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Articles by Carmella de Keyser
Poem Of The Week: Facing The Music By Mairéad Byrne
arts Facing the Music It's not frost; it's snow It's not backfire; it's gun-fire It's not fun; it's alcoholism It's not a tantrum; it's violence It's not witty; it's abuse It's not marriage; it's divorce It's not anger; it's rage It's not nothing; it's a lump It's not fear; it's reality It's not sleep; it's death It's not au revoir; it's the end Perhaps the misinterpretation or studied re-appropriation of words and expressions, is allowed a greater degree of latitude in a language as prone to...
Review: Peas On Your Knees - A Life In The Poems Of Michael Rosen
arts To read Michael Rosen’s poems out loud is to hear an echo. For to give voice to a random selection of his most performable verses is to be accompanied by Rosen himself, declaiming at one’s shoulder, but with infinitely greater skill and idiosyncratic grace. We are drowned out in his estimable company, or we would be were we to be sharing a real platform, and not a settee in the living room of our heads.
Poem Of The Week: From Cheshire By Kit Wright
arts From Cheshire For Anna Come home safe: I think of you driving Over the Runcorn Bridge in our senile car, Its toothless ratchets, arthritic pistons conniving To take me away from wherever you are. Its steering like that old prostitute working a living on Huskisson Street outside our door: Its raggedy brake shoes thin as the wind, giving Nothing but ice to your foot on the floor.
Poem Of The Week: Among The Talk And The Laughter By Norman MacCaig (1910-1996)
arts Among the Talk and the Laughter Why does he fall silent? Why does that terrible, sad look tell he has gone away? He has died too often. And something has been said that makes him aware of the bodies floating face downwards in his mind. Norman MacCaig's haunted poem occupies a space between conversation and abstraction: temporarily losing sight of his surroundings, the narrator's gaze is drawn to the poem's subject, whose mien suggests an existential vacancy occasioned by terrible experience.
Understanding The Stone: The Green Parcel By John Challis
arts Visiting a medieval country church whose bells were forged during the reign of Elizabeth I, and whose tones must have tolled the passing of the Civil War and the Napoleonic dead, we were reminded of another form of commemoration, in the numberless wedding celebrants who also passed this way over the intervening centuries.
Poem Of The Week: Soirée By Peter Reading (1946-2011)
arts Soirée One funny thing about loving someone is how much you'll put up with - her parents' conversazione for example, or being sweet to these fools she works with who smoke inferior cigars and think it's savoir vivre, and drag me back to drink inadequately and long past my bedtime, and put on records (God!) stuff like Ray Conniff. And all their damn fool questions 'tell me Peter, what do you write about?' (cunts like you mate).
Poem Of The Week: Soirée By Peter Reading (1946-2011)
arts Soirée One funny thing about loving someone is how much you'll put up with - her parents' conversazione for example, or being sweet to these fools she works with who smoke inferior cigars and think it's savoir vivre, and drag me back to drink inadequately and long past my bedtime, and put on records (God!) stuff like Ray Conniff. And all their damn fool questions 'tell me Peter, what do you write about?' (cunts like you mate).
Poem Of The Week: Soirée By Peter Reading (1946-2011)
arts Soirée One funny thing about loving someone is how much you'll put up with - her parents' conversazione for example, or being sweet to these fools she works with who smoke inferior cigars and think it's savoir vivre, and drag me back to drink inadequately and long past my bedtime, and put on records (God!) stuff like Ray Conniff. And all their damn fool questions 'tell me Peter, what do you write about?' (cunts like you mate).
Poem Of The Week: Soirée By Peter Reading (1946-2011)
arts Soirée One funny thing about loving someone is how much you'll put up with - her parents' conversazione for example, or being sweet to these fools she works with who smoke inferior cigars and think it's savoir vivre, and drag me back to drink inadequately and long past my bedtime, and put on records (God!) stuff like Ray Conniff. And all their damn fool questions 'tell me Peter, what do you write about?' (cunts like you mate).
Poem Of The Week: Thirlmere By Rhiannon Hooson
arts Thirlmere After we lit the last candle the gales couldn't hold us any more. Along the lanes the walls had begun to slump, water sluicing through them green as grass, but we drove through anyway and out into the valley. The fields were polished flat. Trees were hung with drooping ropes of fleece that caught the breeze like kudzu.
Poem Of The Week: A Winter Night By William Barnes (1801-1886)
arts A Winter Night It was a chilly winter's night; And frost was glittering on the ground, And evening stars were twinkling bright; And from the gloomy plain around Came no sound, But where, within the wood-girt tow'r, The churchbell slowly struck the hour; As if that all of human birth Had risen to the final day, And soaring from the worn-out earth Were called in hurry and dismay, Far away ; And I alone of all mankind Were left in loneliness behind.
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