Crown & Anchor Hotel. Many thanks to the Raining Poetry in Adelaide team, the JM Coetzee Centre for Creative Practice, and the City of Adelaide.

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Wombwell Rainbow Book Interviews: “The Ruin of Eleanor Marx” by Mark A. Murphy

Murphy Eleanor Marx Cover_VA01[1857] crop

-Mark A. Murphy

Mark A. Murphy has had work published in 18 countries. He is a 3 time Pushcart Nominee, and has published eight books of poetry to date.. German publisher ‘Moloko Print’ published his latest collection, ‘The Ruin of Eleanor Marx’ in the summer of 2022.

He states: I have always thought that poetry can change lives, and still do. I believe artists have a responsibility to step up to the mark, and say the things, others, perhaps less privileged, would like to, or are unable to say. If humanity is to survive the current and impending ecological disaster beyond the next generation, we must learn new ways of living together.

His book may be purchased here http://www.molokoplusrecords.de/finder.php?folder=Print

The Interview

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

The poems wrote themselves. I was only the conduit for ‘divine’ inspiration, so the book fell together quite organically. However, there is a beginning, middle and end, and the poems do have a loose chronological unity. The book starts with Eleanor’s birth under the ‘mocking eaves of Dean Street’ and ends with her death, and then the death of Eleanor’s middle sister, Laura (the last surviving Marx sibling) and her husband Paul Lafargue.

Moreover, the book reads like a potted biography, discussing everything from Marx’s  own obsessive love sickness for Eleanor, to Eleanor’s obsessive love sickness for her    common law husband, Dr Aveling.

2. The poems are full of historical details about life at that time. How did you assemble this knowledge?

Some of the historical background I was already familiar with. However, I did a lot of research, reading books and letters and studying numerous online essays and articles about Eleanor’s life.

One document in particular, ‘Tussy’s Great Delusion – Eleanor Marx’s Death Revisited,’ (a letter from Maria Mendelson to Vera Zasulich) had laid buried in the archives for over 120 years, detailing Aveling’s boasts and sex crimes. This document proved invaluable, revealing Aveling as a serial rapist, not least of all, against Eleanor herself, whom he used to drug with chloroform before raping.  

3. How important was it for the historical details to appeal to all the five sense of the reader?

Certainly, in setting the scene for Victoria’s London, this was a consideration. I guess some poems work better than others in this respect. ‘Night Soil’ might best exemplify this aspect of the writing, with the Baroness left hanging in Leicester Square greeted by ‘halos of sulphuric gas,’ ‘manure, cesspools, hand shakes.’ Then ‘black rain,’ ‘cats, dogs,’ ‘ rancid mutton,’ ‘consumptive gin joints,’ and ‘human excrement.’ A veritable merry-go-round for the senses.

4. Why are some words in capital letters?

I borrowed the idea from Frank Bidart. Sometimes, capitalisation is used as a red herring, quite meaningless. Other times, it is essentially polemic. It’s up to the READER to decide. In terms of how the text looks aesthetically (on the page) it unifies or integrates disparate elements. A stylistic device that engages the eye more rigorously.

5. How important is the white space in your poetry?

Again, it really depends on the poem. If you take a poem like ‘Human Shaped Emptiness,’ the white space becomes all important.  The white space is concrete, and is a metaphor, in and of itself, for the ‘abyss.’ Some of the poems appear as fragments, divided by the white space of several blank lines, which allows the various clauses to breathe. I’m a big fan of white space, but one has to get the balance right for it to make a difference to the form. I’m quite obsessive about how the poem translates into an image on the page. A poem has a way of greeting you just at a fleeting glance. The ‘picture’ a poems paints in silhouette on the page affects the overall unity of form and content. Get it right, and it’s a joy to look at, as well as read.

6. Why did you choose to use the very Victorian weighted word “ruin” in the title? 

The Ruin of Eleanor Marx, has a certain assonance about it, which I liked. It also covers all bases, regarding the course of her life. The ruin starts early on for Eleanor. She is born into a patriarchal society, to a father who has an ‘obsessive love sickness’ for her. Four of her siblings die in infancy, further complicating her sense of self and feelings of injustice at the world, which she is powerless to ameliorate.

Her relationships take on the same ‘obsessive’ character. Her teenage engagement to the Communard, Lissagaray (a man twice her age) proves ill fated, given in part to her disapproving father, and her own inability to cut the apron strings. Her common law marriage to Aveling, a man she cannot save, despite her infatuation with doing so. Ruin is on the cards at every turn. Abject poverty, anorexia nervosa, death in the family, unrealistic expectations, bitter disappointment, all play their part. The disunity of ideas and practice unravel into a picture of ruin that is impossible to escape.

‘Ruin’ is the watchword in the Shakespearian tragedy that proves to be the primary focus of her experience. ‘Ruin’ is the only experience for the vast majority in Victoria’s Britain. Finally, Dr Aveling’s promise: ‘utter ruin… down to the last penny,’ (that would’ve put the entire movement, and everything Eleanor was fighting for, in jeopardy) roots Eleanor’s story in everything that would eventually prove fatal to her.

7. How hard was it to avoid slipping into “melodrama” that was often the genre of Victorian England?

One tries to avoid the pitfalls of spectacle and soap opera but that’s really for the reader to decide.

8. What is the purpose of repetition of phrases in your poetry? I am thinking particularly of “The Emigre Philosopher”.

Repetition acts as a refrain, concentrating the mind of the reader on what is being proposed. In this instance: ‘Where is the man of the moment,’ acts ironically, to pull the chain of Herr Marx, the man of action and ideas. The refrain acts as a veiled criticism of praxis. ‘The man of the moment’ is a phrase that frames Marx in the context of history. In some sense, even history has its expectations of him. ‘The man of the moment’ is a conduit for the struggle. He acts as the historical agent of change, and at the same time, is acted upon by the very machinery of cruelty he seeks to overturn.

9. There seems to be an omniscient narrator who expresses opinions and descriptions throughout the book. How deliberate is this?

The omniscient narrator is a reflection of the collective consciousness. The ‘I, me, my’ of the default poem is replaced by ‘we, us, our,’ in an attempt to put the reader at the centre of the narrative. Opinions and descriptions come from the universal mind as opposed to one all knowing mind. In ‘Song for Tussy’ for example: ‘We choose to love you as a poet/

for in poetry we find no preconceptions…’ the narrator is the people. The universal appropriates the particular, making love the common expression of the people’s will.

10. In “Time Travel” you write “we scribble with no intention of making sense.” What does this comment on the poems you have written?

It is not the job of the poet to make sense, per se. Moreover, no matter what we write, the past can’t be undone. Time can never be conquered, as Auden had said.  The dead can’t be restored to life, which ultimately turns any attempts at rehabilitation into an absurdity. It is up to the reader to make sense, or not, of what is written.

11. Once they have read your book what do you want the reader to leave with?

It would be nice to think that the poetry might facilitate further interest in Eleanor Marx, and her ideas. Namely, that human nature isn’t fixed, or intrinsically bad. But that people can change their outlook, and make a difference, in a world that is heading towards the destruction of organised human life on this planet.

Celebrate #BlackCatAppreciationDay. You are very welcome to join Valerie Bence and I. I will feature your published/unpublished poetry/short prose/artworks about/mentioning black cats. Please include a short third person bio.

pilchCat        feline anorexia        draft


Before
‘’Please eat’’ I said as in that remembered time,
to a child, but yellow eyes blink
he turns his head away from food, all food, any food.
I watch his life leak away.

He moves less and less, a fading black line
a kitten curve of spine and hips,
just scaffolding below stretched skin;
had there been snow
he would barely have made a dint.

No more meeting me at the door after work
his call not a meow, more a weakening
duck-like half-quack.
He would perch on my shoulder,
parrot to my pirate, balancing

light as a feather on the birds he watches
no energy for anything but purring.
Back at the vets he was well-behaved, compliant –
wise he seemed, as we discussed life and death;
a week of treats and love, sleeping on my bed

after
then, a single needle in cool black coat,
between one breath and another he left afloat
on dreams of owl prowls. The tiny tinny bell I still hear
would tell of ins and outs in dark and light
and all the gifts brought in from night.

After, I look up and notice a bundle of balloons
caught high in the aspen over the road,
they deflate slowly one by one.
I loved enough to do it. Watching the trapped balloons
I hope someone loves me enough to do the same.

-Valerie Bence

Bios and Links

-Valerie Bence

After a university career, Valerie completed a poetry MA at MMU in 2018. She is an ekphrastic poet encompassing artworks, truth, memory, place and time. Her first collection was Falling in love with a dead man (Cinnamon Press 2019) and second Overlap (the Emma Press 2022). She was shortlisted for the Poetry School/Nine Arches Primers 4 (2018), Fish Poetry prize (2019), longlisted for the Ginkgo Prize (2019) and has poems in several anthologies. She has worked with the British Museum and the Scott Polar Research Institute in Cambridge. She is a Mum and a Nonna and lives in Bucks. 

Celebrate #NationalTellAJokeDay. Please join Colin Dardis and I. I will feature your published/unpublished joke poetry/short joke prose/joke artworks. Please include a short third person bio.

tell a joke day

A few groaners for #NationalTellAJokeDay:

Two hippies cleaning up after a house party:
1st hippy: “Where’s your bin, man?”
2nd hippy: “Doesn’t come ’til Tuesday, man.”

What do you call a female taxidermist?
Stuff-a-knee.

Why did the polygamist cross the road?
To get to his other bride.

-Colin Dardis

Bio And Links

-Colin Dardis

is a neurodivergent poet, editor and sound artist from Northern Ireland. His latest collection is All This Light In Which To See The Dead: Pandemic Journals 2020-21 (Rancid Idols Productions, 2022).

Happy #RollerCoasterDay. Please join Ivor Daniel with I. I will feature your published/unpublished poetry/short prose/artworks about/mentioning Roller Coasters. Please include a short third person bio.

roller coaster dayPerfect Bed

I dream I am at Bembom Brothers
Dreamland funfair park
with Tracey Emin.
Hard by Margate sands.

I know I shouldn’t drink that Vodka
on the Helter Skelter.
Apart from that,
a Day as Perfect as the Lou Reed song.

We Kiss with Fish and Chips Lips,
Join Hips. A Turner Sunset
Going Down.

I guess it is the Golden Hour.
Blair’s Babes
and even some of his men MP’s
are busy Changing a whole heap of things
for the Better.

Back in your room
we remember that
we even Changed the Bed this morning.

The linen soft and cool next to our Optimistic skin.

(This poem has previously appeared online in iamb-wave seven
and in Fevers of the Mind).

-Ivor Daniel

My Adrenalin

instead of man
ufactured fairground
strapped in
artificial
accelerated heart pumping

give me no ropes
tentative feet locked
into postage stamp ledges
half way up 300 foot rockface
knee trembling
frantic hands search
above for gap in stone.

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

-Ivor Daniel

lives in Gloucestershire, UK. His  poems have appeared in A Spray of Hope, wildfire words, Steel Jackdaw, Writeresque, iamb, Fevers of the Mind, The Trawler 2021, Roi Fainéant, Ice Floe Press, The Dawntreader, After…, Alien Buddha, The Wombwell Rainbow, Block Party and Black Nore Review. Right now (August 2022) he has poems forthcoming in Re-Side, Lit. 202, The Orchard Lea Anthology (Cancer) and The Crump’s Barn Anthology (Halloween).

Find him on Twitter @IvorDaniel

Poem published in The Saltbush Review

Thom Sullivan's avatarThom Sullivan

My poem ‘Dance of the Last Rhino’ has been published in Issue 2 of The Saltbush Review, an important new journal which focuses on connecting the South Australian literary community with readers and writing spaces across the world. Many thanks to Lyn, Gemma, Melanie, Clare, and Theodora of the editorial team.

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Anthony Howell: Envelopes

The High Window Review's avatarThe High Window

Anthony Howell‘s poem, ‘Envelopes’, is inspired by the life and work of Mark Lombardi, an American neo-conceptual artist who specialized in drawings that document alleged financial and political frauds by power brokers, government agencies and organised crime, thus mapping abuses of control. His suicide by hanging is disputed.

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Mark_Lombardi

Mark Lombardi  (1961-2000)

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Anthony has supplied the following  introduction to his poem:

Perhaps the reader’s  appreciation of this poem might be enhanced by some discourse around it. Aphrodite – goddess of Beauty, not Love – was the wife of Hephaistos, the blacksmith and arms-dealer to the gods. In her book Interlock – Art, Conspiracy, and the Shadow Worlds of Mark Lombardi (Counterpoint, Berkley 2015) Patricia Goldstone argues that the global web of corruption and terror that Lombardi delineates graphically is akin to a rhizome in the sense that it does not have a single head, but like a…

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River Poet, Behold Dawn

merrildsmith's avatarYesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Sunrise Clouds over the Delaware River

River Poet, Behold Dawn

after the storms,
moon-shadows danced to fiddle tunes
and dreams swirled in the air,
dressing the forests in purple light,
the gowns made of love, lust, hope, and fear.

These, the pictures that dangle beyond reach
in an endless gallery–
though I will recall some, if I can,
before they vanish in the apricot sky,
in the susurration of the river,
and the cries of ospreys carrying them far into the clouds.

This seems like something I’d share in my Monday Morning Musings, but one doesn’t argue with the Oracle.

After the horrible heat and humidity, we finally got some rain—not enough—but we had a beautiful day yesterday and beautiful weather that will last through the weekend. And there was a full moon. Last night, I had some interesting dreams. The Oracle knows everything.

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