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Stevie Smith

Posted 12-20-2010 at 04:58 PM by Steve Bucknell
Updated 01-29-2011 at 03:48 PM by Steve Bucknell
I like this early poem by Stevie Smith, a typical mixture of melancholy and cheesy oddity, difficult to paraphrase or interpret. Her poetry and novels have moved in and out of fashion since their first publication. Her poetry remains delightfully sui generis.



Night-Time In The Cemetery



The funeral paths are hung with snow
About the graves the mourners go
To think of those who lie below.
The churchyard pales are black against...
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Jeremy Taylor

Posted 12-19-2010 at 04:13 PM by Steve Bucknell
Updated 02-01-2011 at 05:10 PM by Steve Bucknell
The robin waits as I pour hot water into the birdbath, slowly melting the ice. For most of this day I think there won’t be any quote to continue this book of the winter, then I find this passage in my 1850 W.Pickering copy of Taylor’s Holy Dying, and the phrase “they dwell upon ice” finds a place here.


Holy Dying


Man never hath one day to himself of entire peace from the things of this world; but either something troubles him, or nothing satisfies...
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Don Van Vliet

Posted 12-18-2010 at 05:34 AM by Steve Bucknell
Updated 01-18-2011 at 03:16 PM by Steve Bucknell
This morning snatches of Moonlight on Vermont ring out across the snow, across the frozen reservoirs , the stilled airports and stalled motorways of the U.K. The BBC Radio Four news marks the passing of Captain Beefheart , adopted as one of our own, loved here for his humour, his originality and his failure to find conventional success. Cherished by the beloved John Peel and a generation of musicians and writers and bedroom dreamers. He still comes rumbling through our petrified forest.
...
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Kurt Schwitters

Posted 12-17-2010 at 05:37 AM by Steve Bucknell
Updated 01-30-2011 at 09:43 AM by Steve Bucknell
Dada artist, refugee, master of the spicileging arts. Kurt Schwitters (20 June 1887 - 8 January 1948.)


Ice Clocks



Boil clocks boil breathe ice

Ember crumbles ember simmer ice

Clocks cook clocks ice simmer ember

Clocks cook ice

Mimosa, orange, aphrodite, tulip flora, aphrodite.

I drift through life a dead fish.




Trans.Jerome Rothenberg....
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George Mackay Brown

Posted 12-16-2010 at 03:02 AM by Steve Bucknell
Updated 02-18-2011 at 06:53 AM by Steve Bucknell
When George Mackay Brown had his first collection The Storm published by the Orkney Press in 1954. Edwin Muir wrote in the forward: "Grace is what I find in these poems."



Weather Bestiary


Rain

The unicorn melts through his prism. Sodden hooves
Have deluged the corn with light.

Wind

A fisherman wets his finger. The eyelash
Of the grey stallion flicks his blood with cold....
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