"The South East industrial belt is tuned to the Mendips transmitter"

Peter recommends these online literary links.

Haiku for the Academi

it's full of stars

from the seeds of my persimmon
I have made an englyn
but it fails to scan

on these hills
the fellows look in vain
for the tree of the plum

if you are kindly
they will shit all over you
happy young poets

A sheet of rain
cherry blossom in the hats
of the avant garde

Cold moon
then the roar of the wind
I have found the membership book

there are chrysanthemums in
the mailbag. I will mention this
in the newsletter

the message arrives:
snow in the Pure Land
I knew this already

From the Great Buddha's
great nose, a letter
to Planet

Annwyl Syr, my last book appeared in 1965
but I have a backyard full of cherry blossom
can I join?

looked up cherry blossom in
the dictionary
not there

under the pale moon
the phone rings
we have now paid the bill

the pond bullfrog can roar
but it is still only a

as insurance
we advise members
to also play the lottery

out moon watching
saw Herby Williams with
a bag of chips

big new Wales a thousand flowers
hope and money
still as hard as ever

Mabinogion Translations (2)

Bendigeidfran overlooked the sea
from Ireland
they could see the ships

When they saw
the ships
near at hand
certainly they had
not seen them

The ships God
with brocade

When they saw
God near
at hand they
would not

The brocade and the shields
and the pointing upwards for peace

These are ships
said Manawydan
but we cannot see

It was an early Zen problem

Manchester United Supporter

Most of Herefordshire was once Wales
but is now England

The South East industrial belt is tuned to the Mendips transmitter
The TV news arrives from Yeovil & Avon

Llanystumdwy could be on Mars

Guide me o thy great Jehovah*

The self-declaration of minority national status (e.g.: Welsh)
is now sufficient for identity purposes
(recent EU directive)

This is why I am now a Manchester United supporter

* taken from The Daily Assembly (Oxford, 1952)

St David's Hall

After the concert they come out: Dafydd ap Gwilym,
William W. Williams, Williamstown, Sion a Sian, Ivor Emanuel,
Lloyd George, Gelert, Owain Glyn Dwr, Mrs Davies Plas Newydd,
Wyre Davies BBC so glad there's no one here to mangle his name.
Some bear programmes like souvenir flags.
Their souls have been enlivened by po-faced Elijah & enormous cymrectitude:
huge handbags, polyester shirts, those woollen celtic
drapes that make you look like an overweight bat, M&S ties.
They discuss school funding, where to go for supper,
death last week, look there's Alun Michael, disgrace,
that Ron didn't need Clapham we have our own parks,
chi wedi mynhau, the timpani especially.

And there are the kids, the ones who didn't bother to go in,
unworried about identity, sitting in the bar worse than Ceris,
Welsher than R.S., louder than Iwan Bala.
New Wales unselfishly immersed in the national pastime
alcohol alcohol antipathy antidote,
not mentioned anywhere in the Assembly agenda.
Dim pwnt see bachgen it's like breathing
you don't think you do it, pwy yw Saunders anyway?
Over the speakers gloriously come the Furrys

Peter Finch

Peter Finch is a poet, short fiction writer, experimenter, performer and critic. He has been an editor (the influential second aeon magazine in the 60s and 70s), a publisher, and an activist on the poetry scene (ALP treasurer; one time council member of the Poetry Society). He ran the Arts Council of Wales/TSO Bookshop, Oriel, until 1998. He currently runs The Academi, the Welsh National Literature Promotion Agency.

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