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The divisions of real life can disappear in poetry. Partly through metaphor, partly through the surprise of a poet's vision, we are shown a landscape that is both with and without walls.
I'm drawn to what you might think of as traditional lyric poetry; it's an enduring, effective, powerful means of expression.
The opposite of the octopus's disappearing trick: the poem creates a cloud of ink in order to appear behind it (rather to its own surprise).
In the face of loss - human, natural, temporal - McQueen finds salvation in language. Often her work is about artistic endeavour itself: the desire to freeze time, the realisation that this is impossible - Sarah Quigley
I take what the world throws at me, and spin, twist, skim, fly, flip, throw it back - Selima Hill
B. 1608 D. 1674
Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit / Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste / Brought death into the world, and all our woe. 'Paradise Lost'
B. 1818 D. 1848
Vain are the thousand creeds / That move men's hearts... Emily Bronte
On the shelf, vases, goblets, urns / trailing lines of colour, cloud bowls, / sun, moon and earth for an ashram, / all shining in the incisive morning light - 'Blown Glass', Briar Wood
B. 1926 D. 2021
...You no longer /Want to seem what you are, but something /Harmless and familiar: in a landscape/Given to greenness and the cold pastels /Of stubble and field stone... David Wagoner from 'The Principles of Concealment.'