Category Archives: American Poetry

Psalmbook by Laura Walker (Apogee Press), Saints of Little Fish by Megan Pinto (the 87 press), Vespers by Jane Lewty (Uni of Iowa Press, Hide Me Under the Blood and I Shall Be Satisfied by Keith Jarrett (Bad Betty Press)

Psalmbook by Laura Walker (Apogee Press), Saints of Little Fish by Megan Pinto (the 87 press), Vespers by Jane Lewty (Uni of Iowa Press, Hide Me Under the Blood and I Shall Be Satisfied by Keith Jarrett (Bad Betty Press)

One of the things that seems to have happened in the poetry world over the last few years is the adoption of religious and liturgical forms and ideas for authors’ own secular ends. Laura Walker’s Psalmbook from a few years ago reimagines the Biblical book of Psalms as a series of meditative prayers addressed to the world around her. The poems focus on presence and the present, work to try and capture moments of wonder and incidental thought as the author walks and tries to remember. The detailed observation is in tension with the abstraction of seeking, and the absence of, the ‘you’ the poems address.

Megan Pinto’s poems in Saints of Little Faith feel much more spiritual but is also more earthbound, with parts of the book dealing with the familial, including the author’s father’s illness and decay. Overheard sex, a flasher on the night train, and hospital food, smells and  routines are contrasted with more abstract ruminations on wonder, love, heaven and ‘the vastness of space’. There is a sense of dreaminess overlaid upon the realities of human life: the author prays – to ‘a female God, a kind of God // who radiates light / that does not blind’ – and knows she ‘must learn to live in this world’, but remains restless and uneasy throughout, aware that ‘Obsession is a godless place. I go there every day.’ In the final poem, ‘Harvest’, Pinto turns her spiritual and human desires inside out, regarding herself as desired rather than desiring:

     I think of those late summer walks
     through the meadow and the neighboring
     meadow, where I 
     was not longing but the one
     who was longed for.

Vespers are evening prayers, and in her book of the same name, Jane Lewty turns these into reflective poems about creativity and making within daily life. Getting up times, routine (or lack of), make-up, worries and ecstatic moments are woven into poems full of both abstract questioning and stream-of-consciousness memories and moments. I would have liked the poems to have been more rooted in the world around the author, soon tired of the nervous engagement with the world and self-negation. In ‘Vesper #1117: Triptych’ she contradicts herself, saying

     I think you should not
     say or write a single word until you have made some terrible mistake.

as if only error or wrongdoing can provoke a poem, which seems as questionable to me as sitting around waiting for a fictional muse to inspire. Although the final poem, ‘Oxen’, self-consciously references ‘these gross nightletters, this vespers, husssh’, there is little quiet or contemplation here, only restless, fidgety self-awareness and doubt.

Keith Jarrett’s book, Hide Me Under the Blood and I Shall Be Satisfied, is the book I most enjoyed reading here. He lives in a world I know, a rough and tumble urban environment, and struggles with a gospel background derived from a church upbringing. Despite the fact he is 

     bored of God and his insufferable mother-
     in-law jokes           his magic tricks          clumsy
     sleight of hand    we laugh because if we didn’t

     hell would break loose

he is ultimately ‘thankful to be spared / another day’. These poems are tough, taking faith and doubt, colonialism, being black and queer in their stride, whilst drawing upon performance poetry alongside the mystical, experimental and canonical. There are poems after Edwin Morgan, Walt Whitman, William Blake and John Latham; songs of praise, anger, resistance, love and lust; family stories, ‘origin stories’ and lists (‘partial index’s) of ‘Some Gods’; contemporary fascinations, prophecies, warnings and addictions. The remnants of spiritual engagement underpin Jarrett’s poems, yet he is weary and resigned:

     If we must pray, then let this be our prayer:
     If we must live, then let us live sincere.

There is sincerity by the bucketload in all these books, each author struggling to shake off and abandon, or appropriate and make use of, religious forms and concepts that were once everyday. Sometimes, the notion of prayer, praise or deity sits uneasily within the work, at other times a sense of wonder, attention and love underpins and informs the writing.

Rupert Loydell 24th September 2026

Tears in the Fence 83 is out!

Tears in the Fence 83 is out!

Tears in the Fence 83 is now available at http://tearsinthefence.com/pay-it-forward and features poetry, prose and visual poetry, flash fiction, fiction and creative nonfiction by Judith Willson, Kelvin Corcoran, Kym Martindale, Lucy Ingrams, Michelle Penn, Mandy Pannett, Rimas Uzgiris, Kenny Knight, A.W. Kindness, Daša Kružlicová, Wendy Brandmark, Anya Reeve, Cherry Smyth, Lesley Burt, Kasia Flisick, Steve Spence, Charles Wilkinson, David Punter, Andrew Henon, Nigel Jarrett, Rachel Goodman, Robert Sheppard, Rebecca Rose Harris, Sarah Watkinson, Jane Wheeler, Jeanette Forbes, Vincent De Souza, Cathra Kelliher, Norman Jope, Pamela Coren, Beth Davyson, Heather Hughes, James Sutherland-Smith, Phil Williams, Kareem Tayyar, Basil King, John Freeman, Susie Wilson, Robert Hampson, Jean Atkin, David Pollard and Penny Hope.

The critical section consists of the Editorial by Joanna Nissel, Aidan Semmen’s 2025 Tears in the Fence Festival Address, Richard Foreman on J.H. Prynne, Elźbieta Wójcik-Leese on Ágnes Lehóczky, Barbara Bridger on Virginie Poitrasson, Guy Russell on Mark Goodwin, Peter Larkin on recent British & Canadian Ecopoetry, Kym Martindale on Eliza O’Toole, Robert Sheppard on Tim Allen, Ian Seed on Jeremy Over, Mandy Haggith on Gerry Loose, Mandy Haggith on Katherine Gallagher, Mandy Pannett on Lesley Saunders, Kelvin Corcoran in conversation with Alan Baker, Graham Hartill on Caroline Goodwin, Mandy Pannett on Agnieska Studzińska, Keith Jebb on Gavin Selerie and Tim Allen, Vincent De Souza on David Miller, Elaine Randell on Chris Emery, Morag Kiziewicz’s Electric Blue 18 and the Notes On Contributors.

Only Sing: 152 Uncollected Dream Songs by John Berryman (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)

Only Sing: 152 Uncollected Dream Songs by John Berryman (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)

John Berryman’s The Dream Songs are 18 line poem dispatches from a private hell, an interior conversation and a kind of madness that facilitates self-diagnosis and a disturbed concern regarding the nature of racism, lust, literature and life itself. They are often regarded as Berryman’s finest achievement, although I find Berryman’s Sonnets more consistent and accomplished.

Berryman’s original two published books of Dream Songs have previously been compiled as a complete version, although this new gathering pointed me towards Henry’s Fate & Other Poems, a previous posthumous publication I was unaware of, published back in 1977 and containing a sizable selection of works not in the standard volume. 

Shane McCrae is the editor of this new collection, and he explains how an interview with Berryman alerted him to the existence of hundreds of other Dream Songs, prompting him to undertake this project. However, many of the unpublished poems turned out to be drafts or fragments, unfinished work which McCrae has mostly not included, although the book does include some poems not yet expanded to 18 lines, and some that include lines or phrases from other poems. Although I can understand McCrae’s decision to be as invisible, or non-present, as possible, I do feel his choice of arranging the book by the alphabetical order of first line is an abdication of editorial responsibility and brings an inappropriate element of chance procedure into play.

Berryman seemed to have realised these poems would be published in due course and discussed how readers would have to slot them in to the published books as episodes in what McCrae here in his Introduction has decided is an epic. Unfortunately, many of the poems in this new book are rooted to occasion, to dedicatees, events, happenings and deaths; are much more specific in their subject than most of the previously published texts.

Many seem casual and slight, prone to striving for profundity. Or, if that seems harsh, perhaps they are profound poems trying too hard to be flippant and funny, seeking a way to make light of trauma. Sometimes the poems read as a kind of prayer and/or an attempt to provoke the God the poem is addressing. Elsewhere, the tone is often elegiac, but others of the poems feel unfinished, abandoned, unloved and somewhat isolated out of any sequence or order.

Most, of course, contain sparkling lines of repartee or astonishing asides, despite the ongoing issue of Berryman’s character at times speaking in blackface. We know Berryman was not racist (he turned down many jobs in the South because of how blacks were treated there) yet the minstrelsy ventriloquism of Henry still sometimes leaves a sour taste in the mouth, one not totally rinsed away by McCrae’s brief defence of the issue in his statement that Berryman ‘did not allow whiteness to be a default position’ and that ‘Henry’s use of verbal blackface might be off-putting, but it is essential.’

I find Berryman’s writing fascinating, both here and in general, but I have to say that despite occasional fantastic complete poems, many brilliant lines and phrases, some laugh-out-loud self-deprecation by the narrator[s], and plenty of provocative and still topical questioning, the texts here do not accumulate sense and meaning in the way previous Dream Songs do, let alone offer any narrative connections. Rather disappointingly, it feels like an aside or apocryphal excursion, a book mostly for fans, scholars and troubled poets.

Rupert Loydell 16th September 2025

Keeping Time by James Dick (Yew Tree Press)

Keeping Time by James Dick (Yew Tree Press)

You may have come across James Dick as lead singer of the Red Propellers, a band who recreate New York urban dystopia for the UK, all angular riffs and grooves, drones and chimes, underpinning incantatory, sputtering stories full of lowlife, love and sweat.

Keeping Time is a new book of writing, the third in a trilogy of skinny tall stapled pamphlets (I think it’s A4 folded in half lengthways) containing Dick’s what – in Lyrics 2 – is subtitled ‘words   songs   noise poems’. The texts showcase Dick’s continuing freeform and loose-lined associative and imagistic thinking from the word go. The second poem, ‘Not Holding the Centre’, starts with a ‘young server at the food shelter’, then comments on the price of admission to visit the graves of Karl Marx and Brian Jones in Highgate Cemetery (‘tombstone blues’) before the narrator is subjected to Spotify hyping

     the new pop singer

     auto tune at the core

     a dead ringer

     a dead ringer

     for the one before

Verse two offers us a face off between someone ‘in her / Top of the Town / polyester dressing gown’ staring down a ‘grimacing / facially inked / skinhead / swaggering the pavement / towards her’ before moving on to someone’s ‘elderly grandparents / growing skunk’ and a ‘hate crime spree’ in the shopping aisles. We are instructed to ‘debunk stereotypes’ but also told the shooting incident is ‘Modern Tide Filth’. 

The third verse introduces us to a figure ‘dressed all in black’ (well, they would be, wouldn’t they?) who is

     a god of adolescence

     an angel of exile

     a poet of words

     a poet of action

and an example of pain being transferred into beauty, before the poem moves to a series of instructions to the reader: to ‘pursue the obscure’ at ‘the edges of everything’, become ‘a voice a face / for the dispossessed’. Either they or us, perhaps everyone, is ‘not holding the centre’, and we should embrace those edges.

This fragmented group of ideas and characters is typical of Dick’s writing, as is his narrator’s sometime intervention and comment and the occasional use of repetition to emphasise a line. The repetition can be more annoying on the page than when sung, but is also used to good effect in many places, for instance in ‘John Lennon Postage Stamps’.

Here the flicker of images gives us an open fire, a cardboard coffin, ‘the sun and the moon and the stars’, as well as the surreal idea of Saint Francis preaching ‘to the birds / live at the Five Spot’. We get another verse riffing on ‘H & jazz / jazz and H’ before we return to Saint Francis and the fact that

     karma is instant

     karma is instant

     karma is instant

Here, the repetition is contradictory. If it was instant it wouldn’t be happening three times, so the idea is not only reinforced it is, along with the karma, at the very least delayed.

Elsewhere the poems in Keeping Time spend a lot of time in or outside cafés, being astonished and amazed by how unusual and original people are, whether that is a

     Woman

     on a mobility scooter

     shouldering

     an Elvis Presley tote bag

     weaving in and out of

     pedestrians

     off key

     singing One Night of Sin

, ‘a man with a tiny dog / on his shoulder’ or an encounter with an unnamed woman reading The Rainbow which, later in the poem, triggers the memory of ‘a shaft of moonlight shining / on her hand holding his’. These images are less successful when presented in isolation, as in a closing page of ‘Western Haikus’, but mostly Dick is adept at moving through ideas and images at breakneck speed before allowing romance or cynical aside to intervene. Dick is keen on resisting the permanent concerns of ‘Adulation and money’ and the creation of ‘a walled country / whose democracy / is / slipping / slipping / over the horizon’. These earthy, clever poems, feel like part of the resistance.

Rupert Loydell 15th September 2025

Escritoire by Sheila E. Murphy (Lavender Ink), The Severity of the Perfect Circle by H.L. Hix (BlazeVox)

Escritoire by Sheila E. Murphy (Lavender Ink), The Severity of the Perfect Circle by H.L. Hix (BlazeVox)

Sheila Murphy’s poetry always managed to surprise this reader, with its unusual musicality and associative language, it’s mix of seemingly distanced but also emotionally charged and possibly autobiographical or confessional content. Escritoire is no exception, although I detect a new playfulness and self-awareness at work.

The transfer of nouns to verbs is here – ‘I mood myself’ – and the sometimes disrupted syntax but there are simpler and more regular forms than in some of Murphy’s other publications. ‘Bloom’, for instance, is a reflection on knowing the names of flowers, of the narrator’s mother taking her to see hothouse flowers and of being bewitched by names; so much so that she ‘hear[s] the flower / more than see it’. The second half of the poem is a flowing, echoing list of plant names that induce a kind of calm acceptance: ‘I give in to what I hear.’

Elsewhere there is dialogue between moods: ‘I fret versus forget’; a grappling with unexplainable reasons for ‘The squall / The grappling / The merger’ which becomes a statement of survival technique:

     I would choose

     To resurrect

     Recoverable fragments

     From what is left

     And shall then thrive.      (‘Because Reasons’)

and momentary acceptance of the unexpected in poems such as ‘Stilton at the Hilton’, where a delayed flight facilitates time to relax and observe:

     Now’s our chance to accidentally

     split infinitives, split the groove

     with zilch to do but look out

     on the pavement lined with tattoos.

I love the fact it remains unsure if the tattoos are on humans or a metaphor for painted signs on the runway or sidewalk; or, of course, both.

Of course, there are poems about the light and desert in Arizona here, poems about love and loss, and about others who Murphy meets. In ‘Early Days’, the subject ‘youngs her way toward me / with an armload of new syllables and words / that I might grasp her meaning’, just as we at times must saturate ourselves in Murphy’s clever and engaging arrangements of words, grappling with ‘some abstract / and necessary effort / one of us must come to understand.’

At first glance, H.L. Hix’s poetry seems to operate with very different poetics. Hix always writes sequences of poetry and his work is underpinned by philosophy as much as creative writing.’ Loops’, the first of two sequences here, plays with defining and/or evidencing terms (such as ‘disappropriation’ and ‘necrognizance’) that are the author’s ‘own coinages’ whilst ‘Orbits’, the sequence that is the second half of The Severity of the Perfect Circle, is made up of texts that each respond ‘to a moment from an entry in Emily Apter and Barbara Cassin’s Dictionary of Untranslatables’.

If this seems abstract, distant and removed, it immediately becomes clear that this is not so. The opening poem, ‘acousticenity’ – which plays with the idea of ‘landscape as soundscape’ – presents a narrator obsessed by his neighbour’s trailer; whereas in ‘asent’ the narrator peers down from a dormer window, trying to see into ‘the house of [the] neighbor to the east, whose house is filled with newspapers.

Other invented terms are used to define obsessive and unusual behaviour, to facilitate poems full of ‘goat people’, ‘fences’, ‘postal carriers’, ‘dirt-blur’, porches, raccoons, and skunks. It is a charged and unsettling neighborhood that Hix – or Hix’s narrator – documents here.

‘Orbits’ consists of what it suggests, poems circling words that cannot be translated and therefore not defined. Although at times there are more abstract statements here, they are rooted by the persistent ‘I’ of the texts and the observations and engagement with the world surrounding these discourses of meaning:

     Every winter snow collects atop the line of mountains to the west. Every 
     afternoon clouds collect behind it.         (‘Anschaulichkeit’)

     I see this lamplit vase of flowers. I remember its sunlit sister.      (‘Gegenstand’)

Like all writers, Hix is grappling with language, meaning and communication, how ‘the implications of our phrases “make sense.”’ And committing to not silencing others. Ultimately, it seems, there is

     No way to understand others’ words except as my own, no way to 
     understand my own except by someone else’s.          (‘Istina’)

Here are two very different contemporary authors both of whose work is worth making our own.Rupert Loydell 8th August 2025

Bardcode by Gregory Betts (Penteract Press)

Bardcode by Gregory Betts (Penteract Press)

Are the grids of coloured squares in this hardback book visual art, conceptual writing, asemic writing, concrete poetry or a Shakespearean joke? In his Preface Philip Terry uses the phrase data poem, which is technically correct and a useful description but does nothing to convey the sheer beauty and complexity of the work.

Greg Betts has translated the sounds in Shakespeare’s sonnets into colours and each of the 154 poems into grids, highlighting not only the syllabic count and Shakespeare’s playful disruption of it at times, but also the numerous rhymes throughout all the poems. Terry notes that ‘the music in Shakespeare’s Sonnets is not confined to end-rhymes, but is there in every syllable of every poem, demonstrating how the sounds of the poems are literally orchestrated, making liberal use of internal rhyme and repetitive sound patternings and modulations of form and colour to weave their complex music.’

‘So what?’ you might say, or ‘I knew that’, but Terry quite rightly points out that Betts’ unusual ‘translations’ are a form of original research, a methodology that could be used with other texts to understand and evidence the complexities of structure and form.

Betts has previous for this kind of slippage between text and art, unexpected sideways movements as the result of intelligent and playful lateral thinking and cross-curricular activity. One of my favourites, an early work from 2006, is the haikube, a Rubik’s cube (or a beautiful handmade wooden version of it) with words on that can generate small, imagistic poems when rotated. I use the book version which documents this work with my students – it’s simplicity and outcomes are a good way to introduce and discuss visual texts, processual writing and to move their understanding or poetry away from ‘self-expression’, the dead weight that many writers drag behind them.

What is hard to convey in a review is simply how exquisite these visual poems are. The various blurb writers use words such as ‘jewelled’, ‘heatmap’, ‘glow & shimmer’, ‘chromatic’ and ‘rainbow’s tune’, not to mention ideas of synesthesia, colour-coding and stained glass. Flick through the pages and the poems seem hypnotically repetitive yet each one is utterly different, similar but never duplicate; the colours constantly change and, here and there, extra syllables stray into the right hand margin, disrupting the grid, unbalancing the page.

The block of only 12 lines that comprise Sonnet 126 is visually shocking when it appears, the three extra syllables of the fifth line of Sonnet 118 creep almost to the very edge of the page, and at first glance Sonnet 154 appears to have less syllables in its final line, although closer inspection reveals two pale squares representing unusual and gentle sounds. 

There is a colour code at the back for those inclined to understand more and follow the process further, no doubt with Shakespeare’s original poems to hand, but I prefer to luxuriate in the deconstructed versions Betts presents us with, their singleminded focus on pattern and repetition, rhythm, rhyme and frequency, Bett’s clever and original mapping of language.

Rupert Loydell 15th September 2024

Find out more about the BardCode project at https://apothecaryarchive.com/bardcode-projects

Tears in the Fence 80 is out!

Tears in the Fence 80 is out!

Tears in the Fence 80 is now available at http://tearsinthefence.com/pay-it-forward and features poetry, prose poetry, translations and fiction by Joanna Nissel, Claire HM, Morag Kiziewicz, Geraldine Clarkson, Mary Michaels, Hanne Bramness translated by Anna Reckin, Jill Jones, John Freeman, Peter Dent, Cindy Botha, Lucy Hamilton, Michael Farrell, Rosie Garland, Tiffany Farr, Biljana Scott, Peter Larkin, Jane Wheeler, Robert Vas Dias, Kate Firth, Norman Jope, Steve Spence, Andrew Henon, Mark Goodwin, Randolph Healy, Jennifer K Dick, Lynne Wycherley, Eliza O’Toole, Nigel Jarrett, Danielle Hubbard, Vanessa Ackerman, Caroline Maldonado, Richard Foreman, Huw Gwynn-Jones, Kathleen McPhilemy, Charles Wilkinson, Rachel Spence, Valerie Bridge, Lesley Burt, Vivienne Freeman, Jonathan Catherall, Elizabeth Cook, Susanne Lansman, Beth Davyson, Mary McCollum, Evelyn Schlag translated by Karen Leeder, Andrew Duncan, Cathra Kelliher, David Punter and Kareem Tayyar.

The critical section consists of the Editorial by David Caddy, Andrew Duncan on Jeremy Reed, Jack Martell on Jack Martell on Laura Oldfield Ford, David Annwn on Randolph Healey, David Caddy on Emily Dickinson’s Letters and Natural Magic, Gemma Garcia on Beatriz Hausner, Steve Spence on Ian Seed, Mandy Pannett on Séan Street, Norman Jope on Sicilian Poetry, Rosa Parker-Cochran on Ken Edwards, Joanna Nissel on Elvire Roberts, Rachel Spence, Steve Spence on Alasdair Paterson, Elaine Randell on Brian Marley, Steve Spence on Fran Lock. Morag Kiziewicz’s Electric Blue 15 and Notes on Contributors.

This year’s annual Tears in the Fence Festival at the Stourpaine Village Hall, Stourpaine is on 20th to 22nd September in celebration of our fortieth anniversary and eighty issues. It is also a fundraiser for the journal. More details at https://tearsinthefence.com/2024-festival/

David Caddy 15th August 2024

Avoiding the Rapture by Karen Weyant (Riot In Your Throat)

Avoiding the Rapture by Karen Weyant (Riot In Your Throat)

     Karen Weyant’s Avoiding the Rapture explores life growing up and living in the rust belt towns of Pennsylvania. This is a place of woods and rivers and small town conservativism. She explores what it is to be an outsider, but not a victim in such a place, what it means to choose to be an outsider because the social mores and religious beliefs do not fit her or her belief systems. Instead, her Christian background blends with a modified Wiccan approach to spirituality enhanced by the natural world around her. The result is a collection that brought me back to the kind of childhood that I and many people of my generation spent as we wondered about our place in the universe. There’s a lot going on here, but two of the most interesting aspects of Weyant’s work is her understanding of how an adolescent’s world can be seen through the lens of magic and how an environment rich with water enhances that perspective.

     The narrator does not reject conservative religious belief, but she rejects the implications of it. One of the most powerful poems is ‘Tips for Young Girls Hoping to Avoid the Rapture’. In it, she sees the rapture as a profoundly positive thing because so many people are going to be taken away leaving her alone and ‘When everyone disappears, everything you see will be yours’ (9). So, she gives tips on ways to avoid being raptured: 

            Skip Sunday School lessons to skinny-dip in Tom Stetson’s Pond.

            Then, lie about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing

            Practice swearing, use God’s name in vain. Ignore

            your parents (9).

This is funny, but it’s more than just that. It gets to a way that so many of us got through our youths in religious spaces that didn’t make sense to us. It was humor and subversion. It was seeing the world through alternative points of view. This alternative way of seeing and interacting with the world pervades her work even when it is not so overtly stated. In one poem, for example, she talks to insects in the half belief that she is able to communicate with them. This feeling follows her through her life:

            Even now, when you are old enough to know better,

            you walk by a vacant lot where a single katydid calls for winter.

            Its mantra, Kate, Kate, Kate is so insistent,

            you have come to believe that is your name (62).

It is a feeling that she is at one with nature and that becomes its own kind of religious belief system.

     This religious perspective is enhanced by all aspects of nature. Pennsylvania is a place of rivers and water figures large in the consciousness of the poet and her characters, whom are often obsessed by water and wading in it:

            During dry spells, you will become desperate, looking for puddles 

            at the local car wash or parking lots, where water

            is often speckled with tar or shining with car oil.

            Just watch. If you wade long enough, you will see

            permanent stains on your skin, a thin waterline tattooed

            above your ankle, or midcalf, or reaching just below your knee (24).

The character is becoming one with nature through water, and it seems to be a process that begins before she is born. In another poem, she describes her pregnant mother walking through water and suggests that doing so has primed the narrator to being close to the earth. Weyant writes, 

            Now, you smell flood waters before the waves swell:

            faint sulfur mixed with the moist dirt of a new garden.

            You hear the water before it spills, before it rushes 

towards West Main, lifting up swings at the park (19).

The magic of nature is another way that her characters survive and understand the worlds they have been thrust into. They gain a closeness to understand their place, almost as a replacement to the religiousness that they were supposed to feel.

     Avoiding the Rapture brought me back to my own childhood and adolescence, and I think it will for many of her readers, especially those of us who grew up in the seventies and eighties. It captures the way so many of us were affected by the zeitgeist of the time. It might have been a result of popular culture or something else, but it feels so familiar to me. It is the way I too perceived the world and to some extent still do.

John Brantingham 12th August 2024

Your Nearness by Forrest Gander (Arc Publications)

Your Nearness by Forrest Gander (Arc Publications)

This unique collection deserves, and requires, many readings so that its profundity and beauty may be fully absorbed and appreciated.

The ideology of Sangam literature underpins the whole of Your Nearness. Sangam – which translates as ‘gathering’, ‘meeting’, ‘fraternity’- strives to transcend boundaries of time and space and involves a gathering of individuals united in spirit, sharing a common vision and seeking meaning and purpose in a state of togetherness. If there are differences, they only enhance the spirit of Sangam.

An essential aspect of Sangam poetics is its focus on an inner realm. ‘Nature’ corresponds with the inner landscape of an individual and extends beyond itself to become a metaphor of the mind. Two sections of Your Nearness are called ‘Sangam Acoustics’. The scholar, N. Manu Chakravarthy, describes them as ‘the blossoming of the Sangam consciousness’ which resonates in India and in the Californian landscape through motifs of  ‘Sea, Mountain, Pastoral, Forest and Wasteland’ which reveal ‘the confluence of the interior and exterior’. 

There are environmental concerns in Your Nearness. ‘Wasteland’ depicts a futuristic scene of grimness. Man,  says Gander, has lost his ‘cadence’ and will regret his ‘petty-righteous cruelties’ revealed, for example,  when the neem tree is ‘without blossoms’. What will it be like, he asks

       If local animals make themselves nocturnal to avoid you, if swarms

                  of laughing thrushes no longer descend from the summit …

       … if this orange lichen – gossiping across borders – blackens,

                curls, and goes silent? (‘In the Mountains’)

It is lichen which provides the central and all-encompassing motif of Your Nearness – lichen which is the synergistic alliance of a fungus and algae or cyanobacteria, lichen which does not grow in polluted land, which is collaborative and transformative so that through asexual reproduction the original organisms, whose merging involves a mutual alteration, are changed utterly.

And it is through lichen, as Forrest Gander feels and describes it, that love and identity combine and embrace. In ‘Twice Alive’  the landscape of nature and the landscape of intimacy are so entwined that the entranced reader also becomes part of the ongoing metamorphosis. (The passages in italics that show the journey are my own).

 In this scene there is a combination of moss, perfume, skin, memory and lichen:

       I crush oak moss between finger and thumb

       for its sweet perfume persistent on

       your skin when I touch your throat, so slow

       to evaporate, the memory of seeing

       sunburst lichen on the sandstone cliff’

presently

       evening finds us at this woods’ edge where

       at a dead oak’s base

       shoestring-rot glimmers, its luminescent

       rhizomes reflected from the eyes

       of a foraging racoon that doesn’t yet sense us

       air ghostly and damp clings

       as we step from our woods

       to look across the field towards the first

       lane of lit houses, their dull pewter

       auras restrained by wet haze

and here we have the total merging of fungi, rain, slime, the beloved’s brown eyes and a sense of mystery and unease

       cordyceps – the brown of your  eyes softened

       with rain and remotely fluorescent – dissolve

       into slime after a few days, whatever we thought

       we were following was following us, its

       intention linked to our own

Many of the most beautiful poems about intimacy in Forrest Gander’s Your Nearness are about this mingling of cells. Here is two verses from ‘Unto Ourselves: to See What’s There’. For me they sum up all the universality, the inner and outer landscapes, the fusing and merging, the transformations:

       Across the cytoplasm of adjacent cells

       goes a signal that turns you towards me, turns

       me into you. We are coupled in quiet

       tumult, convergent arguments, an alien

       rhythm becoming familiar …

       Because excess is what it took

       for us to transform, to effulge. You cast

       your life beyond itself. Can’t you sense me

       within your ecstatic openess

       like rain mingling with red earth?

       Without you I survived and with you

       I live again in radical augmentation

       of identity because we have

       effaced our outer limits, because

       we summoned each other. In you,

       I cast my life beyond itself.

A number of Forrest Gander’s own photographs enhance this finely presented collection. But no review can do justice to the depths of language and spirituality in Your Nearness. Such insights deserve time for participation and sharing. To use the poet’s own word, everything is ‘combinatory’.

Mandy Pannett 28th July 2024

Grief’s Alphabet by Carrie Etter (Seren Books)

Grief’s Alphabet by Carrie Etter (Seren Books)

I’m sceptical of most confessional poetry but Carrie Etter’s book of elegies for her mum is a tough, not-to-be-missed exploration of grief and loss. Although there is a titular poem using the A-Z, the book feels more like a response to what was a plan but soon proved impossible. We only get ‘Notes for A’ and a few other letters such as ‘W Is for Wedding’ and ‘M Is Usually Memory and Occasionally McDonalds’; more poignant perhaps is ‘F Is for Fuck This’, where the title is the complete poem, the poem the closing one of the second of three sections.

It gives an impression of reaching an impasses, the author resisting her own attempt to order her grieving responses which perhaps the writer in her had partly mapped out. Instead we get a wide range of voices, forms and stories which gradually reveal Etter’s past, relationships and loss.

‘Origin Story’, the first section, reveals Etter was adopted, was a sister, had teenage attitude, and tells stories about her Mum, her Dad and of a ‘Pregnant Teenager and her Mama’. Of graduation and travels to England before ‘The News’ arrives back home in the States:

     Crackling across the Atlantic
     my mother’s voice.
     She says ‘Your father,’
     and, as one, we fall.

In time, post coma and now a paraplegic, ‘father’ dies and we are gifted ‘The Last Photograph’ of Mrs. Etter before the poet returns to England. 

Later, or perhaps sooner (we are not told) Etter will have to face ‘The Brink’: her mother’s death, again across the ocean, along with the physical, mental and emotional reactions, most startlingly recorded in ‘The Body in Mourning’. Here, the poet has to endure ‘the daily waking to      mourning’ but also considers the bodily results of grieving:

     O leaky body      such water      such flood, mucus and

     mascara she’d forgotten      her charred cheeks in the mirror

and the body of the deceased:

     the body still, eyes open      a soundless, resounding no

     […]

     the body become stone, the breath       reluctant

     *

     and after years?     the body’s subtler flux

     amid the elements       an hour aflame      or drenched

     weight as mineral     deep in earth      or almost

     transparent, nearly air      thin linen pined to string

     adrift or aloft             depending on

After this open-ended poem, the second section of poems moves to ‘H Is for Hurtle, J Is for July’, a retrospective look back at coping. Then comes the F poem mentioned earlier, an assertion of self, of coping, of having to go on.

Having to go on, however, into the ‘Orphan Age’, the book’s final section. Loss, of course, cannot be simply swept aside; all too often – as I know from firsthand experience – small and often stupid things can trigger grief anew. But you can, and Etter does, take refuge in the everyday, be that snuggling up to a cat or baking and eating tuna casserole. Also the less everyday: Etter gives us a prose poem ‘W Is for Wedding’, acknowledging that her mother both ‘is and isn’t’ there but also content to ‘take a step, then another, toward joy.’

The rest of the book is mostly calm and lucid, philosophical even, with poems about endless birth and rebirth (‘Oroboros’), the memories brought up when playing crazy golf, and the completed alphabet of grief poem. But there is also a hint of mysticism: ‘Instructions for the Glimpse’, the invocation of a ‘Ghost’, and a moving final poem, ‘Reincarnation as Seed’, where a new plant is urged to ‘grow / grow toward light’ as the personification or representation of ‘my dear mother’, urged to ‘bask’ in the sunshine.

Writing poems about death and grieving is an almost impossible task but Etter has managed to carefully walk the tightrope between mawkishness, confession and bewilderment. Her words combine vulnerability and emotion with a writerly detachment, seeing anew and documenting the struggle with ‘not falling face first into woe.’ This is brave, powerful, moving poetry that has clearly been fought for every step of the way.

Rupert Loydell 10th June 2024