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Wishing for
More |
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I don't usually do this on
reading a book of poems. Not knowing the previously praised works of the
well-travelled (he has lived in Manchester, New York and, latterly in
Istanbul) John Ash beforehand, I thought it blameless to note how many poems
in his latest collection, The Parthian Stations, I liked. Of the c.87 poems in the book, I liked ten,
all of them short. It reminded me of when I was young and used to mark the
number of great poems I found in the works of great poets. A very high score
was six, with two or three more likely figures. So, on that basis, Mr Ash
isn't doing too badly. Except that none of the ten poems of his I liked are
'great' poems. Nor do I suspect, from the generally life-weary, Cafavyesque,
Manchester-in-the-rain tone of his personal statements, would Mr Ash claim
that for them, either. |
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One certainly wishes J.P. Greene
no harm; indeed, any neutral should wish his The Optics of Evening God's speed on its voyage of discovery. The fact that
his chosen path is poetry, however, seems to me to complicate rather than
elucidate matters. Even Greene himself feels the need not to claim to be a
'professional poet'. Sensible man, if he means a greetings card versifier.
But Greene has higher motives. In a 21-page preface to the poems, he suggests
that the multiplicity of poetries available today actually 'constricts vision
and biases judgement' while asking plaintively 'have they any surprises
left?'. This would seem to be an answer carefully disguised as a question. Well,
if it is, it has proved difficult for this reader, for one, to grasp what new
surprises the author had in mind for us. As I say, one wishes him no harm,
especially as he has chosen an obviously less than easy, verbally dense
and/or elusive way forward, which, nevertheless, strives for achievement, as
in Part XV of 'Hologram Variations': |