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  • Writer's pictureCarrie Etter

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 uncurls.

*

The branches bend to see the house

bound panther-like into the forest....

*

The house swishes its tail and is gone.

from 'The House of the Dark Woods'

Our way is a smooth pool of open sky

fallen between earth and heavens,

edgeless and drawn by eyes

dusted with night.

We cannot see the distances.

I hear histories spiralling into this new occasion.

from 'For You in the Half-Light'

Batter us long waves.

Batter us wide-throated sea.

Let us find fix in the bite

of the winter wind, dark rain....

from 'At Sea'

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