WANTS POEMS AND HAS NEVER REJECTED ANYONE

Eamer o’ Keefe with your tinge of brogue

And Irish warmth, Daisy and Debjani

With your karma and cool verse, I salute you.

( III )

"Ecoutez la voix du vent" – listen to the wind’s voice

As Milosz commands "All your griefs,

My sad ones, are in vain" but offering

In recompense soaring sonatas which remain unread

Untranslated, relegated to the reserve stock

Of the Institut Franзais, along with Fargue,

Jacob and Larbaud while all those Bloodaxe deadheads

Blossom and bloom round poetry’s tomb

Where still there’s room for Ursula’s

Queen’s Medal for Poetry, lacklustre poetaster

From Harry Chamber’s Press at Peterloo –

That Augean stable has too much shit

For even me to clear with my scabrous wit.

I burn to turn myself into the translator of French poetry

For our time and not to waste what little life I’ve left

Attacking Survivors ‘Coming Through’ –

A second-hand title for a third rate book

Of botched and blotched attempts at verse and worse.

Down with O’Brien and Forbes, those two of our time

Who above all others vie for the crown of infamy and slime.

Underground poets of Albion unite

Its time to clear the literary world of shite.