Apparently anything can be poetry, so it seems safe to say this is

So it’s important and you ought to look at it seriously. OK, I’m being ironic: putting something boring, uninspired, mannered or prancingly self-indulgent in short lines in a nice shape and calling it poetry and art doesn’t make it any more worthy of attention than anything else anyone writes or says.   Still, you might [...]

I think these things are poems, though there’s a bit of damage and they’re of no great age. Start me at £20, anyone?

On to re-posting more poems with comments and expolanations of a sort. Here goes: GLASS The glass creation on the shelf In the early morning light refracts, transmutes The arriving light into changing colours and links That fade and reform with the slightest of gentle shifts. If you try to see through it the waving [...]

What is Poetry?

I’ve seen it recently said on LinkedIn that it’s wrong to limit poetry through any kind of definition, wrong to say that anything isn’t poetry.   I understand the thinking behind this – and maybe at times I’ve been too willing to make absolute statements about poetry. But if anything can be poetry, why can’t [...]

If we deconstruct these poems, we can put all the letters in a different order!

OK, I know “deconstruct” doesn’t quite mean that, but it has a chilling, dehumanising sound. I don’t want to dehumanise my poems, though maybe throughhumanise them. Here’s some more with comment. DIGGING DOWN I have found an old guilt: By scrabbling in the dirt with callused hands Brushing away the low lying deposits Stories of [...]

By the Gate

BY THE GATE The cloaked man waiting by the gate Shivers in the warming day The planned arrival’s running late West wind drives the clouds away   The cloaked man taps his booted feet Fumbles out a stained small case, Stares at a photo; fingers beat On holster; silence in his face   A movement [...]

The definitive, authoritative, comprehensive commentary on the poetic works of Simon Banks

will not be written. However, here are some thoughts on a few more poems.   ESTUARY   The church is early 12th century. Some two miles from here The Romans crossed the estuary by a ford Now long impassable The shades settle   I am confused by their weight, my questions muffled By their insistent [...]

Of course, no-one, not even the “writer”, can “know” what the poem “means”, but still…

…academics can tie themselves in some fascinating knots and, it is even rumoured, disappear up their own theories. Here’s some more commentary on poems I’ve already posted: EDEN The fruit slipped ripe into the hand The hunting hard, but always good, The trees made shade to sleep within That was the Eden we once knew [...]

This probably isn’t what I meant, if I meant anything, but you never know

So I’ll go on disinterring old posted poems and suggesting some context and meaning. Soon I’ll go back to new postings.   By the way, I have a blog (http://sibathehat.blogspot.com) for everything non-literary, and the leading countries people are visiting the blog from are: Joint 1: U.K. and U.S.A. Vying for third place: France, Germany [...]

Of course, I don’t really know what I meant…

According to some academics, it’s meaningless to ask what a writer meant, or at least, pointless because we can’t tell. Maybe nothing means anything. This is an attitude that could only exist in academia. People everywhere else are engaged in the risky, uncertain business of guessing what other people mean all the time. A general [...]

Erm… I think I really meant…

So I’m carrying on commenting on some of my own poems already posted. These were written at a time when I was coming out of a period of great stress occasioned by a family illness. Writing such poems was part of the emergence from that period and they carry a certain bleakness as well as [...]

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