An anthology of original verse (plus a few translations from the Spanish and Ancient Egyptian) by the prize-winning poet and photographer, John Howard Reid. His work covers a wide variety of themes and genres, ranging from metrical ballads to prose poems, from the comic to the dramatic, from wide-ranging to highly personal, from the quietly descriptive to the impassioned didactic. Illustrated throughout with black-and-white photographs.
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By John Reid
Oct 15, 2009
"Anyone For Love?" Hit the jackpot at last! Mind you, I've come close to it several times. The anthology, TRAVELING, turned out almost the way I wanted it. But ANYONE FOR LOVE? is absolutely perfect. If you don't like the covers, if you hate the colors, if you think the lay-out is stupid and can't stand the way the type is indented, if you object to visual poems and find some of the photos are a little bit fuzzy, then blame me, not Lulu and not the printer! Every single page of the book turned out exactly the way I wanted it. A visual feast! As for the poems themselves, others have judged them pretty good. I like them too. In fact I love to read them out loud. My only disappointment is a belated one. Recently, I came upon my original version of "A Modest Love" and I must confess that I now prefer this one to the revised poem that is printed on page 64. What do you think? Here's the original: Perhaps, when the moon is setting, and all the stars of temporal sky... More > have vanished into the echo of last evening’s rain, when we sheltered beneath the pasteboard frieze of a tubular steel café, drinking Beethoven with hot chocolate, Mendelssohn with raisin-bread, perhaps you didn’t see the anguish in my eyes, for I knew we were marking time: I knew I’d no hope in eternity of ever winning your love. No intellect mine to wing the cliffs of knowledge, or dream in the caverns of thought; no riches did I bring, no gifts, but a shadow. Yet perhaps, if you lie awake, listening to the sea-shell sound of the sea, monotonous, never-changing, almost imperceptible, perhaps, you will hear my voice; for one day, deep in the dream-time, when a multitude nights have scaled the desert rim of the moon and dissolved in eternal dust, you may remember me.< Less
