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- Herausgeber: The Poetry Business
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Sprache: Englisch
Notes on Water is made up of two compelling and very moving poems, which speak to each other and to the heart of the reader. They are the work of a remarkable poet, writing in the darkest of times with urgency and grace. Presented in tête-bêche style with black and white photographs. A version of the text was broadcast on BBC Radio 3 in March 2022.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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Notes on Water
Published 2022 by
Smith|Doorstop Books
The Poetry Business
Campo House,
54 Campo Lane,
Sheffield S1 2EG
Copyright © Amanda Dalton 2022
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 978-1-914914-16-4
eBook ISBN 978-1-914914-17-1
Typeset by The Poetry Business
Printed by Biddles, Sheffield
Thanks to all the friends who gave me their watery stories and thoughts, some of which appear in one of these poems.
Smith|Doorstop Books are a member of Inpress:
www.inpressbooks.co.uk
Distributed by IPS UK, 1 Deltic Avenue,
Rooksley, Milton Keynes MK13 8LD
The Poetry Business gratefully acknowledges the support of Arts Council England.
Notes on Water
I’m swimming in an artificial pool
inside a broken building.
The water is deep and brown
and full of wreckage:
a floating rusted can, papers
swelling as they soak.
I’m out of my depth, weak
breaststroke turning to doggy paddle,
an ache in the shoulders and hips.
A pink balloon taps my face,
a flotilla of paper party cups, nothing
that will make a raft.
Beyond the water, flaked plaster,
smashed windows. Wires hang
from the walls. My sister
is kneeling in the rubble. She has
no idea how close I am to drowning.
Because of what happened, he said, when I think
of rivers I can only remember the current’s strength,
how I never really reckoned with its power.
The water was opaque. I’d no idea
which way was up, she said. Or down.
At 3am I wake thinking of the man
who will leave in winter. My gut is tight,
my head white noise. I’m dry.
I feel my way downstairs, fill the kettle
in the dark, not ready for electric light.
The water’s force surprises me,
splashing the tiles, soaking my arm.
My feet ache on the slabs and I wonder
how anyone bears the cold of swimming
a freezing river, the going-in, the shock
on the belly, the whole body gasping.
