new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
This stages a situation which is by no means uncommon on these bleak winter-night city streets in these endarkened and disheartening times.The poetic reversal, projecting the capacity for mercy and compassion, here, into those who possess, in material terms, very little (or in many cases nothing at all), is (unfortunately) all too accurate a description of the real and frequently witnessed, heartbreaking case.Vassilis, your signature stylistic instrument, the breaking of a long sentence down into units, each the length of a line, each leaving the reader poised at a point of uncertainty, and then, just around the corner, rewarding that attention with a small gift of irony and surprise, is very wonderful.Amazing what thirty-five or forty years of assiduous application to a complex art can do, bringing things, now, to a point where the brilliance of the method is so well concealed that to a hasty reader it might "almost look easy".I am a slow reader, and careful as and when I can be. Here, this form of senior dementia (mine, that is), is always rewarded. And for that I am always more grateful than I am in the habit of being -- though at the same time much less grateful than I would probably be, were I able to spend what time remains to me living inside, learning from, and marveling over and over, at these gifts you continually offer, with no fanfare, to this ragged passerby.
Tom,What can I say? Apart from expressing my thanks for such a critique of my poetry, I also have to admit being overwhelmed by it, for I have always regarded what I write as lightweight ineffectual attempts and am always taken aback when someone expresses their admiration for it. On the other hand, such feedback gives me strength to continue and I’m grateful for having friends who generously supply it. What else can I say?
Go for it.That's all we ask of you.(I.e. everything!)