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- Herausgeber: Nine Arches Press
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Sprache: Englisch
In Angela France's third poetry collection, Hide, what is invisible is just as important as what lies within plain sight. Layers of personal history are lifted into the light and old skins are shed for new; things thought lost and vanished long ago are just on the edge of perception, yet certainties before our eyes vanish in the blink of an eye. These poems possess their own rich heritage of stories and experiences; themes of magic, wisdom, age and absence are woven into the fabric of this skilful and succinct collection. Readers should also keep their wits about them, for these poems are cunning and quick; they hide nothing, but delight in camouflage, disguise and secrets, patiently awaiting someone who will seek. "France's writing engages sensitively with the world as she searches for meaning in the ordinary and movingly explores the borders between shared and private experience. These are poems that make an honest deal with discomfort, following the trails and 'ghostly outlines of existence' with integrity, thoughtfulness and care." Deryn Rees-Jones "'Invisibility must be achieved for success', writes Angela France, revealing one of the truths of why the best poets serve language and are annihilated in the process. Hide is a book of wisdom, dignity and first witness. It offers poems of scrutiny and strength of character. And the poet's language possesses and is possessed by a gloriously sheared weight and shared music." David Morley "Angela France's new collection is a deft and resonant exploration of the half-hidden, taking us 'over there' and 'in there' under the hide of the 'other' and the liminal spaces they inhabit, all evoked with an uncanny command of language and image." Nigel McLoughlin "There are fifty-two complex, thought-provoking poems in this, Angela France's fascinating third collection, all of them engaged with what are clearly deep, lastingly cental preoccupations and, despite her view in "Anagnorisis" that "My only surety is carbon and water, ashes; / language as sensation, / no words", more than justifying the fulsome back-cover endorsements of Nigel McLoughlin, Deryn Rees-Jones and David Morley, who speak of the "integrity, thoughtfulness and care of her work", its "uncanny command of language and image", the sensitivity with which she perceives the world "as she searches for meaning in the ordinary" and its "gloriously sheared weight and shared music"." Ken Head "Angela France's collection not only brings immediate rewards - its depth satisfies more and more on rereading. I enjoyed it immensely." Matthew Stewart, Rogue Strands Angela France has had poems published in many of the leading journals, in the UK and abroad and has been anthologised a number of times. She has an MA in Creative and Critical Writing from the University of Gloucestershire and is studying for a PhD. Publications include Occupation (Ragged Raven Press) and Lessons in Mallemaroking (Nine Arches Press). Angela is features editor of Iota and runs a monthly poetry cafe, Buzzwords.
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Hide
Hide
Angela France
ISBN: 978-0-9573847-1-2
Copyright © Angela France, 2013
Cover photograph © Eleanor Bennett
www.eleanorleonnebennett.zenfolio.com
Author photograph © Derek Adams
www.derekadamsphotography.com
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, recorded or mechanical, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Angela France has asserted her right under Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
First published March 2013 by:
Nine Arches Press
Unit 14, Sir Frank Whittle Business Centre,
Great Central Way, Rugby.
CV21 3XH
United Kingdom
www.ninearchespress.com
Printed in Britain by:
imprintdigital.net
Seychelles Farm,
Upton Pyne,
Exeter
EX5 5HY
www.imprintdigital.net
Angela France has had poems published in many of the leading journals, both in the UK and abroad, and has been anthologised a number of times. She has an MA in ‘Creative and Critical Writing’ from the University of Gloucestershire and is studying for a PhD. Her previous publications include Occupation (Ragged Raven Press) and Lessons in Mallemaroking (Nine Arches Press). Angela France is also features editor of Iota and runs a monthly poetry cafe, ‘Buzzwords’; Hide is her third full collection of poetry.
CONTENTS
Prospect
Ursa
Hoard
Getting Here from There
Sightlines
Anagnorisis
Canzone: Cunning
Doppelgänger
Family Visits
Hide
Some of These Things are True
The Visit
Living with the Sooterkin
Spy
Forgotten Trails
Scapegoat
Homecoming
Not madeleines,
Dogma
What is Hidden
Private View
Sam Browne
Lao tóng
Counting the Cunning Ways
Slow Ways
Petrichor
Spatial Awareness
The Evolution of Insomnia
Late bus
School for Identity Thieves
Now, Under the Trees
Stolen
Cunning
Thumb-pricks & Eye-dazzles
Other tongues
Window Seat
But would you go back?
Nanna’s Luck
Roots
Orphan Ashes
Decent
Reasonable
Scapula:
Willow
Card Sharp
Windfalls
How to Make Paper Flowers
Placement
Blink
To Whom it May Concern
Hide and Seek
A Telling
PROSPECT
Peer into hedgerows,
part thickets and look
in their dark centres,
trail through pine woods,
kick through leaves under beech trees.
Clear the ditches,
drag the pond, examine each tangle
of weed and scrap of metal,
use a pole to prod deep
until you know there’s nothing there.
Check the outhouses;
move the old bikes, the mower,
the paint cans and scraps of wood.
Rake through the dusty nuggets
of coal in the corner, pull cobwebs
away from the shelves, ignore
gritty smears on your hands.
Go home. Search the cellar,
the attic, pull out boxes from under beds,
chests from closets. Look inside.
Learn to wait.
URSA
At first just a blur of outline, then sprouting
to shaggy brown. The knarl of exposed roots soften,
flatten to wide feet, pushing against the earth
to straighten the bowed back.
A stub of fallen branch
lengthens to a broad muzzle and a lightning-struck
split in the bole forms front legs with strong,
round paws. She shakes free
of the last branches and drops
to stand on all fours, yawns a long-toothed roar
and stretches sinew and bone awake.
She steps away from the litter of twigs and leaves,
her must gathering strength to rise;
pine and oestrus, sweet and pungent.
She ambles down the slope, deliberate, unhurried,
muscles sliding under her rough hide,
paws heavy on the ground, the curve of claw
tearing through turf.
She turns her head to look over the arc
of her shoulder, knows I’m watching.
I don’t have cunning enough
to follow her, not this time,
not in this place.
HOARD
Berries blacken and gloss in the late sun,
tempting past any memory of thorns
or scratched shins and my urge to pick them
is sharp as hunger; I need to collect
the mushrooms that glimmer like small moons
in half-light, newspaper-wrap apples
to layer in a tea chest, bottle, blanch
and freeze until it no longer matters
how long, or cold, the winter to come.
GETTING HEREFROM THERE
I name where I tread
grass, rock, mud
to fix the ground beneath me.
A door ajar.
Inside, a smell of emptiness,
a taste of waiting; logs stacked
by the grate, blankets folded on a bed.
On the mantelpiece, a cracked mirror
and a bottle holding a curl of dark hair.
A book lies on the table, my name
on the cover, its pages blank.
The wall opposite the window
has nails knocked into a beam
to hold a large map
of my skin.
I stay the day, studying the map.
And I stay the days after,
learning the setting of each mole
and freckle, rebuilding
an inch at a time.
When the hair in the bottle is streaked
with grey, I wash and fold blankets,
sweep the grate, chop logs to stack.
I take down the map, roll it
to fit my backpack, pocket the bottle,
leave the door ajar.
