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The Book Bag – Back From Away by Damien B Donnelly

Welcome back to The Book Bag. Last week, I read Panic Response by John McCullough and gave my thoughts on the collection.

This week, between finding out I have been nominated for the Pushcart by Broken Spine (details here), hearing I have a Christmas poem forthcoming in the Hedgehog Press Christmas Annual (details here), attending the 2nd launch of Consolamentum by James McConachie hosted by Matthew MC Smith of Black Bough Poetry where I read The Armchair, and submitting to a couple of presses, I’ve been reading:

Back From Away

  • Author: Damien B. Donnelly
  • Press: Turas Press

I’ll begin by acknowledging how much I value what Damien does for the poetry community and how much I appreciate what he has done for me from when I was taking tentative steps into my poetry journey. Being included in the Eat the Storms podcast gave me confidence and pushed me forward. 

Back From Away is a collection covering Damien’s return to Ireland following a well-travelled life. It is divided into two sections: Away and Back. It deals with aspects of lived experience, belonging, identity, and relationships. The pieces in this collection are honest, passionate, and very frank. 

Vivid imagery is found throughout the collection in poems such as ‘Shanghai Streets, ‘‘Far From Home,’ ‘Kamsahamnida,’ ‘Not Everything Is A Competition,’ and ‘Walking the Line.’ The language captures not just what’s on the page but what lies beneath. I especially appreciated the depiction of navigating Shanghai.

In Between the Floorboards and An Antique Letterpress in Amsterdam, the use of floorboards as a measurement of space both literally and figuratively is so well executed. Sometimes in poetry, you see something and think, I wish I thought of that. 

Relationships are scattered throughout the pages of the collection. Damien handles these poems in a multitude of ways including using particle physics in ‘The Scent of Something that Never Existed’, eating horse in ‘Better than Nothing’, and recalling songs in ‘Memory Is Often All We Can Hope For.’ The relationships explored in the Back section of the book hit me hard. Poems such as ‘The Blunt Butcher’, ‘That Snarl Amongst the Goddesses’ and ‘Mechanics’ are great representations of how poetry can be used in a way to describe situations that can’t be simply explained. ‘Mechanic’ had me welling up. 

Along with a variety of topics, Damien uses a range of forms from more formal structures to pieces like ‘The Wave’, ‘Tides’ and ‘The Sum Of’. Here he guides the reader through in delicately controlled way.

If you don’t have this book, then you should. The honesty and emotion is both palpable and visceral, a tour de force from a huge talent.

Find out more about Damien and his projects here: https://deuxiemepeaupoetry.com/ 

For information about the Storms Podcast & Journal visit: https://eatthestorms.com/ 

To order Back From Away, visit Turas Press here: https://turaspress.ie/shop/back-from-away-by-damien-b-donnelly/ 

Favorite Poem:
Late Light is number 1 followed by This Act & Between The Floorboards.

One More Thing… 

There are translations of non-English words in the glossary section and some interesting footnotes including a Johnny Cash appearance. 

And Another…

Back From Away featured heavily in poetry recommendations on the Top Tweet Tuesday reviews week, so you don’t just need to take my word for how good it is. Also, I must get back in touch with Damien as I hope to dive back into a Storm…

And Finally… 

I have been kindly asked to read at an event being hosted by the super-talented poet Louise Longson on Thursday 12th December 2024 on Zoom. Called Human / Nature, the readings explore a sense of place and space. The lineup is stellar and tickets can be snapped up on the following link for free: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/human-nature-poetry-readings-exploring-a-sense-of-place-and-space-tickets-1094310144099 

Next Week’s Read

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

  • Title: The Keeper of Aeons 
  • Author: Matthew M C Smith

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

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
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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

The Book Bag – Toccata and Fugue with Harp by Margaret Royall

Welcome back to The Book Bag. Last week, I shared my thoughts on the tremendous Elemental by Helen Laycock. 

This week, between visiting two different shorelines, attending two writing circles and a trip to York including the Christmas market, I’ve been reading;

Toccata and Fugue with Harp

  • Author: Margaret Royall
  • Press: Hedgehog Press

Toccata and Fugue with Harp was published by Hedgehog Press in 2024. In this collection, Margaret looks back on her formative years questioning whether it was nature or nurture that impacted her life, attitudes and beliefs. 

The collection is split cleverly into three sections, each with a different focus;

Toccata features poems and small short fiction pieces around a post-war childhood, a religious upbringing, and the impact it can have.

Intermezzo looks at how Margaret wants to break free from her roots whilst navigating the after-effects of her upbringing.

Fugue is a crescendo of poems that look at how Margaret views the world in the present offering glimpses into her passion for music, the arts and nature.

Margaret also bookends the collection with Prologue and Epilogue pieces.

Let me begin, by saying that some of the poems in the upbringing section, I could easily relate to. My Gran is religious and attends a Baptist church. One she used to corral me and my siblings to on a Sunday. Also during my GCSEs when I started discussing the fact Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, my Religious Studies teacher quickly told me to leave that week’s lesson (to be fair I didn’t want to do that as a GCSE but was forced when the class I wanted to take was no longer available). It’s fair to say I had a sort of chuckle at the ending of ‘The Swinging Sixties’. ‘A Postcard From Scarborough’ is a poem rich in nostalgia and had me thinking of trips to Primrose Valley and Pontins holidays in the late 80’s & early 90’s. It also reminded me of the time my Dad drove us to France from Northumberland, his Rover breaking down on the wrong side of the channel and my brother not happy in the slightest.

Family traditions and shared, learned knowledge are peeled open in ‘A Strategy for Eating an Orange’ a great observational piece on what we inherit. 

Vivid imagery is dotted throughout, poems including ‘Spurn Point Lighthouse’ and ‘Eye of a Coastal Storm’ contrasting with ‘Charisma In The Third Age’, displaying Margaret’s great skill.

Not only does Margaret deliver rich, sensory language, she also gives us a catalogue of different forms to whet our poetic tastebuds including sestina, villanelle, experimental form and response poetry. 

Throughout the ‘Fugue’ section, Margaret has added a colour and suggested accompanying music to each piece. All the musical choices, I’d say are pretty much perfect partners to the poetry. Keep a tissue or soft sleeve handy, especially for Eva Cassidy’s inclusion.

Get this book if you’re a fan of poetry, full stop. It is a tour de force of emotion, relationships, influence and self. Terrific writing.

Favorite Poem:
‘Brambling’. ‘Allow Me to Be Me’ follows second.

One More Thing… 

Some of the sayings and phrases dotted through Margaret’s book transported me back to growing up in Northumberland. ‘Classy Chassis’ is a phrase from my younger years I’d not heard or seen elsewhere until reading this book.


To find out more about Margaret and her books, click here: https://margaretroyall.com/my-books/ 

To see more about Hedgehog Press, click here: https://www.hedgehogpress.co.uk/

Next Week’s Read

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

  • Title: Panic Response
  • Author: John McCullough

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

The Armchair

Cenotaph of my loathe-quarry
lurks in the corner
ominous obelisk of misery-grey fabric 
stained by stagnant-self
                    arms grubbier than a plagiarist in an inkwell.

It haunts my body
memory-foam cushions twisted
around my depression
                      like an alligator in death-roll.

                                  If perching, it’s only for seconds
dread at comfort swallowing me whole
or falling over the feet clumsily
                                 delivering self-recrimination
that plunges me into that dark brutal chasm
                                                                                   - again.

The armchair is a sound-hollow
negative echoes only
so I stay silent near its plinth
  	              ⁃ yet sometimes the pride in victory
my eyes hold
is loud enough to drown
                                              past despair.

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.

Autumn From The Kitchen Window

Maple leaves are falling        like          flames
touch-paper thin and crisp dry
perfect kindling for burning 
              the last vestige of summer.

Brambles bruised as a boxer's eye
are being wrangled by magpies and jays 
blue tail-feathers glisten 
with every blood-spattered                     bite.

 Furnace-chested robins stare menacingly 
        their smouldering coal claws 
seem melted to the gatepost 
soul-bound guardians 
                      - a comforting presence. 

The arrival of a delivery van 
steals my view
       -      ambushes my catatonia.

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.