About Poety Matters

Poetry Matters is a home-grown print poetry journal that began in Spring 2006.

Censorship can take many forms. The inability to find a place of publication can be social censorship.


Poetry is freedom. Anyone can write poetry.


Nevertheless, it takes a lot of work to create the poetry that reaches the places only poetry knows.


Whoever you are, wherever you are,
Poetry Matters welcomes you as readers and writers.

Contact me about submissions and subscriptions: poetry.clh@gmail.com

18 June 2014

Ezra Pound 'A Retrospect'

'When Shakespeare talks of the "Dawn in russet mantle clad" he presents something which the painter does not present. There is in this line of his nothing that one can call description; he presents.
 
Consider the way of the scientists rather than the way of an advertising agent for a new soap.
 
The scientist does not expect to be acclaimed as a great scientist until he has
discovered something. He begins by learning
what has been discovered already. He goes from that point onward. He does not bank on being a charming fellow personally. He does
not expect his friends to applaud the results of his freshman classwork. Freshmen in poetry are unfortunately not confined to a definite and recognizable class room. They are "all over the shop". Is it any wonder "the public is indifferent to poetry?"
 
Don't chop your stuff into separate iambs.
Don't make each line stop dead at the end, and then begin every next line with a heave.
Let the beginning of the next line catch the rise of the rhythm wave, unless you want a definite longish pause.
 
In short, behave as a musician, a good musician, when dealing with that phase of your art which has exact parallels in music. The same laws govern, and you are bound by no others.'
 

13 June 2014

"Write me as one who loves his fellow men."


Abou Ben Adhem
By Leigh Hunt
 
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

         The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.


Abou Ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt : The Poetry Foundation