NEW HOPE INTERNATIONAL REVIEW

This is the first substantial collection of Steve Sneyd's poetry since IN COILS OF EARTHEN HOLD University of Salzburg Press, 1993). With that out of print, those who wish to get an overview of his work since will need to start here.

Ian McMillan notes in his FOREWORD that

it's a walk with Steve from his house to the edge of the universe and beyond.

It's a walk that will have you wondering where your feet are going to land next, and if indeed there's any solid ground beneath them at all. The first three sections, apparently rooted in realism and specific locale, are as mind-bogglingly fantastic as any STAR WARS movie:

	and in between casualty figures coming
	through from Mazar i Sharif Bald Vulture
	Claw says has got answer on poet query
	but have run out of time
			YOUR FIRST NAME AND TOWN

	black hole swallows all
	— but where does what is
	swallowed go?

	ah comes out white hole
	elsewhere else when they say
	easy to grasp

	greenypurple as winter bramble
	deathbedded he-it-they strive
	to call back to aching side
	all those offshoots driven
	out to farflungs of the spiral arm
	lucky for their convenience
	now newrooted in another clime
	the message system long ago
	ceased functioning and so remains
	all on its ownieownieo

This is a tiny fun booklet from Steve Sneyd, who previously taught creative writing. He won the Peterson Trophy for Poetry, Newcastle 1996. He also won the annual award from the Pendragon Arthurian Society in 1991, and was nominated as Small Press Writer of the Year in the 1980s. All the poems are titled and are written in the 5/7/5 format (5 syllables on the first line, 7 syllables on the second line, and 5 syllables on the third line):

	red mist all round this
	far realm, we can no longer
	see to add more blood

Steve Sneyd can be something of an acquired taste. His liking for compound words and minimal punctuation plus sci-fi subject matter can make his poems seem over-dense on the page.

	... surface only seconds away now and soon will step out
	make my first transmission oh now
	shall I tell who what I am
	laugh how whatever checks they made
	failed to reveal explain first
	on Mars not man but Endless Immortal
	Guilty One laughweep through my aliases say shrugwise
	well at least
	my parents guessed right twice
	that I would be

	something someone of fame of great things
	huge name all-known was not
	mere foolish
	delusions of grandeur in the family thinking great prospects
	for me named me Ahaseurus — Bible name for Emperor
	Xerzes, husband of Esther and now he forget
	not I —
	perhaps it was that name gave me impudence call it
	or need to be in spotlight
	to all others letting pass in silence
	step past my cobbler shop threshold
	— cobbler shop, a man like me,
	well beneath my name my talent
	but that is was life — to
	insult spurn jeer
	you call it correct name it seemed to me
	just passing time of day
	less cruel than not a word to him come dragging
	by in day from prophet preacher popstar famous into
	crawling deathward criminal...

Bard Hair Day?

The Bards is a series inspired by Bard, designed to showcase the work of individual poets — so writes D.J. Tyrer, editor of this series "of handy leaflet-style collections" of which #6 contains the work of Steve Sneyd. This A4 (folded) sheet contains one longish (75 line) poem about Ramon Mercader contemplating the assassination of Leon Trotsky and two shorter poems, the purpose of these being less clear.

Sneyd's reputation — built as a writer of Science Fiction — is not enhanced by this pedestrian collection of non-SF poems. Neither does the reputation of the press benefit: this leaflet is carelessly produced, with no gutter between page fold and text on the copy I received of this uninspired collection.