O settlement! What do we mean when
we say ‘love’? The least kills the greatest
with ease, one stone does it. What do we
mean when we talk about distance? The
flames kindled, the figures leap and dance,
but only in the corner of your eye when
your gaze isn’t towards that stone wall.
What do we mean by self? Shift, and shift
again. What air comes between ‘me’ and
‘you’, and how is it charged? There is an
urgency in morning runners, but if they’re
not running to or from they might as well
mark time. Why is there more conversation
between late-autumn trees and those of full
summer? “Last night I saw a street full of
people, faces down but illuminated.” Why
do you push? O vitality! Why make such
an apostrophe, when there are children
dying? A career, even that of the Jagannath
cart, has an inevitable end. Why go to the
ends of the earth seeking a whole number?
There are still some copies left of my T.S. Eliot Prize-nominated poetry collection I am not a fish, direct from the publisher, though I suspect that they might not keep it in stock for much longer. So now would be a good time to buy a copy. How I hate running a commercial here!
Please visit and read Daniel Paul Marshall’s response to my short article on difficult poetry.