Press Release All the Babble of the Souk A Collection of Poetry by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Press Release All the Babble of the Souk published by Aquillrelle on Lulu. by Robin Ouzman Hislop.
 

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Review of All the Babble of the Souk by Richard Vallance
 
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 naïvely 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 s0-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.
 
Overall rating: 3.75/ 5
 
Richard Vallance

 
 
Richard Vallance
 
 
Richard Vallance, meta-linguist, ancient Greek & Mycenaean Linear B, home page: Linear B, Knossos & Mycenae, https://linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com
 
PINTEREST Boards: Mycenaean Linear B: Progressive Grammar & Vocabulary,
 
https://www.pinterest.com/vallance22/mycenaean-linear-b-progressive-grammar-and-vocabulary and, Knossos & Mycenae, sister civilizations, https://www.pinterest.com/vallance22/knossos-mycenae-sister-civilizations
 
Also poetry publisher, The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire Friesen Press, Victoria, B.C., Canada. © August 2013. 35 illustrations in B & W. Author & Title Indexes. 257 pp. 315 sonnets & ghazals in English, French, Spanish, German, Chinese & Persian.
 
http://vallance22.hpage.com
 
 
 
 
 
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PRESS RELEASE. The Poetic Bond V.

PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE
 
PBVCoverFinal
 
Willowdown Books is pleased to announce the poems
 
A Split Second Later’s Late and The Split
by
Robin Ouzman Hislop

 
have been chosen for inclusion in the international poetry anthology
 
THE POETIC BOND V
CELEBRATING FIVE YEARS OF GLOBAL POETRY
ISBN 978-1517783808
 
Publication Date 21 October 2015
Available from www.thepoeticbond.com and across all AMAZON Channels
 
Summary Review
A Split Second Later’s Late “Hangs brilliantly on the edge, visually stunning, there is a breadth to the language that is very satisfying.”
The Split “A challenging piece, revealing the debates of Wu Ch Eng En and Chuang Tze, and prompting the reader to research. The tone of philosophical enquiry is well held giving a feeling of profound truth.”

 
(Trevor Maynard, Editor, The Poetic Bond Series)
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is the Editor of the online journal Poetry Life and Times (see Artvilla navigation bar above) & Facebook Pages of Poetry Life and Times and Artvilla.com (see links below) – which are extensions of the website Artvilla.com .He’s published in a variety of international magazines and a recent Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenx Rising from the Ashes. 
Previously Robin has appeared in The Poetic Bond Series with his poems “Red Butterflies”, “From Here to Silence”, and “Far from Equilibrium”
 
The Poetic Bond V
POETRY THAT BONDS US
 
1. Thirty-six poets from 11 countries were selected through a submission process in which there were no restrictions on form, style, length of subject; instead the choices made were on the basis of emergent themes and congruency in the pool of work; a snapshot of the poetry of new media NOW, seeking to capture the zeitgeist of the moment.
 
2. Trevor Maynard, UK based poet and writer, manager of Poetry, Review and Discuss Group, a major poetry group on LinkedIn. His new poetry collection KEEP ON KEEPIN’ ON (published in 2012). He is also the author of several plays. Further information can be found at our Artvilla site Poetry Life & Times (see navigation bar above)
 
3. The Poets of The POETIC BOND V (2015) are; Amanda Judd (Virginia, USA), Belinda DuPret (West Sussex, UK) Betty Bleen (Ohio, USA), Bonnie Flach (California, USA), Bonnie Roberts (Alabama, USA), Brian McCully (Victoria, Australia), Caroline Glen (Queensland, Australia) , Christine Anderes (New York, USA) Cigeng Zhang (China), Claire Mikkelsen (Alabama, USA), Clark Cook (British Columbia, Canada), Diane Wend (Dorset, UK), Rhona Davidson (West Yorks, UK), Frances Ayers (New York, USA), Freddie Ostrovskis (Derbyshire, UK), Gilbert Franke (Texas, USA), GK Grieve (London, UK), Ian Colville (Bedfordshire, UK), James Sutton (IOWA, USA), Jill Langlois (Illinois, USA), Joseph Simmons (Maryland, USA), Julie Clark (Kent, UK), Kewayne Wadley (Tennessee, USA), Leander Seddon (New South Wales, Australia), Linda Mills (Oregon, USA), Marli Moreira (Brazil), Nana Tokatli (Greece), Neetu Malik (USA), Peter Alan Soron (Cheshire, UK) Pushpita Awasthi (Netherlands), RH Peat (California, USA), Robin Ouzman Hislop (Spain), Sonia Kilvington (Cyprus), Trevor Maynard (Surrey, UK), Wendy Joseph (California, USA), William diBenedetto (Seattle, Washington, USA)
 
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After Dylan on the Ninth Wave. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop

 
 
 
After Dylan on the Ninth Wave.*
 
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age – Dylan Thomas (1914-53)

 
Worm’s Head on Rhossili beach’s
Rocky peninsula
Crags that jut in the eye’s squint.
A bellying belly capped by a pixie cone
In a turn around bay, on a turn around tide.
 
Long levelled backwater mud banks
Bogged to the edge of another shore
Down dusk grey fallen sky
Misted on slow dark billowy waters
Slip to the rippling sand’s brink
Break with a sigh from the far horizon’s
Foggy veil’s sheeting light
That winks in the blink of a squint
As clouds rush down, head on.
 
Whilst the man on the hill
Beach up from the dune in heather, fern
Cliff path & bleats of rolling flocked wool
Wanders side on against Gods & Goddesses.
The might on high of ancient deities at play
In their buffoonery with the day
As they rollicked & frolicked
Harangued & battled for naught
Other than gainsay for the man on hill.
To push him & pull him, hither & thither
As his shadow swelled & swathed him
Down under into the rock below
Whilst they in their lightning & terrible frightening
Also would fall from their lofty citadel
Although immune from his suffering
To rage, rage against the dying of the light
To like him in their burial.

 

 
Worm’s Head on the Gower Peninsular was a well known haunt of the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, also known for his prodigious drinking bouts from which he sadly died at the age of 39 in a New York bar. It is recorded he was once stranded on the Worm’s Head when cut off by the incoming tide from the mainland. Origins of the name Dylan in pagan mythology can be found in the Mabinogion, where he is described as the Son of the Wave, a Sea God born of the Goddess Arianrhod. Robert Graves in the White Goddess describes the mythological source of Dylan, as the Divine Child born on the Ninth Wave and sometimes ancient graphics depict a naked man caught by fishermen in a net are held to refer to Dylan. Its etymology variously ascribes the root as ‘The wave that floods’, ‘The flood that recedes’ and ‘The tide that returns’.
 
Lines in italics from Dylan Thomas’s Birthday Poem at Laugharne Bay & Do not go gentle into that good night.’

 
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All the Babble of the Souk

Slanting. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop

 
  
 
  
 Chintz
 Tambourine clash
 Smash (music)
 A piping wail
 Hoots
  
 
  
 Day of the Cars
 A graze of grass sheep
 Hedgerow making a hegemonic skyline
 Wires cutting clouds
 Wonky dyke drive in
 Nettle Eureka
 Stacks without smoke
 Wrought iron window -
 Blurs a face in pastel blue.
  
 
  
 Day of the Crane
 Rocks the hill
 Lateral this time
 Just cross over
  
 Chevron bypass
  
 The high street's as empty as the daytime
 Every where's empty even out back
 The sky, the trees with no leaves
  
 Noticeable about the playground
 The sand
  
 Following the big black glass
 At the transport station – I walk into you.
  
 
  
 The skull in the bramble's
 Picked clean by scavengers
 Old before your time.
  
 A selfie on the road
 Skull time is skull time
  
 Smashed in a white torrent rolls
 A giant shining black trunk
 Cactus wave, nod, interested observers.
  
 Now's for the winding
 Next, you'll dry up
 But now the lagoon is – action.
  
 
  
 You're so pretty squatting amongst the rocks
 Which keep their own rites
 Remember how clean you look in the forest
 Nobody's like you.
  
 Look down, i'll look up.
  
 Back again, every where's deserted
 Kinda eerie
 There's a fence between me, the rest.
  
 Dense foliage. Smoke on the horizon
 The enclosures are the worst
 Because they look like the best then get you.
  
 Blow sky
 Don't diminish more
 I can scarcely keep you in.
  
 
  
 A high nest on the lowlands
 Here come the Imaginals.
  
 Watch my stick.
  
 Into the mouth of the cave's roar
 A flood freeze
 Does time freeze, flood or fall?
  
 Nosey Chico.
  
 Perspectives unfold
 Nice profile
 Chewed up most of that.
  
 
  
 Day of the Crane
 Rock cleaver. Leveller.
  
 Beauty keep your eyes shut
 Where's it gone
 Oh shit
 Rotate baby
 Suspicious, wandering abroad without visible
 Means of support.
  
 
  
 A white cathedral
 In a city through the trees with leaves
 Who could ask for anything more
 Skip along
 Moonlight through the pines
 Hogey. Cakes. Nifty. Hooded.
 Get the picture!
  
 
  
 There's something about moss
 Life's tough
 Short cuts are stressful, as well
 Out in, in out
 That's landscape cheating in the original!
 Repetition is not completion.
  
 
  
 Say panter not panther
 I'm in saliva
 Wrangle, tangle
 I bear witness to your fall
 Helpless before your might
 It's your deal.
  
 Coming back, it's still deserted
 Day of the Crane.
  
 
  
 Day of the Car
 Hood into the snow
 Much time spent waiting
 Come over here sweetheart.
  
 
  
 After the bath
 Night lights. Skyline a selfie. Scarfed.
 We come in peace – so what!
 Grotesque obelisks – endure us
 It's just days for you!
 A portrait will do
 On the street, no one meets
 first one, last one, beggar man, thief
  
 Fame as we all know is an illusion,
 What's upstream?
 Day of the Imaginals.
  
 
  
 Share, share alike
 who's pulling who?
 Deserted again
 Framed.
  
 A solitary mister
 On the look out in the lowlands
 Halfway bridge, cross both ways
 Under the arches
 Just a step, careful -
 Upstream, downstream, in the stream, where!
 That's it, stand in the middle.
  
 
  
 Rain drops, bird shit
 Fractals in summertime
 Who's lost?
 In the circumference, on the periphery
 Roll,
 Primroses wild in a meadow sweet straw hat
 Arms akimbo
 She, he munching the same cud.
  
 Moving on is a must
 The great, the small huddle
 Stone, - paper in the solarium.
  
 
  
 Day of the Crazy Carnival,
 Flags, crucifixes
 Pattern soliloquy with a dazzle
 but the antennae steal the show
 in an odds on – hurrah!
  
 Lotus versus lilies, splatter the pane
 As magic appears again, in a sliced frame.
  
 A saloon's interior – plus furnishings
 A dilapidated roof where the green abounds
 Weather matters in the symmetry.
  
 Footpath. Wind generator. Harvested field
 Fern
 On the way she pirouettes on air, there
  
 To the Pond
 Fish, fishermen
 An hour ago
 Temporary emergency
 Closure
 3 ways to nowhere
 Pay Here
 Go green at the Pond
 Day of the Pond.
  
 
  
 White mannequins in high window
 A getting wed celebration
 Shot on location, city in a window
 According to law.
  
 
  
 Story of a dog, what follows on
 High rise, she poses in a garden of roses
 Frog at Pool Farm
 Do not touch
 Danger overhead. Loose dogs on patrole.
 Pick your own here, at a price.
  
 
  
 It's an unnatural dead end
 A National Trust cul de sac
 Back at the farm – a fine day
 To grow, property.
  
 Leftover tractor's out
 a world war relic
 an outlaw, unwanted in every land.
  
 A 30 foot the wind generator
 Heralds the patchwork downs
 Behind the field the battery foreclosure
 Non-giving slopes, scrub
 A fine day for what, unrelenting power!
  
 
  
 Everybody knows reflection deceives
 Water lilies, moor-hens
 Sunken branches in their shadows
 Are all in their boundaries
 Layers of surfaces where we drown in shine
 across on the peripheral horizon
 In attendant regard they stay in non committal
 stares on the edges of muddy banks.
  
 
  
 So expensive – Monumentals
 Shoppers in displays. Christmas trees
 Identifiable by their electric coronas.
  
 Streets are ghosts
 Mew in the park
 Stay, forever stray.
  
 Coffee table bird time
 Perch which-a-way
 You peek that-a-way
 I'll peek this-a-way
 Look straight up.
  
 More monuments
 Inside crinkly colours
 Embalmed in sweets
 Outside more ghosts
 Even with the ladder
 You carry to climb out from
 Where the shadows carry you.
  
 
  
 Clipped in a mirror on a silver stair
 A sectional action recorded
 In a space time bloc
 Whose being had!
 Tombstone blues on the pavements
 Bull fights – Bull shit
 Make my day.
  
 
  
 Paper floats as air boats
 Hanging besides the stair
 Clock on the wall
 Locked door
 Glass walls
 Sit in the New Gardens
 Paper refreshments, art décor
 All the world's a collage
 On your doorstep
 On the polished wooden bench
 Where you mustn't die
 On this occasion in the Arcade.
  
 Lest we forget
 Time branches in the mist
 A mix of entropies.
  
 
  
 Artifice in perspective
 From a high window watch the queue
 In the rain paying to go in.
  
 I'll watch you walk out
 Follow your backs
 Against the back of the day
 A day's visit down river, bank bikes
 Cathedral caught in a glimpse
 Between trees
 Instanced in a stacked stance
 The barges being for the other.
  
 Under the bridge again
 Cat on the roof, (Black)
 There was a plague
 A multitude in pastiche
 Heads up everywhere
 Old Masters eternally retouched
 Ghosts forever young, where we fade.
  
 Offices to let
 Sitting out history on the lawn
 Where no birds sing, a few pigeons
 Alms at the Workhouse, hard times
 Every tower aspiring sweetly like a flower.
  
 
  
 Sheer in carved stone it looms before its minions
 Inside the double white non parking line
 We stand around between pickets
 In the name of tyranny.
  
 To see or not to see, mere mereness of distortion
 As if the far side were the other side. As if
 One step were an inexorable impossible reach
 Not to its impossibility but to serve only ruins.
  
 Daytime is a sham of inverted symmetry.
  
 
  
 Beyond the blur
 It glows down the strand
 Hidden in foreclosure
 A gem gleams.
  
 On crowded sunny days
 Heroic kudos to their statues
 On a deserted place by night
 A glittering cone of light
 A winter festal. Emptiness.
 A grey bell tower chimes the hour
 Adds a person in less than a minute.
  
 
  
 Bubbles beneath the surface
 Amazing amber in golden silt
 The hazes are in flight
 Bridle the day
 Growth, overgrowth is not so lush
 Wreckage of our spoil
 A poisoned banquet for all
 But for a day.
  
 
  
 We must peer down
 There's room in the street for us
 The ultimate consummation
 Hunger is a cause
 Try it side on – both
 The wood's laid out in plan
 Round another magic bend
 Behold, Day of the Plague.
  
 
  
 Access to the land is denied
 Use your wristwatch after arrival
 Don't look now - it's behind you
 At last form, lilac on the hill
 Time to pose.
  
 
  
 Lets try it in reverse
 Turn twice, above us only bell
 How picturesque, the large
 By the wayside, which side are you on?
 A relic of yore, want to play?
 No exit from the bus stop
 Is this an argument for sufficient reason?
  
 
  
 Almost spot on
 Suddenly it's lilac again
 Whose playing anyway?
 Another time
 Close up you fall but shouldn't
 Close close the water waits
 Waits more still, the whichaway sign
 Advances the retreat.
  
 
  
 A garden of your own
 Tooth in claw after all
 No where’s safe.
  
 What's that
 A workhouse turned theatre
 Burlesque in a cartoon charade
 Civilisation is never far away
 Just round the corner in fact
 Follow the path you can't get lost
 Names name names.
  
 
  
 It will have to do
 It's choice after all, isn't it.
  
 Either the sky or us
 Take your pick
 Is it a UFO or the government.
  
 Only the downs sing on
 Caught up pointing nowhere
 A place from before
 On the crown of its own desolation.
  
 Meanwhile on a broken wing
 Clouds tangle with the moon's moment
 A sufficient distortion of fact.
  
  
  

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA


Robin Ouzman Hislop was an Editor at the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life & Times, now at Artvilla.com, as its Editor. He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, The Poetic Bond Series, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes an Anthology of Sonnets. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, All the Babble of the Souk , publication now available. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.

From A to B. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop


From chaos to drift,
the inhuman landscape,
snatches of music,
ensnared in the fiction,
the inescapable illusion of our being.
 
The dream returns,
half remembered, half forgotten,
False flick, false form, but falseness close to kin,
From the rubble of artifice,
The wreckage of the day long gone,
But things must go their own way
Reborn as myth from the commotion its left,
Beyond our control,
Where humans must enact their fate
From chaos to drift.
 
From A to B
stomping between being
it is what it is not
& is not what it is,

the big arsed hairless baboon
from what it’s left to what it will be
A to B the myth of it’s morality,
the memory of what it’s forgotten,
what it should be, at play with the day.
 
A to B, in the transit shift of the scene,
closes the world where we belong,
without belonging in it all,
at that point beyond fiction,
the nothingness which is everything.
 
Notes towards a supreme fiction. Wallace Stevens.(italics mine)
Being and Nothingness. John Paul Sartre.(italics mine)

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All the Babble of the Souk