180 Degrees of 24 Years


Poetry may be a dying art. Certainly it died in my art (!) several decades ago, but I kept a few remnants and preserve them here.

The oldest ones of this bunch, the only ones I published, I rediscovered by chance in the Poetry Library of the Royal Festival Hall one busy day out on the banks of the River Thames. Living in London is an amazing experience, another thing everyone should try once, and it blew me away to realise that parts of me were already there in the library.

That day was many years after these poems were written, and is now even longer ago than that, so some of them are really old (meaning young) poems.

How to introduce them? Crazy immature symbolist Rimbaudian free verse with Bruce Dawe aspirations, hmmm…

(smacks lips) I’d say late-80’s, right? Early 80’s! OK.

Thank you Alter Ego #3



Do I understand your comment?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s