Like all designations of high hermeneutic mystery, the phrase ‘Ratbag Poetry’ requires a personal archaeology. I needed to know what a Ratbag Poem could be – poems that are vituperative, poems that are a nuisance. I call upon Byron’s distaste for Keats’ propensity for
frigging with his imagination, which seems to us a virtue, and counts as a measure of the bile produced when a Ratbag is, in their turn, Ratbagged. It is partly the wickedness of your type and partly the quality of your infection; the spleen is actually the Romantic organ.
Cordite 43: MASQUE submissions are open. Poetry guest-edited by Ann Vickery
What happened to
Cordite 42: NO THEME II? Guest-poetry editor Gig Ryan is making her selections as I type. Apologies for the delay. This issue will go live on 1 June.
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