The over-stitched lines of hedgerows
And wild cherry burst silk white
Beneath a voile sky.
This poetry collection begins quietly, with elegant lines. It’s got a thoughtfulness to it, perhaps even a worshipful quality.
I believe in life
That bursts quiet in small things:
The brambles that clamber, reclaim
Gullies where trains once ran.
It feels nostalgic, almost, focusing not on the big picture but the small, the walks in the country, the sigh of the trees. And it’s not lost something for that, the beauty lies in the details. And this poet has an eye for the details.
Until, In the morning,
The bubbling pearlescent evidence
Of a pond courtship.
The imagery in this is excellent, carefully placed, and it should be slowly savoured. The poet is careful, meticulous.
Polishing puddles into mirrors
And jewelling the new spring growth
Into jade, emerald, malachite.
Hanging diamonds from every quivering leaf,
Glittering glassed grass on field edges…
The second half of the book uncovered more melancholy verse, of which I am more partial. I prefer the shadow to the light. The Wall and Stain were particular favourites.
Adjustment, however, was an eloquent study in how to play with words humorously. I enjoyed it immensely.
Driving Home had hints of the whimsy showing through, and it makes me keen to read more by this poet. I am sure they could handle whimsy beautifully.
The tar runs black and sleek,
Onward like a river.
The veil of the world falls thin.
If you like angry, spiky poetry that shouts of injustice and war, this is not the collection for you. But if you want a collection that will amble along the river with you, peeking at herons and puddles, staring at the stars, and then meeting in the meadows, this is your poet. This is one for you.
I award 5 stars.
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