Anyone professing a poetic interest who has not come across his award winning book should, in my opinion, acquaint themselves with his work and experience a truly original contemporary Canadian voice of great power and breadth, and which most serious practitoners recognise as operating on a higher frequency and one of deep awareness and accomplishment, inf both craft and technique. His inventiveness was head and shoulders above anyone else, and it was clear from listening to this poet, he is in a league of his own:
"Fill the sky to choking
with a reedbed
..a blind of shafts
..the very air woven by
his merest gesture to fable...
the crush of gravity's paint
..till void reabsorbs
..a smash and grab of years
...a protector, got drunk,
..back flip...the map
...washed up as far south
as man or god can go
..like the madam who ran the roadhouse
..our lady of times edge
..we find him there
pushed to the worlds prow,
barely more than a beat
in the days narrative"
Hines made a four thousand yr old
poem, which many consider the closest we have to the earliest (and uncorrupted) truly ancient myth, which one soul from the NW order of scouse beat God botherers, found very rewarding to experience.
It took me four years after leaving formal education, to absorb the system of my Tradition -- for it to *appear* whole, as it were.
And the correct way for routing into the Myth systems which grew out of Sumerian and ancient Egyptian star knowledge (and on which our own mungrel mix and mish mash, oddly matched one) which the Latins influenced our Culture to claim as their own.
I is clear, reading this stuff, how Goidelic myth, irish legend, rests on an identical (numerical) poetic base..
the Metric at the base of poetry, is standard, or rather, my research has lead me to conclude, the most uncorrupted system is the bardic one, and poetic knowledge is the same whether we are addicted to cartoon lore of a self-invented poetic we make up blind, orthe most ancient Sumerian code, and their planet X, their watchers and angels came from, some speculate, is has aancient extra-terrestrial keys to understanding it in the fullest terms of existential proofs, which is not for the skeptical dreamer unresponsive to -- what a hundred yrs ago would be dismissed as the rantings of a mercury poisoned mad person but now -- the most challenging and axiomatically shattering theories upon the whole natural core fabric of whateber it is poetry reveals to us in the self supported learning states.
Alone we find the reasons behind our intelligence - logically and with provenance, we trust -- andthe knowledge they who Know: the *knowing ones* of the literal translation of a poet in ancient times, on these islands at least -- thousands of years prior to Chaucer, the grandfather of our classical canon's tongue; where are they now?.
And so good luck
love and peace, the society for truth reporting now on the alternative News way the net has, of concerned people no longer having to swallow the conjectural stuff, but truly export our minds to a sort of fourth dimension of understanding myth, after the keys to illumination whatever gods we trust and make, gift us critically, our Research into the nuts of it, to Gilgamesh and all that mob, all the earliest sources..
surely this is the logical route to real knowledge of the throne room at Tara, called
*star of the poets*
Réalta na bhFile
the High King - Ard Ri
their throne was this
appellation and when one studies the stuff, it is clear that Robert Graves is right in his assertion that Ireland and Wales were the final resting place of the essential BC mode and mind, but my own take is that a lot of the critical uncertainty (not by you of course) displayed by the miners of the soul, is due to Real fruits not that plentiful, as most poracticing today, take their cue from ABCDE or whoever, ms X, and mistake the straight face one liners pitched in tenors that wld have the lay reader beleive the author is well up on this Expert are of research, but often alas, this is a sham and tragic really, that our positions are often just a pose, and so a hundred best folk in a room, rarely lowering their guard and admitting
*i know little really*
but rather, confuse real star knowledge on the page, for vaugue imitative attempts at being a composite someone else, instead of being ourselves -- or rather, not arrogate ourself any claim to possessing any self-cut keys to unlocking the puzzle of eternal space, but to learn for Love and poetry, to be as good as we can intellectually, to prove using fictional art to prove faculties' assassin in the status quo - is 12 whatevers in play before the hour turns into eternity and we win some stuff, because such a person wants to help us out, for whatever human reason they are (or not) sharing a space on the bus of love and peace, traditionally, we pretend....