Simon Cutts' poetry, like the bit of meat back of the eye of the kipper (the best part), has been ignored sedulously by Brit/Yank poetasters. They don't like all that French muck. But, we like it a lot. We like his magpie-eye, his casual strollings through the worlds of Satie and Mallarme, of Percy Grainger and Ian Hamilton Finlay. His gorgeous clarity. "Leaving Mon Idee," for instance - what a cracker! And those two marvels: "I prefer the streams/ of the mountains/ to the sea," and its sequel, "I still prefer the streams/ of the mountains/ to the sea."
We like the notion of poems and seepage. And poems as cepage, the vine-stock (and line-shocks) that renew words from pourriture noble to no-bull rot.
Seepages is assembled from a sketch-book by Simon Cutts. We are leaving it as informal, unbookish, and close to the original as we can.