Poetry and I had something of an off year. I struggled with a lot of stuff. I admired far more than I loved. A lot of what I read didn’t stick. I suspect it’s mostly because I am getting old. My tastes are shifting or I’m loosing touch with the zeitgeist or something. That or I just chose badly. I dunno. I dunno.
Three things did fill me with joy though, so let’s concentrate on that instead of my failings.
Poacher by Lenni Sanders (The Emma Press) is, as anyone who has seen her read in Manchester* during the last few years won’t be surprised to hear, excellent.
I have temporarily mislaid my copy of Blank by Jake Wild Hall (Bad Betty Press) so I am only eighty percent sure that the opening poem is called Hymn, but whatever it is called, it was my favourite poem of last year.
I am several years late to Black Country by Liz Berry which is ridiculous because it is right up my street, full of the music of the dialect I grew up amongst** and with a rich vein of truth.
*I’m sure Lenni reads in places other than Manchester, but that’s where I’ve seen her read. ok?
**Is it amongst or among? Does anyone say amongst any more? It sounded right so I went with it.