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Treading .a. Path
Nineteen-seventies half-heard-of place.
You needed to tread up through the garlic
and the raspberry canes to the hall,
a sort of hall, with a lovely grained
and golden floor. Sometimes committees
of a kind would sit around there
on bean bags, but mostly there’d be
jazz and readings and swing and even theory,
the poetry of the impecunious.
The atmosphere was misty and loving,
not the hard coin of commitment
and convention, but un-metalled love,
as joyously unfocused as the garlic smell
and the raspberry-scented evening air.
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by Robert Nisbet
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Robert Nisbet.is a Welsh poet whose work has been published in roughly equal measures in Britain and the USA, in the latter case quite regularly in. San Pedro River Review, Red .River Review. and. Panoply, which made him one of its Editor’s Choice Featured Poets in their Fall 2017 issue
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This is a lovely poem which measures up to the consistently high standards of Robert Nisbet. It is a heartfelt elegy exploring time and place long abandoned, save in memory. The accompanying photo is appropriate and evocative.
Thank you, Michael. I’m glad you liked it.
That’s a nice poem Robert. I especially liked the line – “poetry of the impecunious” – could be a good blues title!
Thanks very much, John
Robert: Made the connection. It was the “joyously unfocused.” You made feel like I was there again. For some remote party, down a lane in Howard County, Mo. There were so many abandoned houses, out in the country there. Just like down that lane. Your imagery was great.
So glad you liked it, Alan