"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
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
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
under the pale moon
the phone rings
we have now paid the bill
the pond bullfrog can roar
but it is still only a
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
they could see the ships
When they saw
near at hand
certainly they had
not seen them
The ships God
When they saw
at hand they
The brocade and the shields
and the pointing upwards for peace
These are ships
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 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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