I Just Don't Get It - Smith, Jeremy
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When the poet acquires sufficient emotional grit to breach the blood/brain barrier, and just enough pages to warrant the use of a stapling machine, we are then encumbered by a deluge of dreary digests. This particular effort represents the poet's life work arranged chronologically, from his time as a student at London University, through California, till he settled down in Oregon. However, the focus is more on the poet's inner states -- everything from utter bleakness to insane joy -- the former no doubt accounting for the Vogon approval. Hopefully for those prone to fits you might find a…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
When the poet acquires sufficient emotional grit to breach the blood/brain barrier, and just enough pages to warrant the use of a stapling machine, we are then encumbered by a deluge of dreary digests. This particular effort represents the poet's life work arranged chronologically, from his time as a student at London University, through California, till he settled down in Oregon. However, the focus is more on the poet's inner states -- everything from utter bleakness to insane joy -- the former no doubt accounting for the Vogon approval. Hopefully for those prone to fits you might find a little encouragement in the colourfull cover picture of chalkland weeds.
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Autorenporträt
As I was pulling this collection together, I realised that a poem is a method of conveying a feeling, (amongst numerous other things), but not of rationality, or logic. Or perhaps it's an additional way of expressing oneself. It's one thing to say "two plus two equals five for large values of two" (calm body, active mind), but something else to say, "I'm still mad as hell, but I'm going to let it slide". A whole lot of chemistry going on, (aroused body, sidelined mind). And then there's no time -- the expressed 'feeling' is conveyed -- it matters little who wrote it, or when. Similar to having an evocative smell bring back a memory -- it's immediate and timeless.