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Crowns and Quills
A Discussion Between a Poet and a Proset


The blog thing is a shared endeavor, supported as much by the readers as this writer, so I thought to share a communication of the type that used to occur a lot by snail mail and I was even involved in the last phases of that and am lucky enough to enjoy the correspondence by email of a number of talented readers, writers and poets. I am beginning to think that the only really important form of writing is poetry.

-James

Thanks James,

I like it. This reads to me like a prose translation of an old English epic in verse. Obviously there are the modern parallels as well. I particularly liked the part with Yakob and the way the narrative shifts rapidly with little signposting. It really is reminiscent of epic writing where some things are left unexplained, and mirrors in literary form the nomadic lifestyle of your protagonist, who would likely never have been able to follow up all the various threads of his life. Now, of course, facebook would be urging him to "reconnect with Octavia" every time he logged on.

For the blurb, use this, if you think it's not too overwrought:

"Under an Iron Crown is a fever dream of the untethered Id of the European barbarian. Written like a prose translation of an unknown Anglo-Saxon epic poem, LaFond, through a soft-headed biographer, contacts the past to bring us a man without ties, a king without a people, his deeds, loyalties, women and weapons, and above all his soul." -Nathaniel Lucas, poet (Social Matter, Atop the Cliffs)

I once attempted similar historical conjuring in poetry (attached below), contacting the first Bishop of Mexico City, Fray Zumarraga, a Basque, responsible for propagating the story of the Virgin of Guadelupe. Remember that this title made him nominally in charge of territory all the way up to Alaska. This poem has been rejected so far by 35 mainstream magazines.

Warm regards.

Lucas

Fray Zumarraga's Metaphysical Language

“The Virgin

Is the flat world now.”

Is one of my favorite passages from Lucas’s mightily rejected poem of 9 verses of 4 lines each, constructed as a dialogue between a long departed monk and a modern observer in the person of the poet. The style reminds me somewhat of Sophocles in Antigone.

I enjoyed this quite a bit, Lucas.

I hope you will publish your poetry in book form at some point.

Thanks,

-James

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