Thoughts from the reading window.  

The first three or four lines of a poem are make-or-break territory.

The reading window is open. The envelopes are stacking up.

 ‘Is it true – what Shelley writes me that poor John Keats died at Rome of the Quarterly Review?’ [Letter from Byron to John Murray, 26 April 1821]

There are many ways. 

I love the word symposium. I don’t know why.

These days there’s a lot of interest in what poems look like.