Nobody knows just how it goes. That's the trouble with an old song. I hear myself singing it through, but the words are wrong. Nobody will ever know the way it was. And all the songs are like the words that fell away - away from me. it hurts me now: just knowing I've got an old song buried in me.
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,
rege
An wonder of words.
So soft to read your words...
I love to read your poems, again and again...
God Bless you,
Thanking you,
Yours truly,
N.K.OSHO