Laminations in Lacquer. Audio Textual Poem. Excerpt from Moon by Robin Ouzman Hislop

http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm
 

 
 
In a bright lit night, he lays his bed
deep in hues of Lapis Lazuli.
In the corners sit the winds
dressed like musical chairs.
 
An olive ferments in a pastel saucer
into mossy green minutiae
where a painted flower swallows
against its form, liquid spaces
in lean reflections towards a bottomless well.
 
Veils swim on the verge the flower
defines drawn against
an olive splash of skin
in the glazed lacquer
gloss to the anonymous images.
 
A cock crows cockle doodle do
discrete, concrete, on the fronds
ruffles in the red sprocketed throat
a screech of feathers
stilled in the flower’s passion
in the pool’s hoard.
 
The gibbous mound
a crimson flash in the curtain
through which he passes
beneath the bridges.
A stairway in pastel hue
laps tranquilly cool
to a hole in a wall
a cavernous breach which retains
the scream of the arch
scrawled on a screen
defiant in the stance of plumages
hordes of epiphanies
buried in petrified pastel ripples.
 
Below the rift of its eye
the sealed beak that will open
gleams on the lee.
 
Throughout the entire circumference
can be seen the tilt giving rise
to both translucence, transparency
where the acid, oil separate
only to appear to coalesce
in the almost pure liquid sheen
containing its own light
even in the presence of the vegetative
silt at the bottom of the bowl.
 
At the moment of its brimming
at that line of definition
in a room that roams without corners
he must rise with a chalice of blood for lips of shades
where the vertigo edge of the flower distils the dish
together with the quantities of immeasurable throng
on watery groves billowing with ivy bowers
sprung over hidden lairs of concealed hoards.
 
Night begins and the dogs draw nigh
scavenging for scraps
yapping at the walker’s naked ankles
in the dust of unknown alleys.
 
The broken lights of the bazaar
spangle with glittering promises
the eyes of the dusky beggar
sunk in their sockets maze
in crooked cul de sacs embargo
amidst the furls of silk that foil
the flickering lantern niche
throttled in an olive tray
whilst the flower’s blur does not allow
the stroke that blurs its horizon
and all beneath to return.
 
It is helpless in its light
a camouflage to visitation
to the sigh of the rock’s flow
so few, so few, so few.
 
The olive saturates its wish
outlining monuments amidst the rubble
in momentary musical explosions
and the spell is cast.
 
Fireworks like a diaphanous lithograph
print an emblazoned sky
on the craggy mountains of the night
where comets play at kites
& glistening the eerie beak hisses.
 
 

 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Poetry Life & Times at Artvilla.com. His numerous appearances include Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Honest Ulsterman, Cratera No 3 and Aquillrelle’s Best. His publications are collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals & Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems and translations from Spanish of poems by Guadalupe Grande Key of Mist and Carmen Crespo Tesserae (the award winning XIII Premio César Simón De Poesía). In November 2017 these works were presented in a live performance at The International Writer’s Conference hosted by the University of Leeds, UK. A forthcoming publication of collected poems Off the Menu is expected in 2020.

Aquillrelle’s Best. Anthology of Poetry. Press Release

 

Aquillrelle’s Best Anthology of Poetry
How do you pack 61 poets in between 2 covers and keep the result mesmerizingly interesting? Simple. You just pack 61 poets in between 2 covers. Oh, yes, you also make sure their styles are as unexpected and as incoherent as an orchestra tuning its musical instruments. Oh, yes, you also make sure their art’s beauty is as unexpected and as coherent as a flock of starlings dancing in the sky. Oh, yes, sure, you also make sure the mix of the proposition is as unexpected and as varied as the space between the 2 covers allows regarding gender, nationality, sexual orientation, origins, language (translated of course), religion, age, profession, experience… and so on and on and on. Oh. Yes. You also do not forget the voice of those who lost their voice forever and ensure it lives on. Forever.

The paper nugget you are holding in your hands is worth its number of pages in ounces of gold. Probably more. Numerous poets included in it have been nominated-for/shortlisted-in/finalists-at/recognized-by and, of course, won a large number of high-profile high-quality writing prizes, titles, honorable mentions and awards on national and international schemes. A far from exhaustive list of which includes: National Women Hall of Fame membership, Zoetrope All Story contest, Gilbert Theater competition, Virginia Library Association Poetry Book award, Robert Frost Foundation Annual Poetry award, Alabama State Poetry Society Book of the Year, History Book Club Essay contest, Erbacce-Press Poetry award, Pushcart Prize, Vailero Prize for poetry, Pulitzer Prize, Unicef Short Story award, Bridport Prize, Sidney Booktown International Poetry contest, Petra Kenny International Poetry competition, White Pine Press Poetry Prize, CAA National Prize for literature, San Gabriel Valley Poetry Festival Chapbook competition, Ballymaloe International Poetry Prize, Library of Virginia Nonfiction award, Westport Arts Festival Poetry competition, Mario Luzi Prize.
The number of journals, magazines, anthologies and books carrying these poets’ art counts in the hundreds. Who are they? Professors, teachers, musicians, scientists, students, housewives, bricklayers, journalists… poets. All of them.
Thank you, poets.

Aquillrelle’s Best: this anthology contains 4 chapters with poets that were selected in: 1 – Reader’s Choice (http://www.aquillrelle.com/readerschoice.htm ); 2 – Poet of the Month (http://www.aquillrelle.com/pom.htm ): 3 – Contest Winners (http://www.aquillrelle.com/past%20winners.htm ); 4 – In Memoriam (for several of our members and friends who, oh so sadly, passed away). This book will also be sent to an “independent-publishers” contest.

Poets Appearing in Aquillrelle’s Best: Abhishek Dua, Albert Russo, Alisa Velaj, Anastasia Nikolis, Andrew Campbell-Kearsey, Carolyn Moore, Charles Banks Jr., Chaz Gee, Chris G. Vaillancourt, Cindi Silva, Daniela Raimondi, Dorothy and Mark Johnson, Earl LeClaire, Elijah Guo, Ellaraine Lockie, Fahredin Shehu, Frank Steenson, George Amabile, Gloria MacKay, Godson Osarenren, Holly Spencer, Hugh Lawrence Monro Wyles, Jack Trammell, Jane Kingshill, Jaye Tomas, Jeff Walt, Jessica Livermore, Jinn Bug, John Mc Guckin, Joseph Adkins, Joseph Hesch, Joy Leftow, Karen Powell, Kristina Monroe, Linda Mills, Lynn Veach Sadler, M. Lee Alexander, Magda Karavageli, Marc Creamore, Marsha Berry, Matlyn Peracca, Nicolette van der Walt, Paul McMahon, R. L. Kurtz, Raj Shekhar Sen, Rinzu Rajan, Robert Gibbons, Robin Ouzman Hislop, Romi Jain, Sadiqullah Khan, Shigufta Hena Uzma, Stefy Janeva, Sullivan the Poet, Tavius Dyer, Tom Berman, Tyler Drescher, Udita Garg, W. Jude Aher, Wanda Lea Brayton, William Fraker, Zayra Yves.

Spotlight Aquillrelle

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The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry Members Anthology Book 7


 
The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry Members Anthology, book seven ©2018
 
Friends, poets,
 
Aquillrelle’s Anthology Wall7 is now released and published in both Ebook/PDF and Paper formats. It can be purchased on Lulu (and a couple of months from now also on Amazon, etc.).
 
Many thanks to the participants and to the supporters, it was hard yet gratifying work. Enjoy your (and your friends’) art!
 
The seventh wall. Some graffiti. Some works of art. Even some smudges included since they hold a message to be heard. Because this is the essence of every Aquillrelle wall – let everyone who values his/her word get a piece of the wall to themselves. You, the readers, are the beneficiaries. Read!
 
 

 
The poem included below is an excerpt from the above reviewed anthology
 
Elliptical Shift by Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
 
Meadows of wild flowers
sweet in an urban niche
framed by a hand of nostalgia
framed in an enclosure
 
for the price of pathos
riots of the human race
rampage across its space
in resistance, resentment
 
everywhere history obscures the view
 
an enigmatic phantom
it projects its rapacious plans onto tomorrow
McDonald’s signs, stewards of the planet, protein signifier
 
regularities merge into a wholeness
the news comes on, in a refrain of the same monotone
as if the world were made new again.
 
*
 
The darkest regions of the planet’s mind
the photon of a star in a formless moment
becomes an instance of a memory
as the desert invites the ripple
to a turbulence of refrain
a window frame constrains
its world view to all that follows on
 
as if it could choose between what’s real
what’s imaginary
 
such choices, shape our view
to the now, before an open future
 
*
 
sunset on the high street, traffic
vanishing into it like black dots
whizzing out of the blind, the zonk
plonk, disappearing into its shadow
 
dust of ages, its record
 
all the particles cascading
into the horizon’s viewpoint
all the bits, pieces in their parts
blowing on the horizon’s sunset
 
Time is not the shadow cast by the world
the world is the shadow cast by time

 
(excerpt from All the Babble of the Souk)
 
 
To order: http://www.lulu.com/shop/Aquillrelle/The Aquillrelle-Wall of Poetry Book Seven/paperback/
 
e-book: http://www.lulu.com/shop/Aquillrelle/The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry Book Seven/ebook/
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

 

Reviews & Comments on Robin Ouzman Hislop’s Collected Poems. All the Babble of the Souk.

 

 

http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm
http://www.amazon.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop
https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop

All the babble of the Souk
all the life of the planet &
so little part of it, that I breathe

Janet Caldwell, COO at Inner Child Ltd, author of the Author Den’s award winning “5 degrees to separation” Robin is a philosopher, poet, published author and more. It has been my privilege to reap the benefits of this man’s knowledge on an array of subjects.  A man ahead of his time. A true visionary

David Michael Jackson, Web Publisher at Artvilla.com Robin is a brilliant writer and philosopher as well as a recognized poet. He is an editor and contributor for Poetry Life and Times and other publications. ~

Richard Vallance, Linguist Linear B, Knossos & Mycenaean. Robin is a highly innovative and gifted poet, who excels in writing sonnets, blank verse and haiku, and in translating poetry from Spanish into English. His work is first-rate.

Gary Beck – All the Babble of the Souk is an elegant journey through both foreign and familiar climes. Anything but babble. Time and space bend in mysterious mists and mechanistic voyages. The poems pulsate with languid images that add to the wonder of travel to exotic places.

Scott Hastie – A collection of real substance that is long overdue. Robin writes with impressive depth and across a spread of philosophic stimuli that he makes uniquely his own. You do not have to travel long before you trip over killer lines, again and again… This is fresh, original and mature work, grown from one special creative soul’s well seasoned experience. Robin truly has a voice that is his own and it has been worth the wait to see it flower…

Robin Marchesi – High time this great Poet was properly in print. His Poems resonate like the work of Cavafy and Gibran. They are deep and revealing, resonating in one’s inner self. This book will stimulate your metaphysical being. Robin’s Poetry opens you to questions about who you are…. Essential reading……

R. W. Haynes – Robin Ouzman Hislop’s All the Babble of the Souk grips elemental tangles with wisely wistful authority, making a claim both for the adequacy of animate language and for erudite perception. Counterpointing the abstruse and the inescapably basic, these poems draw upon a power that surprises, engaging the reader in the poet’s heartfelt conversation with a tradition and its diverse voices, including T. S. Eliot and Dylan Thomas. Hislop’s retro-modernist recovery of vision argues for a refreshed perception of poetic possibility and a turn from the infinite regress of the verse which echoes the empty sophistry of twentieth-century language philosophers. Music, with its syncopation, minor chords, pauses, accelerations, jingles, knocks, and elegiac phrases constitutes a crucial part of the essence of this splendid collection.

Ian Irvine (Hobson) – The metaphor of the ‘marketplace’ or ‘bazaar’ – symbolic in this collection of public spaces generally (both physical and cultural/mediatised) – launches this remarkable collection of poems by a poet, editor and creative thinker of international significance. The ‘souk’ is a place of trade, chance meetings, overheard conversations and communal eating. This collection also links it to our post-post modern state of life in the face of cultural globalisation. However, rather than theorise key aspects of our world we are invited to explore them instead as states of being – with joyous and anxious dimensions. As the poet/narrator mingles, observes, samples and digests (in poem after poem) a colourful array of stimuli – sensorial, relational and intellectual – we gradually feel our perception of life and the species crisis/moment deepen and expand. The melancholy grandeur of the human predicament slowly comes into focus – largely through the poet’s gift of empathy. A wonderful selection of poems updating for the new millennia themes mulled over by the likes of Baudelaire (in Paris Spleen), Apollinaire (in Zone), George Oppen (in Of Being Numerous) and many other great 19th and 20th century poets.

Marie Marshall –  Robin’s poetry is often just a ride, lines in little stanzas like

    •           holding all shadows to account
        The hag in her rags begs her bag

each a new thought after a pause for breath, or so it seems, each with an image that sparkles, almost with effrontery. That’s how I like my poetry – image, sound, and bare-faced cheek.

As the images pile up, or maybe I unearth more as I drill down, discovering depth in the poetry, I know he’s not your average Internet Joe, but a man with a mean, keen pen, he knows how to play, how to make free, how to brew poetry:

    •         Riding along in our dream machine
    •          our virtual reality all but a scream
    •          no exit
    •          blood on the wind screen, faithful Fido’s gone
    •          the machine’s a mess, – every where’s a gas.

A trickle through a diaphanous sheen

a thin crust peels, roll the dice
a question of ethics, the cost of life.

Y’know, somewhere along the line, Ezra Pound and John Cooper Clarke rolled dice for this man’s soul, and I can’t say who won. Maybe he walked away laughing while the bones still tumbled, soul intact. I hope so. He has the measure of our suburbs, seeing how

    • the phallus of a Sunday afternoon
        gleamed cleaned cars

let us (you’re here too, and I have morphed into ‘we’) catch our reflection in that polished surface, wondering how to measure the depth of the shine. Meanwhile

    1. Danger, Deep Water, Keep Out

As if we could. The collection has the feel of a single work, as though the poet sat down, started at the beginning, wrote the middle, and stopped at the end. We ride. It’s the same ride all the time, but the scenery outside the window shifts, and fellow passengers come and go. Occasionally we get off, but only to stretch our legs

As we celebrate

life lies dead on the table

we eat it

The poet is aware of the shape of his work on the page, of its concreteness. The poet knows when to be serious and when not to, and he knows when to muddy the water of each with the other. When he says ‘Watch my stick’, you hear ‘This means you!’ The poet can make a dream return from the rubble of artifice. I know poetry when I see it.

Norman Ball, writer, author of Between River and Rock: How I Resolved Television in Six Easy Payments – Before I get to the book itself, I’d like to offer up a confession. Robin and I have, over the years, engaged in some fascinating discussions on such far-flung topics as Big Bang contrarianism, the mystery of consciousness, theories of memes, multiverses, Popper falsifiability and vitalism, just to name a few; in short, the usual water cooler chatter. Or maybe not. Robin’s a whole lot smarter than me. Nonetheless it’s a lot of fun trying to keep up. If you’ll forgive a mixed metaphor, we’re odd ducks of a feather.

For one thing, Hislop is not averse to the occasional Latinate or ism getting tossed into a stanza. Of course poetical exploration of High Concept puts one at odds with the prevailing penchant for concrete image and tactile adhesives. There are many in poetry today who insist that, if you can’t say something nice about a spatula, a garden hose or a lamppost, you have no business trafficking in periphrasis. Everything must be grounded in the real, they say—as if such a thing as the real really existed. If I may say, oh prevailing sentiment in poetry, get real.

So, perhaps All the Babble of the Souk is not for everyone. But then, what of any value ever is? Poetry marches under a Big Spatula and we all can’t be flipping fried eggs and hash. Besides, in the hands of a deftly abstract mind, abstraction is not exactly a kick in the head. Nor will it break the yokes and spoil your breakfast. What is a speculative poetic excursion, after all, but high imagination and eccentricity commiserating via language? Let the arbiters of bric a brac catalog the quotidian like good flea marketeers. Such people are born to rummage about in the attic and log their heirlooms on eBay. Hislop doesn’t trammel their kiosks. He has Big Thoughts to mull.

Fresh off a personally intense eye-mind exploration , I found myself greatly predisposed to ‘Maps’, a four-piece series of poetic aphorisms that offers some dazzling insights into how we demarcate our space, time and existence, and especially how these elements are conveyed, if not even defined, by our senses:
This notion of time having a real job to do immediately put me in mind of John Archibald Wheeler: “Time is what prevents everyt hing from happening at once.” Hislop may be onto something even more subtle: Does time keep chaos at bay, allowing time for our disparate senses to marry their qualia into a coherent universe? Perhaps those with Synesthesia are more evolved creators of worlds, their gaps between sound and vision less discontinuous.

‘Maps’ delivered me to a speculation I wouldn’t have reached otherwise. And I find that’s a critical function of Hislop’s poetry. It gathers, then points away. More important than the resolved landing place is how it offers a hospitable ‘symposium’, couching philosophical fields of inquiry within poetic metaphor from which the reader’s own speculative arcs can then rise and take tangential flight; speculations feeding speculations. What does resolution ever resolve anyway? Conclusions are overrated. The concrete of the concretists doesn’t exist in a world:

Imposed as        an impression     seeking an ineffable concrete      in an abstraction     which defies location. —from ‘Red Butterflies’

In ‘From Here to Silence, three’, he sets up a free will versus determinism tug-of-war stalked by Nietzschean recurrence and Leonard Susskind’s holographic 2D picture-show. You got a problem with that, Rod McKuen?

          1. Say we are not sui generis
        1.            (the cause of yourself)
        2.             we are homeostatic holographs
        3. dimensions in spectral parallel membranes
        4. our near eternal process to err
        5. along such a line we pass time in, time out      but could we not cheat the butterfly effect?

 

The stanza ends on the plaintive hope, reminiscent of Kafka that our cycle of error could end if freewill achieved grace but for an instant. Let us hope that moment arrives as I’m so tired of breaking my shoelace the day before Thanksgiving forever.

Am I losing the yucksters in all the heavy universe lifting? Not so fast. Hislop can be funny too. ‘At a Slant’ has a droll quality that still draws a snicker if for no other reason than that we’re stuck, all together (‘but it’s the same for all of us!’):

The con of life

the weirdness of its melodramatic sham

how good we are at yesterday, tomorrow

always better than before

like, being had – in the process by it.

The juxtaposed tenses of being had cement the interminable predicament we share. No exit. But at least we perfect our yesterdays until such time as we resume them anew, becoming rank amateurs all over again; amateurs though with a difference, with a modicum of acquired wisdom and an almost imperceptibly elevated rank.

Okay, so it’s bleak, black humor. But there are shafts of light. One day, though maybe yet a half-eternity away, some butterfly will escape the dark matter of our descending shoe. (Butterflies pervade Hislop’s poetry.) We’ll be released to the next pristine universe armed with a butterfly-brain’s worth of hard-earned prescience. So yes, each successive Big Bang is not an unadulterated singularity. Some kernel of hard-earned wisdom gets borne through. Each new universe is a tooth on a slowly revolving gear that turns towards…perfection? In short, something barely better. Since Hislop asks, that’s what—I think, I hope—may be next:  ask, the near infinite      (in—the moment before you munch)        take a bit of the biscuit      before the Big Crunch   it’s an eternal packet      & having all, what’s next? —from ‘Lucky Hat Day’

All the Babble of the Souk will have you pondering your predicament in a whole new imaginative light. Reflect well my friend, as mindless impulsivity and materialist inanity are precisely what dangle this eternity over the present-day abyss. Therein may lie our paper-thin chance for freedom: by insect increment, one pardoned butterfly per eon at a time.

Richard Vallance, writer, author of Canadian Spirit Voices – If “All the Babble of the Souk” is anything but memorable — as it surely is — it is so because of its sweeping portrayal of the tumultuous market that is humankind. The “babble” of this bazaar is that of all the markets in the world — irrespective of nation, language, culture or race or for that matter, at the symbolic level, of any manifestation of our nature, be it “good” or “evil”, which are not opposing psychological or spiritual states as all too many naďvely imagine, but rather their subtle blending in our psyche. There is no suggestion of the presence or absence of God or a “god”. It is irrelevant. There is just humanity.

The poems, mostly quasi free form, some of them highly reminiscent of haiku, range from very short to a few pages long. Except for one poem and one only, Scale Free, in which we come face to face with some of the most beautiful imagery in the entire collection, and I quote:

A cuckoo taunts
high in the mountain
where are you?

there is not a single question to be found in the rest of the book. All the rest of the poems consist only of statements, some of them brief, others rather too long for my taste and some even downright convoluted. When this approach to poetry composition is carried to its extreme, it can and sometimes does result in the overly prosaic. That is the only real quarrel I have with this collection. Fortunately, there are only only a handful of poems which are painfully prone to the prosaic. Among these are Mannequins, the whole series Maps 1,2,3,4, The Prisoners, Non Linear and in particular Rust (which reads more like a scientific tract than a poem), none of which have any real appeal to me.

The rest of the poems run from agreeable at the very least to the truly amazing. Among those poems agreeable to the mind and/or the ear I count: Passage, At the Party, Here Comes the Moon, Multiverse, The Pine at the Summit and Wind upon a River. Others like these will more or less please the reader. But as everyone knows, we all have our own preferences for the kinds of poetry we like. The poems which appeal more to one person appeal less to another. The aforementioned choices are merely my own.

Next come poems which display remarkable talent, such as: After Dylan on the Ninth Wave (which I for one particularly like), Africa North (haiku-like), A Witch for Halloween (in which we find some of the most striking chthonic imagery in the book), Core (commendable for its brevity, economy of verse & imagery), Entanglements (haiku-like), Sequence 1 & 2 (haiku-like) and Story of a Rose.

I have a marked preference for the poet’s haiku-like poems. Haiku have always strongly appealed to me. In fact, I myself, along with Robin Ouzman Hislop and so many other truly talented haijin, have composed a considerable number of poems of this nature, many of which were published in the print quarterly, Canadian Zen Haiku (2004-2010), which is now out of print. Brevity is the soul of wit, and indeed of the memorable. It is Robin Ouzman Hislop’ s more compact poems which please me the most. There are exceptions, poems which are not haiku-like or are somewhat lengthier. There are some truly memorable lines in these poems. For instance, we have:

from Africa North:

A winnowing canvass tosses corn
and
… as fireflies in the blazing day.

and finally
In the gloaming a solitary reaper reaps its shadow.
(Reminiscences of Wordsworth’ s, The Solitary Reaper, one of the most astonishingly beautiful poems in English.)

from After Dylan on the Ninth Wave, there are a considerable number of memorable lines, which you can explore for yourself. The poem is not quite up to Dylan Thomas… a very tough act to follow!

and from Core:

reaching my eye’s peninsula

sudden scene, solitary strand

All of the poems in this class pleased me a great deal.

Now we come to the downright brilliant poems, of which there are naturally only a few. I might as well cite them all. They are Scale Free (a series of haiku-like lines & almost pure haiku), A Split Second Later’s Late, Laminations in Lacquer, Lucky Hat Day and Red Butterflies, all of which had a powerful psychological and spiritual impact on me. Here are just a few of the lines from these truly remarkable poems which really struck me, and I mean really —

from A Split Second Later’s Late:

… a serpent’s spit according to legend.

from Laminations in Lacquer, the gripping lines:

Fireworks like a diaphanous lithograph
print an emblazoned sky
on the craggy mountains of the night
where comets play at kites
& glistening the eerie beak hisses.

and from Red Butterflies, where we find some of the most highly inspired, truly imaginative lines:

but as a collage on shifting sands…

A sword brazed in a fire
that does not distinguish
between the battle
& the field.

I believe we can safely say that the poet has achieved a level of poetic style and content which can hardly disappoint. Some of the poems in in “All the Babble of the Souk” remind me of T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland”. Perhaps the most striking feature of this volume is the poet’s portrayal of humanity, which deprives us of any escape from the darker, more insidious depths of our human condition. The most striking imagery in the entire collection forces itself on the least flattering trait of of our nature, our tendency towards — I might as well say it flat out — bestiality, which leaps to the fore in the poet’s all too frequent comparison between homo sapiens and apes (King Simian, seeking simian), gorillas, baboons and other fierce beasts of that ilk, all the way to neanderthals, Australopithecus and the odious nocturnal lupine, the proverbial werewolf. Lines such as: the hairless ape, go ape, going bananas… all mercilessly zero in on our ape-like nature bedeviling our so-called civilized veneer.

There is also frequent reference to eating meat, and being eaten (we grow the meat we eat, those she didn’t eat alive, children simply to feed her, how they like human flesh, to be consumed by hell), all the way through to witchcraft and Zombie imagery. The dreadful presence of these creatures of the night inexorably lurks just beneath the thin veneer our blasé urbanity.

To cut to the quick, the most memorable qualities of Robin Ouzman Hislop’s poetic gifts are his penchant for economy of lines and the puissant imagery of the chthonic. Where these features dominate any poem, they impel it towards the nonpareil! Such poems soar. When it works, it works supremely well. As for the rest, there is much to please the reader.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop, Publisher of Poetry Life and Times and Artvilla’s Poetry Editor

 

Robin Ouzman Hislop was editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times from 2005, previously edited by Sara Russell, after its closure in 2008, he joined with Dave Jackson editor/admin as co editor at  https://motherbird.com & Artvilla.com  in 2013 & now edits both Poetry Life and Times  with its Facebook page  PoetryLifeTimes .

He’s been previously published in a variety of international magazines, which include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, The Poetic Bond  series and  an Anthology of Sonnets Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. His publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo 

visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop for more information and reviews, him performing some of his work at  Performance (University of Leeds) and his latest volume of collected poems at Next-Arrivals

Submittals may be sent to robin@artvilla.com or editor@artvilla.com  Please refer to our submittal guidelines at any of the sites.