b’s Reviews > The Long Poem anthology > Status Update
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is on page 245 of 343
George Bowering: Allophanes.
Maybe the best long poem so far.
From the "XXVI Dispersoid" section:
"Bye, Mama / we are engaged. / Language rings us."
An epic about a snowball and language. This poem loves me the way I love this poem.
— Dec 28, 2017 11:12AM
Maybe the best long poem so far.
From the "XXVI Dispersoid" section:
"Bye, Mama / we are engaged. / Language rings us."
An epic about a snowball and language. This poem loves me the way I love this poem.
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is finished
Nichol, martyrology IV, which I've already read on it's own. Nice statements from some of the poets.
— Jan 18, 2018 07:14PM
b
is on page 265 of 343
Roy Kiyooka: The Fontainebleau Dream Machine.
I wasn't sure about this. I had a hard time. But then I tried again when I was sleepy; most poems have a key 🔑and sleepy was third one's key! I love it so much. Some really bizarre verbs and constant weird telescoping in and out of ideas and images; lovesss it.
"the 7th Frame show / the Hand of the unseen Poet turning into a palimpsest"
— Jan 18, 2018 07:12PM
I wasn't sure about this. I had a hard time. But then I tried again when I was sleepy; most poems have a key 🔑and sleepy was third one's key! I love it so much. Some really bizarre verbs and constant weird telescoping in and out of ideas and images; lovesss it.
"the 7th Frame show / the Hand of the unseen Poet turning into a palimpsest"
b
is on page 204 of 343
Frank Davey: King of Swords.
I like this. Shame that the poem (or how the poem channels Arthur) is pretty misogynistic.
"viii Once, I went after my roommate / with a beerbottle, was restrained. / That morning he, nor I – / no one fuckt her, / & the story dies / like an empire rusting in its scabbard."
— Dec 05, 2017 04:46PM
I like this. Shame that the poem (or how the poem channels Arthur) is pretty misogynistic.
"viii Once, I went after my roommate / with a beerbottle, was restrained. / That morning he, nor I – / no one fuckt her, / & the story dies / like an empire rusting in its scabbard."
b
is on page 180 of 343
Robin Blaser: The Moth Poem
"the wet / touches / spring a trap in personal / history, / interior, riotous / smokers / of poetry bathe among the ruins, / slip off the rocks"
Not my thing really.
— Dec 03, 2017 07:12PM
"the wet / touches / spring a trap in personal / history, / interior, riotous / smokers / of poetry bathe among the ruins, / slip off the rocks"
Not my thing really.
b
is on page 159 of 343
Don McKay: Long Sault.
Sillier than I knew he could be. Not my fav tho.
"And here's old Highway 2 who followed you / everywhere. / Always the comic, now he surfaces / to hump an islet / and subside. / I have to go. Rest easy / and so long."
— Nov 28, 2017 10:34AM
Sillier than I knew he could be. Not my fav tho.
"And here's old Highway 2 who followed you / everywhere. / Always the comic, now he surfaces / to hump an islet / and subside. / I have to go. Rest easy / and so long."
b
is on page 122 of 343
Daphne Marlatt: Steveston.
"This is the story of a town, these are the people, whose history locates inside of dream..."
"Only, always to dream of erotic ghosts of the flowering earth, to return to a decomposed ground choked by refuse, profit, & the concrete of private property, to find yourself disinherited from your claim to the earth."
— Nov 27, 2017 09:20PM
"This is the story of a town, these are the people, whose history locates inside of dream..."
"Only, always to dream of erotic ghosts of the flowering earth, to return to a decomposed ground choked by refuse, profit, & the concrete of private property, to find yourself disinherited from your claim to the earth."
b
is on page 80 of 343
Stuart MacKinnon, The Intervals.
"there is that point in winter / when the weather controls us / and the earth seems dead / when rich Canadian physicians / go south to catch the first spring / and escape the dreadful pause / that old people die in / when suicides are plentiful / and prisoners stab each other / or strangle in sheets / like winding umbilical cords"
— Nov 23, 2017 12:50PM
"there is that point in winter / when the weather controls us / and the earth seems dead / when rich Canadian physicians / go south to catch the first spring / and escape the dreadful pause / that old people die in / when suicides are plentiful / and prisoners stab each other / or strangle in sheets / like winding umbilical cords"
b
is on page 44 of 343
Robert Kroetsch, Seed Catalogue.
"The gopher was the model. / Stand up straight: / telephone poles / grain elevators 🌾/ church steeples. / Vanish, suddenly: the / gopher was the model."
"Now in this dream condition, as dream-time fuses into the kind of narrative we call myth, we change the nature of the novel. And we start, with a new and terrible energy, to write the poems of the imagined real place."
— Nov 22, 2017 03:52PM
"The gopher was the model. / Stand up straight: / telephone poles / grain elevators 🌾/ church steeples. / Vanish, suddenly: the / gopher was the model."
"Now in this dream condition, as dream-time fuses into the kind of narrative we call myth, we change the nature of the novel. And we start, with a new and terrible energy, to write the poems of the imagined real place."
