‘I Had Not Thought You Were So Hopeless’ There is a statement that breaks The day in half and folds it back In on itself. I had not thought you so hopeless. But we have walked for hours And your stitches have fallen out. You have trodden them underfoot. At…
Let me paint a picture for you. It was the hottest day of the year so far. The grass in the park had gone to straw, the clouds were the colour of sky and it was virtually empty. The few others there rarely moved, were barely noticed. Occasionally a cyclist…
“No. Stop. Put it back.” Note the full stops. Here is a voice that can afford those full-fat seconds. We’re standing in his kitchen. I put the apple in the fruit bowl. Of course I can’t see through the blindfold but my eyes lower themselves anyway. Anyway, it isn’t the…
Here is a poem I wrote last year to mark the anniversary of Virginia Woolf’s suicide by drowning, inspired partly by her suicide note. Unremitting, Unremitting A headlong rush that breaks The water’s skin and mine. These shoes give little traction, Slipping down the muddy bank. They were not made…
How much of it can you see From the sidelines, I wonder. Please pay close attention While I tear myself asunder. Can you see me glowing When their knees give way And they fall back to earth Like marionettes of clay? Do you hear the forced laughter Like dry leaves burning?…
I cried this morning. Great big fat balloons Of sweet salt water. But they weren’t tears of happiness Or sadness. They were not knowing the one from The other. I cried today Which isn’t usual for me. It filled up the gap Between what I have And what I expect …
Oh, this was fun. Originally published at Book Riot. ERNEST HEMINGWAY Part drinking society, part book club. Drinking is mandatory, in fact. Discussion tends to focus on how we each injured ourselves while reading that month’s book. Lacerating paper cuts to both eyes is common, as is walking absent-mindedly off…
This post first appeared at BookRiot. (I also wrote a Murakami listicle for them here.) The Golden Notebook is one of those books you know you should read but need a good reason to start. So all I can say is, thank goodness for International Women’s Day! For six weeks, Doris…
In his joint review/obituary of Denis Johnson in the NS, Chris Power makes the obvious point that ‘It is hard, when considering the final works by dead artists, to escape the death and get a clear view of the thing itself.’ Late works ‘become ensnared in the biographies of their creators’,…
I am an invisible man… It is sometimes advantageous to be unseen, although it is most often rather wearing on the nerves. Then too, you’re constantly being bumped against by those of poor vision. Or again, you often doubt if you really exist. You wonder whether you aren’t simply a…
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