Books galore.

Via Saltpublishing I see the Forward Prize shortlists have been selected. Siân Hughes’s The Missing from their stable has been nominated for best first collection. As I was in the mood for some new poetry I ordered it together with Jill McDonaugh’s Habeas Corpus, which got a very good review in Poetry London. Check the links for more details about each collection, if you’re interested, Salt always features a sample of each book’s poems on their website.

Meanwhile, given my recent purchases, I need to start thinking of putting up another shelf in the living room.

Currently reading

John Milton’s Paradise Lost, V.S. Naipaul’s The Enigma of Arrival, Richard Wilbur’s Collected Poems, Michael Donaghy’s Collected Poems and Boethius’s The Consolation of Philosophy. My scholar friend reckons I should become more systematic in my reading. He might have a point.

Pity the children.

This is one for the German-speakers around here. My squeaky four-year-old lass goes around singing Es ist nicht immer leicht ich zu sein (It isn’t always easy being me):

Here are the lyrics. I’m not sure how I feel about this. Wiseguys are a German acapella band, whose latest CD Frei (free from what?) is compulsory listening every morning in the car to kindergarten. I have taken to dropping off the wee one by bike more often, come rain or shine.

Thanks to the Wiseguys my daughter is also familiar with the concept of relativity (lyrics):

Relativ thus being the word of the moment. She’s four. Soon she shall discover irony. Then post-structuralism. False consciousness. And then puberty. They grow up so quickly.

It’s not easy being a child in this day and age.

There are many copies.

I’ve been AWOL the last week because of this. I finally caved in and bought the second series and I will probably give in to temptation again later this summer for series three and four. There is not a fifth series, is there? That holiday to Mallorca might have to wait. Anyway, if you are – on the off chance – going cold turkey because you are not getting your regular fix of Ario (if there ever was a name that sounds like a cheap painkiller that’s it) you might like to check out the handsome Twitter widget on the left with my latest online readings. I love Twitter: it forces you to crystalise the chaos within into a mere 140 characters and is therefore the most efficient outpouring of inner turmoil this side of behavior therapy. There’s also my stumbleupon page for all things poetry, umbrella and Hello Kitty. I know. It’s a miracle it isn’t x-rated yet and viewable by even you children.

Poetry coming out of me ears.

Before our holiday last week I was inspired to order a batch of poetry books from Salt (superficially to support their Just One Book campaign, but really just to indulge in a shopping spree for good contemporary poetry. They have a huge backlist, which can at first sight seem somewhat disorientating – where do you start if you’re just a hobby reader? – but really you can just close your eyes and click and add to the shopping cart. Anyway, I picked up the parcel from the post office on Monday and I just wanted to flag the books, because, rather than dipping in and out as I usually do the first week to get a feel for a poetry collection, I have been immersed in them and have nearly finished them all. The great thing about reading poetry is of course that you far sooner get a sense of completion as you don’t have to trudge through four hundred pages of dense text as is the case with novels.

Anyway, poetry books devoured this week: The Word For Sorrow by Josephine Balmer, Fetch by Tamar Yoseloff and Down To Earth by John Wilkinson. I also – with apprehension – ordered Fiona Sampson’s essay collection On Listening, but which proved to be a very enjoyable and infectious collection of criticism. really opening up the contemporary poetry world in relatively short, but profound chapters. The opening chapter on poet-critics immediately draws you in making the case from scratch for the justified eminence of such contemporary poets as Sean O’ Brien, Ruth Padel and John Kinsella. Anybody with a faint interest in poetry has probably read them or at least heard of them, but it’s nice to read why a fellow great contemporary poet like Fiona Sampson appreciates their work so much. Highly recommended.