Basil Bunting – a review

My Review of Basil Bunting here in the Fortnightly

Source: Basil Bunting – a review

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Basil Bunting – a review

Basil Bunting

My Review of Basil Bunting here

in the Fortnightly

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Reviews of Poets and other Articles in The Fortnightly Review


Here is an earlier review of several poets published back in November 2013 in The Fortnightly Review

It featured four poets: Kathryn Maris, Jackie Wills, George Elliott Clarke, Donald Gardner and Todd Colby.

For a complete list of links to other reviews of poets and my previous articles click here: The Fortnightly


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Westminster bells overwhelm our chants and slogans.
Anyway the commentators aren’t here to listen to us.
On temporary platforms constructed out of scaffolding,
They’re holding forth under listless Union Jacks.

They’re putting the network spin on events as they unfold,
While the flaky plane-trees leaning over everything
Will be here longer than any demonstration, even one that invites
Fluffy microphones and big no-nonsense cameras

Hoisted on shoulders to take a good look at its placards.
Interviews generate ribbons of vehemence soon for the cutting-room floor.
But here we are, the veterans of legendary marches,
The passionate old birds who have given up on appearance,

The leprechaun whose protest is peculiar to himself,
The young ones pitching whole-heartedly into the responses:
We’re here. We’re making our presence felt.
Some of us have brought our own megaphones

And seem dedicated to bursting the eardrums of the constables
In yellow over-jackets who keep trying to herd us back onto the
Pavement while remaining professionally aloof. To them
We’re simply a gathering their duty is to control; but actually

We are a groundswell, raising our banners, proud of our t-shirts;
Epithets grandly proclaimed on pieces of cardboard floating
Above our rucksacks, bringing our dogs to bark out our messages.
Masked in a leader’s likeness, we are waving bloody hands.

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The Longer Line

gpitts George Pitts

Following on from my essay on The Prose Poem, here is a new essay on The Longer Line


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The phrase, My garden is wanton, comes to me as I weed.

It feels somewhat Sitwellian.  Later, I’m off to a launch.

It’s one of my own generation who’ll hold forth: he’ll bring the league


Of greybeards out in force. The girls who used to get me

Into bed, quite willingly, by citing Jean Garrigue,

Sylvia Plath, John Berryman, they’re also past their prime,


Wrinkled, wrinkled as I am. Nowadays, I’m off the booze

And don’t want to talk to anyone who isn’t fresh, who

Doesn’t jog my memory of how the eyes would widen, widen,


Smitten by the synergy of intellectual chat.

But now I need a chair, no way am I going to manage listening

While standing up, ah, but what luck! One of the rarities


Actually sits down beside me. She leans to me for a word

And she is a joy forever, just as entirely engaged in what

Words are and what they do as I was at her age and am again


As we discuss the longer line and her notion of inventing some

New punctuation – I suggest an anti-exclamation mark.

We laugh together and her lovely eyes widen, widen.


I am far from dignified, my hollyhocks are mating with

The foxgloves. My garden is wanton, my garden is wanton…

And what is your name? I ask as we rise. Iris, she says.



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Anne-Marie Albiach


Very pleased to see our Grey Suit: Video for Art & Literature interview now posted here at PennSound

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