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W.S. Graham's Implements in Their Places (Faber, 1977), 2 of 2

Here's a second run of favourite passages from this splendid book: Do not intrude too much Into the message you carry.... from 'Johann Joachim Quantz's Five Lessons' So she was seen to enter The wood with her young skirt Flashing. from 'The Lost Miss Conn' To set the scene. The night Wind is rushing the moon Across the winter road. A mile away a farm Blinks its only eye. from 'The Murdered Drinker' Up over the wood's roof I imagine The long sigh of Outside goes. from 'The Secret Name' Because I could not gracefully Get out of what I was doing, I made An inner task come to fruit Invisible to all spectators. * Dammit these words are making faces At me again. I hope the faces They make at you h

W.S. Graham's Implements in Their Places, 1 of 2 (Faber, 1977)

I've relished this book; here are some favourite passages. What is the language using us for? Said Malcolm Mooney moving away Slowly over the white language. * What are Communication's Mistakes in the magic medium doing To us? It matters only in So far as we want to be telling Each other alive about each other Alive. from 'What Is the Language Using Us For?' Baboon, My soul, is always ready to relinquish The safe hold and leap on to nothing at all. At least I hope so. from 'Language Ah Now You Have Me' Mr Simpson, kneedeep in the drowned Thistles of not your own country, What is your category? from 'Ten Shots of Mr Simpson' The good blue sun is pressing Me into Zennor Hill. Gently disintegra

Eleanor Rees' Riverine (Gatehouse, 2015)

At the Free Verse Book Fair in London yesterday, I bought more than I should have, as usual, and began reading this splendid pamphlet on the train home. It's nearly out of print, I believe. I am digging me. I am swollen spore swum in the slow tide south towards the shore, dredged from the wildflower of the Thameside. * I am digging me. I am swollen spore flooded across the un-drained fields, stagnant water in molten pools, a roof far gone. from 'Protean Shifts' On a shelf above the bar, wine glasses rattle a shimmy.... from 'In My Ears and In My Eyes' All seeps toward the next hour: turn of the moon, sun behind the cloud. from 'Errant' The house seems to blink--an agony of hours passes. It u

Copyright 2016 by Carrie Etter

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