The Latest of Wilson from Around the Web

Calendrical commitments, as it were, require that I send you this consolidated run-down of new poems, essays, and reviews from the month of September. Please enjoy clicking through to the various items, and stay tuned for exciting news in the month ahead.

My third installment in the Notes on Form series takes a look at the 1957 anthology, New Poets of England and America, and considers it as the ghost of the literary future we could have had, before American poets abandoned the best aspects of the English poetic tradition. This essay, as with all the series, is behind the pay wall, but let me encourage you to subscribe to Forma and get two print issues and loads of online content all year long. I have had new prose or poetry in nearly every issue.

If getting behind the paywall is too much bother, then take heart in this exciting news. Trinity House Review is a new literary journal and the first issue is a carefully cultivated hum-dinger. I am most pleased to say three of my new poems appear in its pages: "The Darkness Coming," "After a Line of Maurice Sceve," and "Joseph Smith Run Out of Town." Click the cover to be taken to the issue. A quick look at the contributors to the issue will convince you, however, that this is a magazine to be studied with pleasure and in full.

The North American Anglican has run five of my poems this year, all of which are included in its fine, slender anthology, The Slumbering Host. The anthology goes for a pittance on amazon.com, but all the poems are here for you to read online. The last of my five, "All Your Life," has just appeared. Click the logo to read. The poem will put a nice bow on 2020 for you.

That same magazine has also run something of a review essay of my book, The Vision of the Soul: Truth, Goodness, and Beauty in the Western Traditions. While the review is not a successful engagement with what I actually argue in that volume, it is a lovely essay on modernity, tradition, and Platonism worth reading for its own sake, even as it reaches the implausible conclusion that Christian Platonism inevitably culminates in one's becoming simply very, very English.