Paul St John Mackintosh was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge and is currently working as a Humanities Editor on a Microsoft project. In addition to poetry, Mr. Mackintosh writes on cultural topics for newspapers and journals, including the Times Literary Supplement. He is also an Executive Committee member of the Translators Association of the Society of Authors of Great Britain. He is married to his Japanese co-translator, Maki Mackintosh née Sugiyama.
His first collection of poetry, The Golden Age, was recently published by Bellew Publishing of London, England, 1997. Some of his other works include Translations From Japanese (With Maki Sugiyama), The Poetry of Nakahara Chuya, Gracewing/Fowler Wright Books, Leominster, England, 1993, and Nip the Buds, Shoot the Kids, by Kenzaburo Oe (Nobel Prize for Literature, 1994), Marion Boyars, London/New York, 1995; paperback, Picador, London, England/Grove Press, New York, US, 1996, which was awarded the 1995 London Japan Festival Award for literary translation.
Mr. Mackintosh believes that "poetry is the highest form of language" and his "favourite poetic quality is imagination." Speaking of poetry in general, he says he loves "the most cryptic excesses of modernism, but also traditional forms and methods." Paul relates, "I don't much care whether anyone understands my poems, so long as they enjoy them."
A sample of his work follows. You can also learn more about Mr. Mackintosh and read more of his poetry by following the link to his web site at the end of this document.
(for James Wright)Families gathered round their hearths at Thanksgiving commemorate your Promised Land: America. Westward, red cloudstreets silhouette towering mesas at dusk in Hopi reservations in Arizona; the earth is the raw terracotta of Poussin bacchantes, long sunstrokes brush colours across the Painted Desert; rivers of turquoise barrel down the Grand Canyon, making stone chimes of the entranced Petrified Forest. While in the heartland, in New World ghettoes, lost in American dreams, black junkies crack ampoules of poison down concrete holes. Nimble as Cherokee steeplejacks above Manhattan, spiders spin cities in the dust of ancient, dark cellars. Wetback Hispanics crouched in pueblos in Death Valley quell hunger with the songs of Paz or Vallejo. Offshore, where Ahab's whale breaches, Leviathan, Atlantic barracuda rend jettisoned slaves. Or Europe, where Man roamed the Alps in holy terror, asperged by the bronze angelus of cowbells, his head lost in Jehovah's clouds, merciless God, pulling graven tablets down from Heaven for headstones. Horn calls at Mass on St Hubert's Day; the glowing cross on the stag's crown, glimpsed through the trees in the black forest; confessional landscapes, valleys where, consanguine, brown friars crack innocents' skulls with iron bars. Blood and offal choke the blocks in cobbled shambles; Evil's chaste paladins ride by in polished steel. Under Caesar's or pontiff's thumb, on golden sand, lions' maws tear wet morsels from martyrs' living flesh. Coasting unsighted capes of night, a lost corsair, the new moon's crescent blade flashes against cloud shoals. The Ohio bears its freight of grief towards the sea; your memory, a stormy petrel, broods on the waters. Copyright © 1997 Paul St John Mackintosh
Links:Note: followed links will open in a new browser window.
Note: use browser's "back" button for previous page.