NEW HOPE INTERNATIONAL REVIEW

At 144 pages this is a sizeable collection of poetry, prose and reviews. It has a strong literary pedigree and a quaintly old-fashioned presentation. A sort of cross between a parish magazine and Hansard, having said that, the content is mostly a laudable collection of good writing from around the globe. The poetic content is particularly fine, both in the poetry itself, and in some excellent prose pieces. I was particularly drawn to a splendid poem by John Torrance. RECENTLY IS NOW TOO LONG AGO. In which he remembers the passing of a close friend. This poem has a universality that is inescapable:

	Some kinds of death can happen anywhen-
	mishaps, murders, cancers. Random clocks,
	they crash through diaries and the webs of love.
	...
	We're left on unfamiliar slopes,
	...
	to weigh our placid lives against this old
	barbarity flung daily in our faces.
	...
	Your poems were shooting stars in bitter nights
	And smouldering caves in darkened afternoons—

	Dig down,
	burrow
	into the convoluted coil
	of your media-battered brain.

	Exploit fertile minefields, old battle-
	zones, new technology and stake
	your claim
	upon the greenest
	ground- meltdown markets,
	old gold and silver
	and chain up the children
	who pry into places
	deeper than greed can go
	...
	burrow
	into your multi-faceted mind, into
	the silence at the edge of everything,
	where good and bad and reason and logic
	hide
	behind god's back.

		There are limits
	in the sheer frivolity
	of change.
       
	There are limits
	to the aphrodisiac effects
	of power
	that don't feel like limits
	but like loneliness

	Steer clear of guilt,
	gratitude, the hungry eyes
	of the beggar, the starved smile
	of the outsider.
       
	Turn down offers
	of tea, sympathy
	and always slip a condom over your heart.

 
	This is a time for drama.
	You might not think so, the way
	daylight drains imperceptibly
	into an absence, like ageing.
	...
	Windows glow amber with nothing
	but emptiness and fields beyond
	...
	When the curtains are closed
	the alone are lonely as the dark fields
	and the loved are sufficient.
	This is the time of the great divide.

	Standing on the cliff edge
	Reason told him
	To take a short step back
	And yet he stood
	As folly took its hold
	Fascinated by the void
	...
	Yet unseen forces
	Attracted him still more
	Until with open wings
	He soared off into space.

The collection closes with TEN reviews which may well be of interest to subscribers, and this issue is after-worded by editor David Caddy.

Submissions are invited from like-minded writers who should send for this collection (and indeed previous issues). TEARS IN THE FENCE is the sort of collection that all writers (and would-be writers) ought to have on their bookshelves, or even under their pillows.

TEARS IN THE FENCE is an A5, perfect bound journal. It's matte cream cover envelops 144 pages packed with poetry, prose, articles, and reviews.

After an index of contents, it skips the usual editorial and directs the reader straight into poetry, prose, articles and reviews. Despite the sheer amount of text contained within its covers, each poem is given plenty of room to shine and the featured work covers a wide range of style and subject matter.

Edward Field's poems shine particularly brightly. In HOMELAND SECURITY, he considers the plight of law-abiding Middle Eastern citizens in a turbulent society.

	My advice to anyone who looks Middle Eastern these days is,
	when you're in a post office or jogging around the reservoir,
	never stop and jot down any notes,
	even if it's a great idea for a poem,
	and for God's sake don't snap any photos,
	even of your cousins arriving from St. Louis at the airport.
	God forbid you should draw a map of the subway for them,
	showing the route between their hotel and your house!

	And when they lead you away in handcuffs
	don't bother protesting your innocence and calling for a lawyer.
	You can't have one, and you're guilty.

	While most men I know are having theirs irradiated,
	scooped out, or surgically removed,
	we're enjoying a blissful Indian Summer.

With around 50 poems in this issue, it would be impossible to give the deserved attention to each poet featured. Field emerged as a favourite for me, as did Rupert M Loydell with his BEST TO BE and THE SINGING TIME, and Elizabeth Burns with her POEM FOR AN ELECTIVE MUTE.

The prose featured is of a similar high standard to the poetry. Regi Claire's COLD ROOM 3 is a compelling read. At face value, it is the story of a few hours in the life of an ageing man having a hard day — but there is so much more. It turns to rash action, mystery, and finally, desperation as it draws to a conclusion that left me feeling unsettled and uncomfortable.

In this packed volume, it's inevitable that some of the work fell short of thrilling me. Josh Ekroy's fiction piece, CONTACT, uses as little punctuation as possible and his narrator does all he can to avoid recognisable use of the language. I persevered but I was dangerously close to giving up. Although not ultimately to my taste, it is refreshing to see boundaries being stretched with the results finding their way into print.

In general the work is of a high standard, well presented, and thought provoking. In his afterward, editor David Caddy does not use the space to draw attention to the work within, nor to explain why those particular works were chosen. He leaves the work to speak for itself, which it does superbly.

At £6 an issue, Tears in the Fence is good value. 144 pages of poetry and prose, all in fairly small but neat and readable print. It's difficult to estimate, but there could be up to 50,000 words here, enough for a shortish novel. Not only is there a lot of reading material, but it is also very diverse. Poetry of many kinds, from the obscure to the humorous. Short pieces of fiction, also diverse, but none of them very cheerful, it seems to me. Critical articles on a range of poets. The authors are mostly British or American.

The first poem is WORDS ON THE WINDOW PANE, by Gavin Selerie. This is the kind of poetry I find obscure. It suddenly introduces words in italics, bold, or bold small caps without any observable reason. The syntax and semantics are also difficult to follow, as this extract shows:

	out of listlessness
	I dined privately with a friend

		Wine. Van's  1s.6d.

	frail glass, which shall die first—
		has you riding
	with your ribbon and mask

		tonvelsasens smoke the pen

	Nite my deelest logues . . .

Fortunately most of the poetry is far less "challenging" and much more "accessible." For example, Selerie is followed by Glyn Hughes, who writes about closely observed scenes in nature that lead to conclusions about the human condition. Most of the poetry in this issue is somewhere on a continuum between these two approaches. In addition to the two I have mentioned, there are another thirty poets here, producing some really intelligent and striking poems.

Among the critical essays and reviews are several that deserve attention because of their interest. There is a rather specialised but very informative discussion of the poetry of Robert Duncan by Ian Brinton, and a review by Jim Burns of Edward Field's book on post-war New York bohemia. Sean Elliott discusses Peter Jay's anthology of sea poetry. It's nice to see the Effra, one of London's lost rivers, discussed by Tom Chivers in his review of Allen Fisher's poems that feature London south of the Thames (to Londoners from the other side of the river, an alien landscape). Elsewhere, in reviewing Jeremy Hooker's poems 1965-2005, Brian Hinton rakes over the ashes of a quarrel between him and Andrew Jordan. Is this necessary or wise? Those readers like me who were unaware of the issue don't want to know about it, and those who were in the know probably don't need to be reminded.

There are also three regular columnists (the two associate editors and editor, respectively) who cast critical eyes over recent events and happenings in the literary world. Tom Chivers writes FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE, Sarah Hopkins listens to NOISE FROM THE CABIN, and finally David Caddy sums it all up in an AFTERWORD. These contributions are wide-ranging, informative and properly opinionated.

There is far too much in Tears in the Fence to mention every contribution, so for the rest I hope general praise will do. In his discussion of bohemia Jim Burns says:

Little magazines have lost their significance, and they were, at one time, very much the organs of expression for bohemia.

I have always wondered, though, whether it is TIERS in the fence or TARES in the fence. I suppose the answer is — both. It is the ambiguity that counts. Talking about counting, this is Number 44 (front cover) or Issue Forty-Four (page 1), but apart from this inconsistency it surprises me that it is undated. Surely magazines ought to be dated? There isn't even the usual copyright symbol and date. One has to guess the approximate date of issue from the dates of the books reviewed (all 2005 or 2006), and the fact that one contributor mentions that her piece was written during the 2006 World Cup. The other matter that could do with a bit of attention is proof-reading the notes on contributors. Some unintended humour slips in here. One contributor "likes to resent his work on stage." Another has produced "her most recent boo." And a third "lives in West Virginia, where he works a grade school teacher." Let's hope he doesn't work the teacher too hard. There are a few other typos elsewhere. But these are but tiny blemishes on an otherwise excellent magazine, which is, to repeat, good value all round.