The new issue of The Compass is in the process of being posted (the editors put it up gradually over the course of a number of days), and my attention has been drawn, not for the first time, to Paul Stephenson's work.
In this case, the selection of Stephenson's verse is especially interesting because of its potent blending of personal experience and current affairs. He lives in Paris, and has written about the attacks in the city and their aftermath. Moreover, the first poem strikes a huge chord with me because I recall having seen his confirmation on Facebook that he was safe. The Paris attacks are a shared, vicarious experience. Stephenson's poems make them specific and individual.
DISPLACED They called her aloof, impractical, clumsy, plain. It was, they
say, difficult for her not to fall in love.In spite, that is, of the first
coughs...
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