grief

The Book Bag – Ever Striding Edge by Paul Brookes

Welcome back to The Book Bag. I hope you’ve had a poetic week.

This week has been busy; I attended an open mic, enjoyed a poetry workshop, said goodbye to my old team at work, saw some crocus and snowdrops emerge from the front lawn, and enjoyed TopTweetTuesday and PoemsAbout. Plus, I sent a couple of submissions off. 

I also got my hands on a copy of High Rise: Brutalist Poetry, a brutalist-inspired anthology, with one of my poems. Details of the anthology are here.

On top of that, I’ve been reading;

Ever Striding Edge

  • Author: Paul Brookes
  • Press: Dark Winter Press

Paul Brookes is a positive force for poetry. He writes, engages with and promotes other poets and creatives through the Wombwell Rainbow and Starbeck Orion. He has displayed a couple of my pieces in his Starbeck Orion publication on Substack. I have heard him read on several occasions and each time the emotion in his words left an impact. 

Ever Striding Edge is an intimate and heartwrenching collection of poems about family and grief and is the final collection in a septology of work. It is heavy with emotion, impact and experiences that many will be able to relate to. It begins on Striding Edge in the Lake District, where the powerful tone is set. 

A common thread throughout is breath. Both in the language and the opportunity to breathe between book sections. It is most apparent in poems including ‘Long Gallery’, ‘Her Stopping’ and ‘His Knaresborough’.

The imagery and references throughout the book reminded me of growing up in the 80s and 90s in Northumberland. The most notable of which is ‘In My Mam’s Mind’s Eye’. ‘I Watch Athletics With My Mam’ further details the relationship with his mother.

I have bookmarked the poem ‘I Sup Fathoms’. This brought a lump to my throat and I needed fresh air after reading. This also happened reading the section titled ‘The Day Grandad Disappeared’. It reminded me of my Great Granda Jock.

When discussing interactions with nature, Paul’s imagery is highly accomplished, this is no surprise after seeing plenty of his work in print and online. Multiple examples of this include; ‘Petals Open Wide At’, ‘Believe’, ‘In Nanna’s Garden’ and ‘Our Moorland’. 

This is a collection that teems with authenticity throughout. At times stark and others delicate, this book is brave, special and important.

Find out more about Paul here: https://thewombwellrainbow.com/ 

To get a copy of the book via Dark Winter Lit, click here: https://www.darkwinterlit.com/darkwinter-press?pgid=lm866r7x-3841dfe7-e5f2-4290-8c85-77b1a470b2c1 

Favorite Poem:
A Trimming Up. Followed closely by Protect.

Before You Go

I was clearing out space on my phone this week and I revisited a poem I wrote a while ago. This is Amateur Photos.

And Finally…
Next weekend I’m heading to Alnwick Storyfest. I’m looking forward to hearing poetry and buying some new books.

Next Week’s Read

Looking ahead, here’s what’s next in The Book Bag

  • Title: Fast Music
  • Author: Hugo Williams

Take it easy and stay poetic,

Paul

The Book Bag: Panic Response by John McCullough

Welcome back to The Book Bag. Last week, I shared my thoughts on Toccata and Fugue with Harp by Margaret Royall.

This week, between the wintry weather, getting a copy of Last Light (an apocalyptic poetry anthology I am featured in, published by The Broken Spine, find out more here), and dashing home from a saxophone lesson to attend an excellent writing workshop by Blackbough Poetry on time, I have been reading;

Panic Response 

  • Author: John McCullough
  • Press: Penned In The Margins
img_5522-1

Panic Response is a collection of poems that deals with grief, mental health and steps toward recovery. Personal themes intersect with wider social issues. The collection is dark with glimmers of light and sometimes feels like several parts of his mind clash. 

The poem ‘Flowers of Sulphur’ deals with the death of a friend head-on. The rawness of the line ‘They found you in the bath, wrists opened. No note’ hits you square in the face and the heart within the context of the whole piece. I re-read this several times out of sorrow and respect. 

In the poem ‘Comma’,  we delve into an unrelenting stream of consciousness. And just like a stream, it doesn’t end how it begins. It’s a clever piece.  

Throughout the book, John McCullough’s vivid use of colour and how it equates to varying emotions or people is incredible. In ‘Quantum’ he dedicates the colour lilac to Avril Brown, his former chemistry teacher, ‘Mr Jelly’ has several depictions of the colour of silence and obviously the piece, ‘Electric Blue’. 

‘Glass Men’ deals with relationships between men expertly and is a great opening to the collection. One of the lines, made me gasp. I won’t say which one, but it is such a perfect observation.

The poem ‘Letter to Lee Harwood’ manages to capture multiple subjects in one; loneliness, Covid, fear, an elderly neighbour’s paranoia and injustice. The form of couplets gives readers time to digest and breathe in this piece. 

I mentioned the use of colour earlier in the poem. This collection also plays with form throughout. Each of these is carefully considered and makes perfect sense for the message of each poem.

I could go on and on about how much I enjoyed this book. It is sad, tragic, harrowing and gets under your skin but there are also lighter moments. I would highly recommend this to anybody looking to get a glimpse into the mind of a great poet and how he has managed to channel experiences into such a formidable collection.  

Favorite Poem:
Crown Shyness. 

One More Thing… 

When I started writing poetry again in July 2020, Reckless Paper Birds by John McCullough was one of the first books, I read. Find more about John McCullough here: https://johnmccullough.co.uk/

And Finally…

In the poem Error Garden, Hama-rikyu Garden in Japan is mentioned. For this week’s Top Tweet Tuesday, I wrote about the Japanese Cherry Tree Orchard in Alnwick Garden.

You can read it here: The Cherry Tree Orchard, Alnwick Garden

Next Week’s Read

Looking ahead, here’s what’s in my book bag next week;

  • Title: Back From Away 
  • Author: Damien B. Donnelly

That’s it for this week’s reading roundup! If you’ve read any of the books I’m sharing or have recommendations for what poetry I should be reading, drop a comment below. 

Take it easy

Paul

If Men Were Gods

If the 200-yard walk while drinking tea was a sport
you would have been a world champion
I’ve never known a man since
who could time his brew from doorstep to doorstep
without spilling a drop
without breaking their mug
even better was your ability to puff a smoke
and stop for craic with folk you liked
between our streets

your soundtrack was eclectic
Elton to Abba
Hot Chocolate to Jimmy Nail
which I want to thank you for
because it rubbed off on me

I’ll always be envious of your moustache
because it made the smile on your face
all the more rich
but I don’t envy the shellsuits you liked
or some of the neon vests

Cantona once said
“I think I have a sense of mischief and that I can laugh at myself.”
he could’ve been quoting you
because your humour was only second
to your loyalty

You taught me so much
yet I’ve still got lots to learn
but I’ll do it with a glint in my eye
and a smile on my face
the way you would.

This poem is dedicated to my late, great Uncle Ray.

Exile

I crawled into the carcass
of your scavenged legacy
stitched a cocoon from the carrion
of false epithets bestowed
on your name.

sepia-brittle and crumbling I clung
pupating in a squall of anger
until I sliced my way out
a katana soul-drawn
from the scabbard of my heart
a ronin now
banished for freeing myself
from the collective.

I carry our memories
in the whetstone
that tempers blade
exquisitely fatal.

Ascent

This time
the climb felt easier
the incline didn’t seem to stretch for a year
my legs keeping feeling without force.

This time
my dewy eyes were due to a biting wind
     rather than the noose of grief
that swallowed the air from my body
           and the right words from my lips
like the last time.

And this time our hands held gentler
and it wasn’t to do with the new gloves
we are stronger now.

Chokehold

Throat 
raw with grief
or is it the whiskey
each fuelling the other 
like oceans 
feed storms
and storms 
feed oceans. 

blue volcanoes
push magma down my face
but instead of sulphur
it's the sodium that burns 

they say applying pressure on coal
gives you a diamond 
the weight of your loss
cuts with clarity
time is precious
life is finite.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. Sometimes grief can’t let you say things, so you have to write them down.
Enough of the moroseness; I hope you’re doing well, and if you want to read something lighthearted after this, I’d recommend this poem.

Take it easy,

Paul

Reincarnate

The last of the dahlias
were picked last week
ruby red, imperial, majestic
they ruled the garden
so to let them drown
in the relentless October rain
would have been sacrilege
instead, we slipped them into a glass-vase coma
keeping them alive
until scarlet turned to rust
and petals slipped away
and we were ready to say our farewells

softened stems were carried
and placed among the compost pile
so memories of their life
can grow a new family of flora
and their majesty return.

———

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. Please feel free to have a look around my site for more of my work.

Take It Easy

Paul