Prosperity, in the dim light of the frosted brain, left the edifice vague and out of breath. It was the opinion of the written word, that ideas forced themselves off course to explain the inadequacy of a beautiful day filed with sunshine and the confidence of green leaves. Some machine was building a selection of writers to handle the fury of conferences along the coast. Since it was not suitable to forgive the bewildered few, the sophisticated advocate asserted representation. This leader guessed that it was not true , after all, regarding the fallen standards of obvious faith. Phrases were scattered in the snow to make patterns reassuring for honest readers to consider, and time developed its beauty through the presence of leisure. To await the breath, the resting avalanche sat quietly in a chair. It had been said that the drum would be the last instrument; the sound of the horn would be one, but the twinkling sounded like the ice of stars. An impulse to interrupt the classics could only provide the cynical, curatorial emptiness until a ribbon of white marble reminded the inmost appreciation, that tunes might be transcribed by patient aspirations. Thickening propensities and piles of papers were deemed hopeless by retreating readers who had once claimed to know every word. To others, this fact promised a wealth in a forest of proof and fantasy. The explorations were ignoring an opportunity uplifted like a mountain range to erode in the presence of consideration and the development of the mass of it very like the structure of the universe but concerned with perceptions deriving curious exceptions. Reasons continued to influence the content of terrible consensus which interested some individuals working to make the words go in circles, incessantly, but the ignorant few were less interested and did not intend to understand the complete implication of any statements met while strolling through gardens. This did not contribute to the practicality of sports like golf or ballgames, so it was assessed to be worthless. Value could be assigned by subjective standards for which there was no other concern. This made it worth while to have personal interests not shared by others in the group.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
This collection of poetry addresses the nature of time, reflections on the natural world, the difficulty of loss,
contemporary social issues and gratitude for life.
Ron