Ends And Beginnings

I sent the final manuscript of Homo Sentimentalis to John and Alan over at Leafe Press yesterday. A big moment. I had to decide to stop touching them, like a child endlessly fiddling, and thus irritating, the ears of an ageing puppy. Or some other similarly awkward simile.

Insert your own.

In any case, the first poems of this book date back, I believe, to 2005, meaning they have travelled with me across various stages of my life, and various cities, from Paris in the spring to Italy in the summer to London emerging greyly from a long winter.

Weather is not to be reduced via hermeneutics.

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Secondly, some kind appreciation for The Newer Metaphysicals by Dianna Hancock:

The posts by Nicholas Manning appeal to the reader. Not only is he a good writer but he is not so sesquipedalian that it is too difficult to comprehend, but would appeal to most academics. The posts are not overly loquacious, but tend to be written with a distinct, articulate manner. The voice is immediately evident. I feel almost as if I know who he is, though I’ve merely begun to dabble in his writing.

I had to look up sesquipedalian. What is the name for a rhetorical device that is itself what it's describing? I love these, in any case. Thanks Dianna and happy to electronically meet you.