I am a frequent blogger as regular viewers to my blog will know and
also where-ever I blog poetry for read and comment if they like.
During this kind of activity, it’s frequent I guess I end up reading
other people’s poetry which is part and parcel and when I can I
like to comment on it.
Without been big headed over this kind of thing, I have made a
few friends and in most of these cases have then later on ended
up supporting them when-ever they bring out a book. (Good
books of course).
With money been tight, which it is in society nowadays,
buying poetry by none friends is a very different ball game indeed
however.
Antony Owen’s poetry is one such case.
I first encountered him on Write Out Loud, I guess what maybe
18 months ago and was that impressed by his poetry, I emailed
Him to ask where to get his book from.
He answered me, and I am shamed to admit it took a good 16
months for me to get round to buying his debut book,
My Father’s Eyes Were Blue which I will review soon and by
the time I got round to reading it, his second collection
‘The Dreaded Boy’ had just appeared.
‘The Dreaded Boy’ is a book about war poems. Not the way
Wilfred Owen would tell them but to quote the press release
“affecting and unflinching investigation into the violence and
loss inflicted by modern warfare”.
Take for example, the title piece of the collection 'the Dreaded boy',
it is filled with images like
'Where battalions fell /
Autumn poured eyes /
out of spiky cribs /
their beige pupils rolled /
like sky in a soldier's iris',
there is something in this that totally unsettled me in the first
stanza which I couldn't put my finger on which as the piece
develops turns into a holy nightmare.
No answers are offered why, no after thoughts whether the
crime went unpunished – just the event itself.
There is certainly a element of Wilfred Owen in this
in the way the horror is not played over the top,
almost like a newspaper article but the horror here
is played with almost a detachment not as a obersver
which is just as chilling.
Other pieces such as my personal favourite 'Wastelands'
offer no further answers with 'limbs of typewriters' and 'tears
became exclamations', giving a very readable but
downright haunting feel which has a feel of Billy Ramsell
in some places with tons of layers and layers hidden
within in it.
Recommended.
Go here for more details..
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