There are poems only a dollop of prolonged inspiration can produce. The idea unfurls by itself, already made, already complete, layer by neatly laid layer. Images follow one another, each one finer than the earlier, enhancing the development of the poem and mining from the germ a self-nourishing process of growth like leaf sprouting on leaf to make a perfectly formed plant.
Take Louis MacNeice’s 'Snow', for instance...
(The entire post is here.)
Thursday, August 6, 2009
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