She is so Often Mentioned

She is so Often Mentioned


This year,

observe everything,

she does


and her life as it is and her stature,

is a portrait of her eye and a lively one;

ideas of high birth and of ‘chatter.’


Intercourse reveals ringlets about her very centre

The neatly displayed circle as if he were on his head is where we were by him of him,

obscured by vanity,


attention for which it craves as if she was as we were large and high but,

of sensation,

with eyes so bright we only say part of our brief interview,


I knew to walk in to make up with an extraordinary bare,

figure to the right,

and of these,


animal types.


the little Gothic well,

millions pining in the voice of one

The Monday Poem – Poetry

This week’s poem is Don Paterson’s Poetry.


In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
but the atom of the love that drew it forth
from the silence: so if the bright coal of his love
begins to smoulder, the poet hears his voice
suddenly forced, like a bar-room singer's -- boastful
with his own huge feeling, or drowned by violins;
but if it yields a steadier light, he knows
the pure verse, when it finally comes, will sound
like a mountain spring, anonymous and serene.

Beneath the blue oblivious sky, the water
sings of nothing, not your name, not mine.

—Don Paterson

The Monday Poem: The Four Angels by Rudyard Kipling

This week’s poem is Rudyard Kipling’s The Four Angels. I hope you enjoy it.


    As ADAM lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree,
    The Angel of the Earth came down, and offered Earth in fee.
          But Adam did not need it,
          Nor the plough he would not speed it,
    Singing:—“Earth and Water, Air and Fire,
           What more can mortal man desire?”
              (The Apple Tree’s in bud.)

    As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree,
    The Angel of the Waters offered all the Seas in fee.
         But Adam would not take ‘em,
         Nor the ships he wouldn’t make ‘em,
    Singing:—“Water, Earth and Air and Fire,
           What more can mortal man desire?”
              (The Apple Tree’s in leaf.)

    As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree,
    The Angel of the Air he offered all the Air in fee.
          But Adam did not crave it,
          Nor the flight he wouldn’t brave it,
    Singing:—“Air and Water, Earth and Fire,
           What more can mortal man desire?”
              (The Apple Tree’s in bloom.)

    As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree,
    The Angel of the Fire rose up and not a word said he.
          But he wished a fire and made it,
          And in Adam’s heart he laid it,
    Singing.—“Fire, fire, burning Fire,
           Stand up and reach your heart’s desire!”
              (The Apple Blossom’s set.)

    As Adam was a-working outside of Eden-Wall,
    He used the Earth, he used the Seas, he used the Air and all;
           And out of black disaster
           He arose to be the master
    Of Earth and Water, Air and Fire,
           But never reached his heart’s desire!
             (The Apple Tree’s cut down!)

Poetry at Literati — “Aime Cesaire & the Art of Translation” — Clayton Eshleman & Keith Taylor

On September 13, 2017, Literati Bookstore in Ann Arbor, Michigan hosted Clayton Eshleman & Keith Taylor in celebration of Eshleman & A. James Arnold’s landmark “Complete Poetry of Aime Cesaire,” the definitive translation of Cesaire’s work into the English language.

The Monday Poem – Golden – Of The Selkirks by Emily Pauline Johnson

Golden – Of The Selkirks

    By Emily Pauline Johnson


    A trail upwinds from Golden;
It leads to a land God only knows,
To the land of eternal frozen snows,
That trail unknown and olden.

And they tell a tale that is strange and wild –
Of a lovely and lonely mountain child
That went up the trail from Golden.

A child in the sweet of her womanhood,
Beautiful, tender, grave and good
As the saints in time long olden.

And the days count not, nor the weeks avail;
For the child that went up the mountain trail
Came never again to Golden.

And the watchers wept in the midnight gloom,
Where the canyons yawn and the Selkirks loom,
For the love that they knew of olden.

And April dawned, with its suns aflame,
And the eagles wheeled and the vultures came
And poised o’er the town of Golden.

God of the white eternal peaks,
Guard the dead while the vulture seeks! –
God of the days so olden.

For only God in His greatness knows
Where the mountain holly above her grows,
On the trail that leads from Golden.

Collaborative Something-or-Other Anyone?

collaborative art project

Would anyone like to get involved in a collaborative project of some kind? I’m thinking of something that would involve visual artists, writers, poets…, possibly musicians and filmmakers? Let me know if you’d be interested in the comments below, along with any ideas you may have, pros/cons etc.

Some ideas…

*A physical journal that gets posted around for participants to add to.

*An online zine.

*A ‘real’ zine.

*A record-over-the-top-of-the-last-version film or audio piece.

If people want to use the opportunity to promote their work/website/book etc, that’s fine (just as long as it’s in addition to an actual piece of work). There would be no cost involved to anyone (unless the item requires posting on to a new place) and you won’t get anything in return, but each stage and the finished (if it can be finished!) piece can be featured on Examining the Odd with all names and links of each person involved (if they so wish).

seems to have made a few verbal changes through his ankle, exactly similar.

Re-settling them on

an unquestioning pair of shoulders, the annihilation of a nation however, back to the table, the future or the dark-haired girl from the what had happened, and in which one becomes aware of facts and ideas which to him, molehill here and coming towards him across long  interval of peace during his bomb had fallen altered,

the eyes could give you away dear. Was perfectly possible. He had been suspected of countless hysterical and heretical tendencies. The records too much. But to tell him with a damned impersonal screen, is the definitive and final third edition, they’re good enough, prefer to stick together and though, throughout time and space he had the face which all humanity and life everywhere had burst from not knowing at what he was supposing and that was it for before then there had been the past not only changed, down regular as said Martin and the point is, a cat o’ nine tails. A fireplace roars, as he leans across to check multitudes of ravenous people. Remember this. Know yours.

Martin – A Fluxus Style Chance Poem