ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)
In the compilation of the 'Readfin' Literary Journal the editors and designers have worked closely together. The final outcome is a journal that incorporates fiction, poetry and prose, illustration, and creative fiction – a melting pot, something for everyone. Journals such as this have wide ranging appeal, not only for those who have submitted stories, but great as gifts, for book clubs, and an illustration of what can be achieved for students of writing and publishing. 'Readfin' is a published book with their writing.
In the compilation of the 'Readfin' Literary Journal the editors and designers have worked closely together. The final outcome is a journal that incorporates fiction, poetry and prose, illustration, and creative fiction – a melting pot, something for everyone. Journals such as this have wide ranging appeal, not only for those who have submitted stories, but great as gifts, for book clubs, and an illustration of what can be achieved for students of writing and publishing. 'Readfin' is a published book with their writing.
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Poetry in Prose
Michael Freundt
In the musical play Carousel, a spruiker called Bill, and Julie, who
works in a mill, try to tell each other how they feel. They don’t
have the words to be true to such feelings so they sing it to make
it real: what “if I loved you?” The scene needs the music to supply
the emotion and for the would-be lovers to be who they are, not for
writers to give them words they would never use. Songs in musicals
happen when words are not enough. Poetry happens when prose in
not enough. To describe a spectacular tree, you can try to write it
realistically as best you can but if it is truly spectacular you will get
to a stage where you have to forget what you see and write what you
feel; what it reminds you of; what the words are for: sense, surprise,
and metaphor. When Auden wrote “As I walked out one evening,
walking down Bristol Street” he described what he did, and then
what he saw, but what he saw was so such more and he had no words
that did justice to the scenery “The crowds upon the pavement” so
he slipped into poetry, “were fields of harvest wheat.” And this adds
meaning and insight; yes, and there’s rhyme and rhythm of course, a
tune if you like. What confuses poetics for the readers of verse is that
so often with the text, it’s so personal, perverse, and has no meaning,
no revelation; but like masturbation, it may satisfy the writer, and,
well, that’s it! I’m going to stop beating up on myself, for being a fool
since it isn’t a test, so I’ll read more poetry, treasure those words that
light something up, and dismiss those that maybe a gas for the poet,
but hot air for the rest.
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ReadFin Literary Journal
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