tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post7683629522952697527..comments2023-04-10T14:29:56.153+01:00Comments on Raw Light: poetry & opinion since 2005: In Response to a Nude Photograph of Mina Loy, 1905Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-66886422609790377992008-02-17T21:36:00.000+00:002008-02-17T21:36:00.000+00:00This poem's about poetic influence as much as anyt...This poem's about poetic influence as much as anything else. And you can't afford to be too passive or sentimental about the poets who influence you, or you end up writing pastiche. <BR/><BR/>Hence the 'drinking each other's blood' image - a symbiotic influence, perhaps, as I imagine it here. The living poet drinks from the dead poet, and the dead poet drinks from the living poet, i.e. enjoys a little posthumous life through the act of poetic necrophilia!<BR/><BR/>I'm very pleased you both liked it.Jane Hollandhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15590668593487445482noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-708873129738405552008-02-17T18:58:00.000+00:002008-02-17T18:58:00.000+00:00I also loved this one from your collection, such t...I also loved this one from your collection, such tenderness with an air of violence especially from line 17 to the end, which is my favorite part!Marion McCreadyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04657757253873577465noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-56016053354686436772008-02-16T17:01:00.000+00:002008-02-16T17:01:00.000+00:00Thanks, Angela. I sweated blood over that poem; th...Thanks, Angela. I sweated blood over that poem; the struggle went on for some ten or twelve drafts, over a space of about six months. The ending was the hardest to get 'right', as usual - though the middle section of this poem was unexpectedly tricky too. <BR/><BR/>Here's one of those earlier drafts of the last few lines, where my ear was made entirely of cloth:<BR/><BR/>Step out of the frame, Mina, away from the controlling<BR/>gleam in his eye. Take my hand<BR/>and let me lead you to bed, to the ostrich feather bed<BR/>of our imaginations. There we can smoke<BR/>and make poetry all day, listening<BR/>to the raw sinuous rhythms of the moon.Jane Hollandhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15590668593487445482noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-18926690344272959912008-02-16T14:48:00.000+00:002008-02-16T14:48:00.000+00:00One of my favourites. I love (and am envious of) ...One of my favourites. I love (and am envious of) <BR/> steeped<BR/>in what it means to be us, spawning<BR/>our poems like fish.Angela Francehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00039428389406819768noreply@blogger.com