Author Archives: Jason Preater
What Light Can Do
What Light Can Do is the title of Robert Hass’s book of essays reflecting on poetry and landscape. In this post I pass the time waiting for a book to arrive with Hass. Continue reading
Noriega: trees and language
It is a rivulet running Sheltered through the shade Of some dense pine wood: Take this cover and it dies Before it can reach the valley. I am thinking about this verse today. Noriega is talking about his own language, … Continue reading
Our Language: Novoneyra and Noriega Varela
Our Language The mountain man is coming now. Why? Oh dear heart! He is blind- He cannot see past the veil: He is coming to speak Gallego He is coming so that Gallego can live. Our language is a little … Continue reading
An Afternoon in Spring
Antonio Machado’s poem “An Afternoon in Spring.” I don’t understand it. Do you? Continue reading
You See, You Hear
In this Christmas post, I am thinking of you sitting at home with a brandy in your hand. I want to share with you some of the sounds of the poetry we have been talking about. And with that in … Continue reading
Shakespeare’s sonnets
This week I took a rest from considering Novoneyra, the mountains and the countryside and gave myself up to Reading Shakespeare The sonnets start with a series in which the poet argues with a young man who is wasting his … Continue reading
Novoneyra and the Shepherd’s Calendar
Two poets look at a disappearing landscape, from distant points in time. Continue reading
R.S. Thomas: Wales and Galicia
Two books published in 1952 and 1953 show the connections between Galicia and Wales, R.S. Thomas and Novoneyra. Continue reading
Novoneyra and Saudade
The roots of Novoneyra in Galician Saudade: yearning. Continue reading
Is Basho an arse?
The poems are exquisite. The sensibility is fine. Basho is aware of his own importance. He puts quotations from other writers into his work and allows his own writing to enter into dialogue with poets of the past. He knows he is good enough to have a place in history. Basho has a lot of poet friends who are always happy to see him, so he must have been a good dinner guest. How is it, then, that he can behave like an arse?
