poetryblog

The Book Bag – Street Sailing by Matt Gilbert

Welcome back to The Book Bag. Last week, I shared my thoughts on The Language of Bees by Rae Howells. 

This week, between Sax practice, attending my first writer’s circle and some bitter cold temperatures, I’ve been reading…

Street Sailing

  • Author: Matt Gilbert
  • Press: Black Bough Poetry

I was lucky to meet Matt at 2023’s Black Bough Poetry Party in Neath after reading his poetry on Twitter/X for @TopTweetTuesday. By all accounts, he is a decent, genuine chap and a very talented poet. It was a highlight meeting him. 

Street Sailing was released in 2023 and is an exquisite debut collection of poems that provide sensory portraits of daily life across a span of settings, full of imagery and texture. 

The bustling market of ‘Ridley Road’ is vividly brought to life in the pages, bringing back memories of when I spent a few months working on a market stall selling fleeces and coats (in the middle of summer – a job I didn’t excel in), is a prime example of this. 

Matt brings his emotion to the pages in the poem ‘Father’s Day’ revelling in his parenthood and in ‘I made a mess of my own pathetic fallacy’, he gives an introspection that combines tragedy and self-deprecation.

I’d highly recommend reading Street Sailing if you want to see life captured through an inventive and rich lens. Don’t just take my word for it either, it has plenty of strong reviews online and one of the poems, ‘Foxed’, was nominated for a Forward Best Single Poem prize. I loved reading this.

Favorite Poem:
‘Undercliff’. It brims with rich language, vivid imagery, nostalgia and achievement. 

One More Thing…
The cover artwork by Ben Pearce perfectly matches the urban poetry that is dotted throughout the book.

Read more about Matt Gilbert at https://richlyevocative.net/ and https://www.blackboughpoetry.com/matt-gilbert 

Next Week’s Read

Looking ahead, here’s what’s lined up for my book bag next week;

  • Title: Consolamentum
  • Author: James McConachie

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

An Affair of Pipistrelles

Shrouded in the half-light 
of a crow-dusk sky and ruby streetlamp blur 
I observe hidden lovers 
tango in mid-air 
wings outstretched ready to hold the earth  
                                   in their lust-love 

time is stolen by the passion of the near-night  
                          and silent melody of the harp-moon 

until the crackle of burnt leaf-beacons
warns of a stoat’s prying eyes
               
         endangered by discovery
         the paramours bow into the shadows 
leaving only the gentlest echo of their romance 
                                                           
                                                                           to the dark.

Community Orchard Picking Party

pears are dangling
silvery earthen-green earrings
inviting to be removed from leafed ears
some have rotted in the intensity of the sun
                                                                     sheen dulled to clay rust 

damson plums nestle into branches
like amethyst hiding in rock
only smoothed
precious stone                          fruit hiding
                                                                    emerald green flesh

braeburns have fallen
comfortable in the flame-kissed leaf beds
and honey golden late summer grasses
                                                                   orbs of sweet promise

the kids are dressed as pirates
wandering with small baskets
ripe with wonder
they gather their               treasures
before a couple of cavaliers
                                                                   spoil their bounty.

Carnivale

rum-wide spacehopper eyes 
staring up at midnight Malagan sky 
discoball stars  glistening 
like a dancers skin 
my bloodstream inferno 
ready to set my beachgrass bed ablaze 
voiceless flame amidst the pulse of revelry 
the forest of ravers surrounding 
                                   will welcome the fire 

I raise myself 
but remember my legs are lost 
to strong liquor and            fatigue 
stumbling into a dance 
floating on the breeze of          second wind 
rotor blade arms almost                take me away 
and what goes up 
must come down 
I’m laughing at myself 
backing track of Faithless 
and howls and cheers 

when I wake 
I want this feeling to be            my cure 
                                                        my comfort 
                                                                  my soul.

Footy Down The Rec

To be twelve again 
drunk on the scent 
       of summer-sweated privet 
eventful walks to the pitches sometimes  
a dog jumping from a garden-strewn manky sofa  
                   or fly-tipped washing machine  
and husbands fighting with wives 
binliner of clothes next to them on the pavement  
                           comedy in tragedy when you’re that young 
we always took a few balls 
best to - if some of the older lads were around 
on lighter-fluid highs - lacking sense 
but the nights of Wembley 
three hours of pelting leather against bare legs  
ball bobbling       along the clumped surface 
bodies skimming the field like           lawnmowers 
     making outrageous crunching tackles 
 ankles twisting like Maradona past Reid
rabid rapture at curling a Mitre Delta into the top corner 
      and green-kneed, mud-stained wanders home
a magic that can never be imitated 
           unlike the knockoff boots and shin pads 
give me that innocence back 
               - that simplicity of fun 
                          with friends.















Grains of Memory

Your table is a real table
sliced oak and oil-dressed
uneven surface                                          like the road leaving the village
grains swollen from drowning emotions
                  - and spilled cups of tea

so many hands have smoothed it
over so many years
some anxious
some happy
           - all loved

a few splinters are bulging from the corners
each a memory
some good
          some bad
some probably just about the times the ashtray was missed
and maybe one where the beer bottle exploded
resting like a stained glass window
         - the table ready to hear pre-night-out confessions 

if it could talk 
how many stories could it tell 
 - too many to worry about 


next time we’re around it
we should give thanks
drift palms gently over the lines
a loose embrace
that clings tightly to the seams
              - like the roots of our friendship.

Tribute

Helios had painted the sky
that night – lipstick pink –
his chariot pulled the heart-crimson sun
lingering for moments
while I enjoyed sips of retsina

I wondered if he was trying to emasculate
all those below
because how can mortals compete with gods – 
when it comes to creating special moments
like that first dinner of a honeymoon

but I was caught between the earth of your eyes
and the horizon, colour of romance
and realised it was a tribute to you
to us
to our love.

Lost & Found

Two Northern harvest-mice
with hawk-lit eyes
we slinked around London
from Kings Cross to Trafalgar
without hedgerow or hay to hide in
only plateaus and towers of grey

we had no map
so followed the route of bus stops
resting only a couple of times
trying not to inhale too much oil-slick air
smouldering under June’s sun

after the fifth wrong turn
tedium began to shriek
like car horns
but you smiled and said
“we’ll try around the next corner, you can’t get lost when you’re in love”

a composure in your voice
that buried the tumult
chaos collapsing
into
calm

we found ourselves on a busy London street.