Desire Lines, my favourite metaphor for life, are the wandering paths cut through grass, sand and snow where the first walkers tread and others follow. So, this little book opens up some of my wondering, during my wandering.
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Preview
Northland – Munros
2008
Silent
shapes of millennia, we just exist, basking in your awe
Born
from searing magma, layered from sea born dust,
Burnt
dry by spinning sun, worn by ageless ice and thaw.
Wind
howled, drenched, and hollowed by water
A
long, long and long way down a slow descent
To
beach, to sand and sea,
We
do not stare, or serve, or contemplate.
We
stand for nothing, we are – we be.
Do
not measure us, with your Anno Domini century thinking
We
are the detritus and majesty of unnumbered eons,
Grindstoned
dumb waiters by your booted tinkling,
Blasted
erosions of our former selves,
Scarred
observers of your ancestors’ seeing.
Know
the truth that we are soulless, dumb and, until today, mute
Left
Standing stones to the nothingness of being.
If
you do find inspiration and little revelations as you gaze below
Or
read worn down pride, or glory in our epic fragments
And
climbing, you pause and suddenly know
You
too will soon, too soon, be the grits of sandy remnants
Scattered
on our slopes (or rotting mucus in our bogs),
Clear
your tearful eyes and watch your imagination running away.
Don’t
strain your ears for echoes, from our blank faces,
Of
what your ancestors might now say.
Rather,
turn and beg a fellow traveller to point your way.
Reviews
"I devoured it on the day it arrived. I absolutely loved it. Not just the obvious ones with professional resonance like The Naming of the SATS, INSTED, and the Superhead's Conference Address, but also the intimate, and personal ones. I was thinking about which was my favourite, but it's impossible to say because there are so many. And that's probably because they show so much versatility in theme and style, and structure. It's a brilliant piece of work! It deserves the widest possible readership. I can see myself dipping into it again and again."
Bill Rogers
It's a very naked thing writing poetry - it lets people peer into your centre.
I loved the teaching ones - Super head and OFSTED ones and Oh The Decision! I loved the story and poem about the man collecting leaves by the road and the images stayed in my mind. I envy your ability to write poems for your children as they flew from the nest. I found the notes on the poems very useful as they helped me understand the context.
I loved the teaching ones - Super head and OFSTED ones and Oh The Decision! I loved the story and poem about the man collecting leaves by the road and the images stayed in my mind. I envy your ability to write poems for your children as they flew from the nest. I found the notes on the poems very useful as they helped me understand the context.
Joyce Evans
Preview
Early Morning 1989
I have found the early
morning again,
Sleepless, wakeful and for
once not worrying.
Rising quietly, not
wanting to disturb the house,
Parting the landing
curtain, I can feel
The day expectant but
still unreal.
The clock’s uneven tock
A single birdsong from the
garden
Misty night, orange light
but definitely morning.
In sleepy nostalgia, I
stretch and yawning
Fondly remember olden days
with just this feel.
Whilst Dad is filling steamy
flasks, with tea
And door step sandwiches
with Old Oak Ham.
There’s whispered talk and
silent tasks for me.
I get the canvas bags with
rods and nets,
Creaking fishing basket,
the ground-bait, reels and floats,
Then forced to gobble hot
treacle on lumpy porridge oats
He smiles, “Shush don’t
wake your Mam.”
Or, a hot mug of tea and a
snatch of toast
Before lugging heavy cases
with shivery expectations
To a grumbling taxi, or
trolley bus
Grand transport laid on,
just for us
To the smoky railway
station for our summer vacation
Somewhere on the coast.
Smiling, cold and shivering once more,
Back to our still warm bed I creep
Knowing my memories are a fine substitute for
sleep.
With such mirrors to reflect in and wells from
which to draw
I can rise and build a better day, on what has
gone before.
Review
There is the
honesty and total lack of affectation with which John reveals the
touchstones of his life; the quality and range of the poetry itself, giving us
glimpses of his literary heritage; and the care with which he has chosen
subjects with which it is so easy to identify. I caught myself smiling with
recognition, my memory triggered by images and sounds and longings half
forgotten. A stunning debut. You'll have guessed that I can't recommend it
highly enough! Crofters Joan
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| A woodland Desire line |
