Monthly Archives: August 2026

Late Inscriptions by David Miller (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press)

Late Inscriptions by David Miller (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press)

Since the death of his wife Dodo (the philosopher Doreen Maitre) in 2022, much of David Miller’s work has been an elegiac exploration of grief. Late Inscriptions continues this theme and phase in his poetry as Miller recounts and reimagines, remembers and re-members in his attempt to commune with the dead and navigate grief.He writes in the minimalist style derived from the great US poet and mystic Robert Lax. Keith Jebb has noted that Miller admires Lax immensely and says that ‘few have pitched words in space, found the pitch of words, like Miller and Lax.’ When I interviewed him in 2023, Miller said that Lax was exemplary for him, both as a writer and as a person, and emphasised the ‘strong, even severe strand of minimalism in a good deal of his work’. What this means in practice is that each word used is significant because each word bears meaning. Miller leans on and stresses each word because they bear the weight of sorrow. Jebb says that Miller creates ‘with a balance of minimalism, repetition and the abstract, words isolated and ringing.’A similar minimalism is also to be found in the content of these poems. In the words of the Del Amitri song, in these poems ‘nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all’. Harriet Neville notes the happenings as being: a bird landing on the door, waiting to be fed; a dog entering the bedroom through an open back door; and Belgian waffles and eggs Florentine shared with old friends. Although nothing significant seems to happen, actually everything happens and we, as is the poet, are changed.It is not just words that become significant in poetry and grief but also events and activities of any kind, whatever they may be. Each and every event is a potential trigger for emotion or memories and a potential healing agent enabling the one grieving to cope in the face of loss. Attention is paid to each event or activity and is rewarded as all are meaning-full.Addressing simultaneously both ourselves as reader and Dodo, his late wife, Miller moves seamlessly between event and memory, action and reflection in his sharing of his grief journey. While inscriptions are usually permanent markers of significance, these inscriptions shift and change in the moment, as minute by minute, page by page, we move beyond them. What counts, as Neville identifies, is the activity of recounting and reflecting:

To speak –        

to not speak –          

to write –             

through – and out   

With the simplest of elements sparely rendered, Miller tenderly explores the paradox of love and loss by weaving together fragmented memories ‘coloured by grief’. As Jebb comments, ‘No other contemporary poet does this so skilfully, or with such honesty.’ Between Late Inscriptions and Eight Poems, both of which cover similar ground, is a short Untitledpoem for Rupert Loydell on the subject of prayer. Loydell has been a supporter of Miller over the years and published The ABCs of Robert Lax, edited by Nicholas Zurbrugg and Miller, which includes essays and tributes from many poets, writers and critics. This poem was originally published by Loydell’s Stride Magazine as part of a series of poems inspired by The Prayer, an art-installation by German artist Diemut Strebe, that tries to explore the supernatural through artificial intelligence. Miller’s response is that while, in this installation, ‘A mouth speaks’, it is ‘not mine’. What is his, as Miller himself has articulated, is the care for ‘each and every syllable’ that he finds in Lax’s poetry and practises in his own. A ‘gentle yet strong focus, lucidity and faithfulness of the act of attention (to words, to the things and the people around him, to whatever he names in poems)’ that ‘constitutes one of the most salient features of Lax’s poetry’ and also of his own.

Jonathan Evens 23rd August 2026

   

 

Candlelight by Seán Street (Poetry Salzburg)

Candlelight by Seán Street (Poetry Salzburg)

A candle is a powerful instant symbol that communicates across cultures and languages with associations of light, imagination, remembrance, renewal and hope, but also connects with transience and mortality for, in the process of giving light, a candle flame, as Gaston Bachelard describes it, ‘dies a good death; it dies in its sleep.’ Seán Street draws on all these symbols and more in Candlelight, going deep into human conscious and unconscious thoughts and feelings, accessing the ancient and the elemental.

Fire is an element at the heart of the poems with their images of flames and the sun. Saxon men and women, with their love of riddles and kennings, saw the sun as the world’s candle and the poem ‘Dawn Chorus, Evensong’ depicts a world where Earth will be ‘deserted by sun’ if the dark is not kept at bay. Here is an ongoing struggle, a paradox of ‘flameless fire’ with a million suns blinding the narrator as he imagines journeying to ‘worlds past dreaming’, to a light that is ‘past metaphor’ (‘White as Jasmine’).

Water and Air are almost synonymous in Candlelight. Both represent the inner self even more than the outer. Rain provides a motif for several of the poems, often, like a low mood, doing no more ‘than drizzle’ or being grey or resembling glass or tears. ‘Prelude’ references Chopin’s Opus 28, No 15, usually known as The Raindrop Prelude’. Here, in an atmosphere of rain and ‘white silence’, is the impression of a bell being played ‘under the water’ of a pewter lake. Outside, there is no rain.

There are spaces in the air of Candlelight, spaces for the slow emergence of things. In the visionary poem ‘Newsham Park, Evening’ the reader becomes aware of

            A narrow

            still moment,

            air before 

            the air knows

            itself, faint

            whispers round

            the bandstand

and the lake,

places where

an almost 

poem can 

hang on space

between things

happening,

existing

but not yet

ready to

be written

or spoken.

Spaces, silence and stillness – but there is sound as well, the music of memory or ‘the noiseless noise’ of an aeolian harp which tells the self to create a garden with ‘earth, pen, paint, song’ and  ‘plant something through which responses can sing.’ (‘Wind Harp’).

There are several elegies in Candlelight – tributes, memories, nostalgia, a sense of being ‘speechless in the face of mortality’ and a feeling that ‘The world’s layers peel off one by one,/coming to the edge of a thin place’. ‘Viewpoint’, the first poem, uses the metaphor of the path as journey but the poem’s ending is inconclusive – not hopeless but not hopeful either. Distant hills, with their promise of arrival and attainment, are invisible in the fog and seem to offer only ‘a blankness of possibilities’. 

Yet in this beautiful, deeply moving collection of poems there are small portals, thresholds and open gates, there is colour and starlight and candles that lit ‘sparks in a pool,/a movement bright in deepest dusk/with beads down the rich glass searching.’ There is gratitude and joy for every moment of living, for ‘being a part/of the whole green flickering thing/while it lasts, for now.’ (‘Q &A’)

Mandy Pannett 3rd August 2026