All posts filed under: Poets

‘Delta’ and other poems by Stephanie Conn

Wie is de vrouw on de overkant?   Who is the woman on the other side? It was the only phrase that stuck in months of pre-trip conversation class.   As I struggled with the syntax, it became clear you were a natural, spending hours in the lab perfecting your grasp.   You couldn’t wait to track down a local to ask how to say I love you? Ik hou van you, you said, content with your acquisition.   You led me in the appropriate response, encouraged me to practise daily. Ik hou ook van you; all it took to keep you happy.   The towns we visited belonged to you, their guttural place names all tongue and throat; Groningen, Maastricht, Utrecht.   You strode through their stone streets listing the features of gothic churches, as I fumbled with a bi-lingual map.   (first published in the Yellow Nib)   Delta   The dilapidated hut at the sand’s edge is a trick of the light, and shadows lift to reveal a delicate arrangement of driftwood, …

Looking at how the media presented the Oxford Professor of Poetry Election for VIDA !

There is an interest for women poets in how media presents electoral processes like the recent Oxford Professor of Poetry appointment. Just as there is an interest in how media views poetry generally. “I would like to see something different at the next election. I would like to see the media discussing women poets and the benefits that they can bring to the chair, and how their role can influence emerging women poets. I feel that this can be achieved by speaking to women candidates with intelligence and not utilising them as filler material in your ossified view of what poetry is.” (VIDA)   I started Poethead as a platform that could create visibility for women poets and their translators. Poetry is primarily a process of creation, however, media often engages with poetry at the point where it has become a product, often within the published book. This convergence of media and poetry was always going to be problematic. That a lifetime of creative effort goes into a finished book or books is not recognised by …

‘Sylvia Plath You are Dead’ and other poems by Elaine Feeney

Charles Bukowski is my Dad   He stands with me in the best-dressed-lady-line, holding open my pearl lace umbrella to the ravaging Galway rain.   He calls me up on blue Mondays and gives me whiskey on bold Fridays.   He fills up my father-space He fills up my mind-space He fills up my hot-water bottle   His advice fills up my cheer and revives my rotted liver,   but that’s a small price to pay because Bukowski’s my Dad.   He’s my feather pillow and my guitar string.   He’s my soccer coach and sex therapist   He paints my nails pepperminty green and sings   raindrops keep falling on my head on wicked trips to the racetrack. But that’s a small price to because Bukowski’s my dad.   Biteens   Little biteens of people, pieces all over the raven pavements and sprayed on the cracked gutters, bits of them strewn on the carpeted lanes, and propped against wheeley bins like the carcasses of bored butlers, bits of them.   Biteens of people, shards …

‘modern art’ and other poems by Anamaría Crowe Serrano

the stress clinic it’s ok no one need know only negligible impending threat i’m going to leave you let healing happen i’m turning left into the coffee shop it’s easy like this one step one more comforting to sit even on seats slashed by spooks i can wait learn patience is learnt on the edge other worlds where others wait for the breath something that “presents” a hiatus between one distress and the nest you’re reluctant to leave it’s ok the world is out there still the density you love suspended in space preparing the next problem for you to solve you’re good at that talented are you ok? me too it’s just the acid sprung on a tensile in my stomach at ulica Freta, 16 – before radium or polonium the wood seeps into your bones in a room that lives as if its grain & whorls were part of your nervous system – smooth marrow – polished in your tea one lump, two meticulous the molecules contract till they disappear optical illusions have …

AND AGAMEMNON DEAD : An Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish Poetry

Originally posted on Michael J. Whelan – Writer:
And Agamemnon DeadAn Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish PoetryEdited by Peter O’Neill & Walter Ruhlmann Hi everyone, I’m really happy to announce that a brand new anthology of contemporary Irish poetry has been published today (St Patrick’s Day) in Paris and I am also delighted to say that I have five poems included in the collection alongside a number of exciting and interesting new voices coming out of Ireland in the these early years of the 21st Century. And Agamemnon Dead An Anthology of Early Twenty First Century Irish Poetry, Edited by Peter O’Neill & Walter Ruhlmann is published by Muavaise Graine (Paris 2015) – see https://www.facebook.com/mgversion2datura and among its 187 pages you will find poetry from Michael McAloran — Amos Greig — Dylan Brennan — Christine Murray — Arthur Broomfield — Peter O’ Neill — Rosita Sweetman — Michael J. Whelan — Anamaría Crowe Serrano — Peadar O’ Donoghue — Strider Marcus Jones — Colm Kearns — John Saunders — Kevin Higgins — Paul Casey…