Review by Paul Taylor-McCartney of "The Walkative Revolution" by Alec Finlay and "Two Women in a Car Park" by Selima Hill and Moby Hill

  

Cornwall-based Guillemot Press specialises in carefully designed, often collaborative poetry editions. Alec Finlay’s The Walkative Revolution (2025) is an illustrated hardback combining poetry, visual composition and manifesto-like writing. Selima Hill’s Two Women in a Car Park (2026), with artwork by her son, Moby Hill, takes the form of a compact landscape volume. 

Finlay is a Scottish poet and artist whose work explores landscape, ecology, naming and access. When chronic illness constrained the poet’s ability to move through the world, he reconsidered what it is to walk, be a walker, or a "not-walker," and creatively adapt to limits. Hill is known for psychologically charged poetic sequences in which tenderness, menace and surreal transformation exist side by side. Although very different in form and tone, these collections share an interest in movement, stillness and thresholds: between participation and exclusion, intimacy and privacy, forward motion and rest.

The Walkative Revolution challenges a tradition in which walking is closely associated with freedom, independence and authority. Finlay’s statement that "a path must be walked / or it will cease to exist" presents movement not as conquest but as an act of maintenance. In essence, a path survives through repeated use, where walking becomes a relationship between bodies, landscapes and the communities that keep routes open. This idea is developed through the proxy walk, whose participants are described as "the walker, the recipient, the artist": a small cast list and a choreography of roles. One person follows the route, another receives the walk – as though by post, pulse or proxy – and a third turns the experience into artistic form, translating footfall into form and step into script. The encounter with landscape no longer belongs only to the body that physically covers the ground. Elsewhere, Finlay declares that "There can never be an excess of access." The line gives the collection’s politics a memorable directness. Access is not treated as an optional kindness or an adjustment to be added afterwards - a principle that changes the meaning of participation itself. The poet’s thresholds are therefore both physical and social: they include paths and boundaries, but also the assumptions that determine who can use them and whose experience of place is valued. I found the cumulative effect of motif, theme and manifesto – both lyrically and politically – reminiscent of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.

In comparison, Hill brings movement and stillness into the more intimate territory of family, care and emotional knowledge. In "Happiness," a mother "wheels her large son in his wheelchair beside the stony / river, round the lake." She believes she is going "in search of their / happiness," but the poem quietly revises that expectation: "this, however, is their happiness." The journey around the lake has no triumphant destination; its meaning lies in the shared circuit itself. Happiness is not waiting at the end of the route or dependent upon some future change. It is already present in the act of accompaniment: in the movement beside the river and around the lake. In "The Body in the Bungalow," stillness takes on a more troubling quality. A man has been lying alone, "probably in pain." When a woman asks whether the pain might "not have been that bad," the doctor replies: "All pain is pain." The answer is simple but uncompromising. It marks a threshold in understanding: another person’s suffering cannot be reliably measured from the outside, nor dismissed as it is not fully visible. The final poem, "Unhappiness," also considers the limits of what one person can know about another. The speaker reflects that "All adult men have had their hearts broken" and therefore "he, too" must have experienced heartbreak, although "we don’t know how or when." The phrasing insists upon the son’s adult emotional life, while "we don’t know" protects his privacy. Hill implies that closeness and care do not give complete access to another person’s inner world.

The collections differ in their thresholds: Finlay’s are spatial and social, shaping who can participate, while Hill’s are psychological, marking the limits of knowing another person. Both resist the idea that freedom means constant forward movement. Finlay presents stillness as active and connected; Hill shows movement as circular and unresolved. In each, thresholds become places where agency, knowledge and relationships are rethought. What distinguishes these books is also the strength of their voices. Finlay’s inventive, concept-driven work reimagines access and place, whilst Hill’s compressed lyricism captures care, pain and intimacy without simplifying them. 

The books are also compelling as physical objects. Their visual and tactile qualities are not incidental but shape the pace and meaning of the reading experience. Finlay’s playful movement between poetry, manifesto and visual composition asks the reader to pause, adjust and approach the page in different ways. Hill’s compact landscape format, accompanied by some strikingly simple but haunting artwork, suits a collection concerned with circuits, boundaries and uncertain passages. Taken together, The Walkative Revolution and Two Women in a Car Park are two highly original contributions to contemporary poetry. They are the work of distinctive and compelling voices, but also beautifully conceived and produced books that reward close attention. 

About the reviewer
Dr Paul Taylor-McCartney is a writer, researcher and lecturer. His interests include dystopian literature, queer studies, children’s fiction and initial teacher education. His poetry, short fiction and academic articles have appeared in a wide range of print and electronic media, and fiction titles he recently worked on as commissioning editor have won regional readers’ and publishers’ awards. His debut novel, Sisters of the Pentacle, was published by Hermitage Press in 2022, and his first non-fiction title, Cornwall Uncharted: Mapping Cornwall’s Queer History of Concealment, Culture and Creativity was published by The History Press (June 2026), to great acclaim.

Interview with Suyin Du Bois

Suyin Du Bois is a poet of mixed Chinese-Malaysian and Belgian heritage, living in London with her South African husband. Her poems have been published in Propel, Iamb, Stanzas, Bi+ Lines: An Anthology of Contemporary Bi+ Poets (Fourteen Publishing, 2023) and Malaysian Places and Spaces (Maya Press, 2024), amongst others. She is a member of the Southbank Centre’s New Poets Collective 2024/25. When not obsessing over word choice, Suyin spends her time building a profit-with-purpose start-up that seeks to ensure 24/7 access to nutritious, affordable food for NHS hospital staff. Eating Air is her debut pamphlet.

Interviewed by Laura Sygrove

LS: Eating Air opens with "Ode to Kaya," a poem that moves between childhood and adulthood. Why did this feel like the right poem to begin the collection?

SDB: "Ode to Kaya" was the first poem I wrote where food took such a central role, and it really opened up something in me. Suddenly I was thinking of all the different ways food could help me explore different areas of emotional interest. Since this poem acted as a gateway for me, I hoped it might do the same for my reader. Beyond that, it seeded some key context and themes for the collection which I hoped would help get the reader quickly into this world: the idea of multiple homes at distance from one another, the connective power of food, as well as tensions around identity.

LS: In poems such as this one, there is a sense that food and memory change when carried across borders. How has living in London affected your relationship to the places and traditions you write about?

SDB: Certainly, I think distance romanticises the worlds that you are apart from, and that we are more at risk of taking for granted that to which we have daily access. In my writing I am often trying to capture elements of the world that are not my day-to-day, to make my memories and momentary impressions tangible. Regarding living in London specifically, I love how culturally mixed London feels to me, how it feels like a place where I can be all the parts of myself. I do think it is a very positive influence on my writing in this sense. 

LS: Your preface connects food, poetry, and a sense of home, while many poems explore questions of identity and belonging. How has writing poetry helped you navigate the cultures, languages, and places that have shaped you? 

SDB: What a beautiful question. I love the reflective nature of writing poetry. It encourages me to ask questions of myself, to think about what I’m interested in communicating and why. There are parts of my cultural upbringing that are already bedded in, others I have consciously sought out for myself, and others I am only learning about now. I am still being shaped. It’s all a work in progress, and I think poetry has a supportive, parallel role to play in that. Beyond this, I love how poetry connects me to other people. I have some readers who have similar upbringings and background to me and others who have completely different ones. Hearing both these sets of readers highlight something I wrote that resonates with them is beautiful and fills me with a new sense of belonging. I honestly can’t get enough of it. 

LS: Much of the collection is written in prose poetry. What drew you to this form, and how do you decide when a poem needs a different structure?

SDB: Pretty much every poem for me starts as a brief note about a specific idea or memory. My Notes app is full of these! When I have time to sit down and write, I take one of these ideas and free-write to try to get down as much core and tangential detail as I can. From this free-write, I pick out the elements that I think make a poem, and then start writing toward that in a much more structured fashion. Usually this is where I start to introduce form. I'm firstly interested in making line breaks and stanzas work with my own cadence and pacing: I will always read my poems out loud throughout the editing process (a big reason why I struggle to edit in public!). Beyond that, I look at the overall shape and feel of the poem, and try to use the form to introduce some element of surprise or highlight particular words or ideas. 

For the slash poems in the collection, I still see these as line-broken poems rather than prose poems. In "Cut Scenes" this felt right at first due to the fragmentary nature of retelling memories that aren't mine, where I am inserting myself. Additionally, there was something about the poem being sliced up like steak that I rather liked! In "Every trip to Brussels must include a Sunday," again these felt like fragments of varying interconnectivity all stuck together in one big way, so the close separateness of the slash felt right to me here as well.

LS: In poems such as "Auntie Pixi’s Aga Agak," recipes become a way of preserving memory. What interested you about those moments where cultural inheritance feels both intimate and incomplete? 

SDB: While I very much embrace my two heritages, I feel a certain level of disconnectedness also for two key reasons (and perhaps others too). Firstly, I never knew any of my grandparents, they all passed away before I was born. Secondly, I can't speak any of my heritage languages fluently. As I've gotten older these things have bothered me more and I've mourned that feeling of distance, even in the context of love, with older family members who have now passed. This is a continuing area of interest for me.

LS: "Chinese New Year at Sara’s" explores the tension between inheriting traditions and reshaping them. Why was that an important theme for you to write about? 

SDB: I suspect that I or the things that I do will never be whole or authentic enough for some people, and so I'm conscious that I need to claim and celebrate these differences for myself. Knowing this and doing it, however, are not the same thing! Having said that, I actually didn’t realise that’s where this poem was going to go when I started to write it. It took me to quite a bold, declarative place all by itself. 

LS: The title Eating Air comes from Hokkien and Malay expressions connected to food, wellbeing, and travel. When did you realise it was the right title for the collection, and what does the phrase mean to you now?

SDB: I had these phrases "chiak hong" and "makan angin" noted down as a seed idea for a poem for a long time, and planned to explore how these idioms for travelling translate to "eating air," but I just never ended up writing into the idea. When I was getting my sample of ten poems together in response to The Emma Press open call for submissions, I needed to give the collection a working title in the proposal. I was struggling to find something within the sequence of poems itself and this jumped out at me when I turned to my Notes app for inspiration. It just seemed to fit perfectly with how the poems invite the reader to travel across the world with them. I also love how the title is intriguing in English as an unusual turn of phrase. I’ve had several people ask me the story behind it. Luckily, I was able to include an explanation in the preface, which unravels this for non-Malaysians.

LS: Food carries memory, grief, family history, identity, and belonging throughout the pamphlet. What does food allow you to explore in poetry that other subjects might not?

SDB: Food gives me a really concrete, sensory way into so many different subjects. I can start off free-writing about the physical experience of eating and end up somewhere completely different, abstract or even undefined, which I might otherwise struggle to get to or to articulate without the more tangible language of food. 

It felt really generative for me as well, having this theme of food to play with. I was constantly thinking of new meaningful food moments, and noting them all down. I was really conscious that I didn’t want to be writing the same poem over and over again though, so I kept pushing myself to make sure each poem took me in a new direction. 

About the interviewer
Laura Sygrove is a graduate of the MA Creative Writing programme at the University of Leicester. She is an advance reader at DartFrog Books and writes for The Publishing Post. You can read some of her poems here, here and here. You can read a review by Laura of Eating Air by Suyin Du Bois on Everybody's Reviewing here. 

Review by Laura Sygrove of "Eating Air" by Suyin Du Bois

 

Suyin Du Bois’ debut poetry pamphlet is a tapestry of shared cultures, a smorgasbord of delectable delights and rough estimations; a rich blend of seasoned memories and flashes in the pan. Eating Air is complex, intimate, and oftentimes devastating; a journey into the past in an attempt to preserve the present, always just seconds out of reach.

Besides Du Bois’ poetry, I’ve thought of little else for weeks. Her work begs you to read the words aloud, to savour each syllable as the speaker savours each meal. Eating Air is a collection of flavour samples that dance on the tongue and settle in the pit of your stomach. Du Bois transports the reader across oceans to sit at low dining tables, folding meal trays at high altitude, beside hospital beds and roadside stalls, relishing the familiar taste of airline food and leftovers, sand-roasted chestnuts, French pastries, and makeshift noodle dinners.

For Du Bois, eating and writing are both acts of remembering and belonging, or of not quite belonging, and of longing itself. In her preface, she describes feeling poetry in her body in much the same way as food, where "certain combinations of words can have just the right mouthfeel." Food nourishes the body while carrying emotional and cultural memory. Poetry preserves that memory, remaking it through language: "I stir and stir like her until my spoon draws the right depths of lineage."

As a title, Eating Air feels both grounding and elusive, suggesting nourishment while gesturing towards something intangible: "store-bought surrogates," swaddled exports with their "layers thinned," family recipes spooned from jam jars for the very last time. Her work reads almost as a series of diary entries, reimagining transitory yet toothsome moments in a search for self through places, memories, and identities that resist easy definition.

Du Bois writes with complete transparency, embracing the discomfort of existing between cultures. She allows these tensions to remain unresolved, capturing the feeling of being both within and without. Her poems linger in that in-between space, searching for belonging without ever insisting upon certainty. My favourite line in the collection, "I insist we oil our bloodlines mackerel slick," is as tender as it is visceral, preserving heritage not as something fixed, but as something living and lovingly maintained. In Eating Air, nourishment is found not only in food, but in language and memory, and the act of returning to them.

About the reviewer
Laura Sygrove is a graduate of the MA Creative Writing programme at the University of Leicester. She is an advance reader at DartFrog Books and writes for The Publishing Post. You can read some of her poems here, here and here.  

You can read more about Eating Air by Suyin Du Bois on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Lisa Natasha Wetton of "Veer, Oscillate, Rest" by Carrie Etter

Carrie Etter has a way of simplifying complex and serious narratives into easily digestible, almost kindly delivered rants in this collection. Her journey into the sentence, which starts "If one can take a sentence for a walk," is where I really begin to smile - about twenty pages in, just after the main title poem. I found myself reading each poem twice or more. The expression of her words openly mirrors the endless flow of life, where there is no end and no beginning to all that is and how we move through it.

This is political poetry, yet not polemic. At the start, she delivers a cool, collected punch to the systems that govern us and observes how we respond. From stereotypical "trailer trash," she traces the literal patterns and content of life in America. With references to presidents, corporations and culture, "My America" touches on the gamut of everything American, poetically listing in a way that is at once complete and seemingly disappointed with the lot.

"Project Cannikin" goes a step further with its damning, cut-to-the-chase lines, such as "Up goes the island - twenty-five feet! Down come a thousand dead sea otters," and "(crushed skulls) (ruptured lungs) (snapped spines) / Nine-year-old Emily said, 'It was kind of like a train ride.'" This references the impacts of nuclear testing in Alaska in 1971. The casual but cuttingly direct descriptions make no bones about the disdain for such activity, simply shining a light on the same flippant casualness with which they are perceived by the desensitised child, Emily.

"Fat" and "Tornado" both have an air of critiquing the normalised, expected modes of behaviour and happenings in a damaging culture which is the result of its own addictions and consequences. By the fifth poem, "Night England by Train," the focus moves to the UK and its bleakness. The author manages to touch very briefly on significant points that sum up a place in a flash. The colour orange and a tail mentioned paint a picture of fox hunting and countryside, at least to me. The commentary triggers our own perceptions and expresses a sort of composed anger, calmly and matter-of-factly, analysing the troubles of the world in a pinpointed way. In "The Reckoning," for example, the demise of the NHS, racism, fear, lack, survival, conflict, accountability and prejudice are all addressed succinctly - almost list-like, again complete and thorough in its critique of the absolute mess that politicians are creating.

This collection made me wonder and made me laugh. Very human, social observations touch upon all the influences hitting our world, wherever we are on the planet - buzzwords normalised, behaviours that are not. There are nods to other poets, like "The Rival" after Sylvia Plath's poem of the same name, suggesting impressions of youth and possibly mild envy, and "One for London" for W.S. Graham, referring to wine and jazz and drunken moments in "milk-grey London."

Etter aptly denotes the need for expression regarding how much of the weight of the world we have to hold, in the line: "Language, I'm going to need you shortly, if I'm going to sustain the moment's teeming." This acutely describes how much we sustain without question. Narcissism, bipolar disorder, sibling rivalry, complexities and family in an overheard conversation: "Overheard in Chicago" depicts the tone of a generation of diversity and the mental health consequences of living through certain times.

These are my perceptions of what at first seems simple and then reveals a world in quiet nutshells - or eggshells, which would be more fitting for the fragility and strength that hold us all together. There is a lot in these pages. And the title Veer, Oscillate, Rest aptly relates to the way in which the author navigates the content. Reading the pamphlet left me feeling content with the chaos and transitory nature of everything in the world and how we all meander through it. This is essential contemporary poetry. Read it slowly. Read it twice.

About the reviewer
Lisa Natasha Wetton (aka Lisa Life) is a regular contributor to the English pages of L’eco de Sitges, Barcelona. She is a Creative Artist, Coach & Hypnotherapist. She is collaborating on new writing projects with American Author Will Bashor, with whom she will be refining a draft of her first completed book, It’s all Made up – A Guide to Spirituality from a Working-Class Girl. With a twenty-year history working in Dance & Theatre and based in Barcelona for the past six years, she is happy to be delving into the world of words. See: www.newlisalife.net and www.equilibrium-events.com.

Review by Karen Powell-Curtis of "Have they marked you with arrows?" by Jayne Stanton

Jayne Stanton’s beautifully crafted poems chart the stages in her journey beginning with her cancer diagnosis, through treatment, and beyond. 

In "Recall," there is a sense of both fear of the outcome, and of the stress of waiting. The repetition of "a woman" controls the pace of the poem, and the detail of each step of the appointment forces the reader to pause and consider each action. In the following poem, "After the appointment," Stanton writes of the shock and disorientation immediately after diagnosis with the lines "You try to recall what you’ve just been told" and "You both agree – the cafeteria / seems farther away than usual." 

There are hints of Emily Dickinson’s poem "Hope is the thing with feathers" in "Many-feathered." In Stanton’s poem hope is "a scalpel in a steady hand" and "an evicted ductal carcinoma." In sharp contrast to the medical terminology is the image of a "rose that grows / in a pathologist’s petri dish."

"Platitudes" begins with the line "It’s a good thing they caught it early" and continues to list the cliches often offered to someone diagnosed with cancer. The layout of the poem, with space between each line, suggests how empty and unhelpful these words might feel to the recipient. 

The short lines in the poem "Radiology of the left breast" create a clinical effect. The use of the passive voice, particularly in the lines "Careful measurements are taken / and your skin marked up" and "You are moved into the correct position," emphasises the impersonal nature of the procedure.

Strength and hope are evident throughout Stanton’s pamphlet. Her poems are both unsentimental and powerful, and whilst deeply personal, they are also relevant to many women undergoing the same experience.

About the reviewer
Karen Powell-Curtis has a PhD in Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. Her poetry has been published in various anthologies and magazines. 

You can read more about Have they marked you with arrows? on Creative Writing at Leicester here. 

Review by Debasish Lahiri of "Walking Away" by Martyn Crucefix

Only participles here: their ghosts fill the passing of present and present pasts in Martyn Crucefix’s latest pamphlet Walking Away. One does not need to stand in the mere of biblical lore to realize that the "end" is a process. To be witness to our parents – their touch growing cold upon the warmth of our grasp, often desperate grasp, and their memories slipping like wind through the parapet of our fingers, or sand – is to be in the arc, or archetype, of the end. Crucefix’s poetry talks as much of us who are left behind as of our parents who grow more distant, more alien, without being able to go anywhere. 

           You hear cars hiss along the road
           Cars hissing along the road

           Only present participles

In writing about his parents, and their misted lens of time, where everything is either disconcertingly different, or befuddlingly the same, Crucefix unravels the tyranny of that continuum called the Present. With the deftest of touches he paints a time, the only time where we can be partakers together, but also a cruel time with no recall or hope for a future recognition. 

           Mother of your brother and sister
           Mother of your three sons

           The same car speeding away

Reading this collection one can’t but feel that it all stands up or falls apart depending on the miraculous presence or absence of that hand or arm in the precipitate moment when the mind is afraid, limbs waver on the verge of a fumble and a silent swipe at balance comes up with aether. It isn’t merely furniture that has moved. Care-givers move through the house. A flux of children, wives and kin sweep through. The house turns out to be a Care-Home.

           Dining chair and coffee table 
           Shifted here and there

           Losing you. Your balance too

Walking Away has three shorter poems - "Video Call," "My Mother’s Care Home Room (as Cleopatra’s monument)" and "In This Quiet One-way West Country Town" – along with the eponymous long sequence of tercets, measuring the calculus of change in human life. Crucefix adapts the Japanese form of the Haiku brilliantly in his long sequence "Walking Away." This is a sense adaptation of the form, not necessarily a servile conformity to the 5-7-5 syllabic fiat, but a reinterpretation of the dynamic, emphasizing the break (after two lines or one), and corresponding to the idea of the Kireji or the divide in Japanese. Strictly speaking these are more akin to Senryu, poetry that speaks of human life rather than the natural world. 

Crucefix reminds us that living is a one-way road (not just in West Country towns). There’s no way back. Living is a walking away from the consolations of Time, an inexorable moving away of people dearest to us, our parents. His poetry stands up, unflinchingly, to this bruise.

About the reviewer  
Debasish Lahiri has nine collections of poetry to his credit, the latest being A Certain Penance of Light (2025). Lahiri is the recipient of the Prix-du Merite, Naji Naaman Literary Prize 2019.

Review by Karen Powell-Curtis of "Poems of a Nottingham Lace-Runner" by Mary Bailey

Mary Bailey published her pamphlet of thirteen poems in 1826 to raise money to support her nine children. Her poems offer an insight into the world of working-class women in the 1820s and, in particular, Mary Bailey’s life. John Goodridge’s introduction to this revised edition offers context to the poems in terms of time, place and social class.

Lace-runners were employed to embroider patterns onto lace, and in "Petition to the British Fair" Bailey writes: "How hard have we work’d, and our eyes how we’ve strain’d, / When those beautiful flowers we run." Later in the poem, we discover this work isn’t rewarded as well as it should be: 

          How pleasant’s the task, whenever we’re ask’d,
                 To work hard to beautify you;
          Then I’m sure you will own, with candour, unmask’d,
                 Good food and good clothing’s our due; 

          But the price is so low, that, sad to relate, 
                 We cannot these blessings obtain.

Bailey never views her nine children as a burden in spite of her poverty. "To a Lady who desired me to pray for the death of my youngest child" is her response to the woman who made this heartless suggestion. Her love for her children is clear in the lines "Her innocent smile shall my troubles beguile, / And make poverty light as a feather." In the final stanza she comments "lady, forbear to advise, / Till a mother’s affections you feel." In "The Author to Her Infant Twins," she expresses similar sentiments: "Welcome, dear little strangers, welcome here, / Altho’ to keen adversity you’ve come."

"The Locust" is addressed to her daughters and carries the message they should never be cruel. This poem gives us a strong sense of Bailey’s character. She is horrified to discover two young girls playing with "a poor little locust, pierc’d through with a pin." She tells them:

           To a nice school you go, where a lady doth teach,
                  And you much finer feelings should learn;
          But, I’m better than you, though my frock’s common blue,
                  While my heart doth such cruelty spurn. 

Bailey may have published her poems to meet an immediate financial need but two hundred years later they are still relevant.

About the reviewer
Karen Powell-Curtis has a PhD in Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. Her poetry has been published in various anthologies and magazines. 

Review by Karen Powell-Curtis of "Familiar Phantoms" by Sue Forrester

Sue Forrester’s debut pamphlet, Familiar Phantoms, transports us across time and place, from England to Africa and Asia. We tend to think of phantoms in terms of people, but Sue Forrester writes of places as if they too are phantoms. 

Her poems are rich with sensory details. In "Lamping with Lizard" we hear the "rustles, chirps and clicks" of Africa after dark and, by torchlight, we see "Iridescent bulbous beetles." We experience the fragrances of the "verandah scented with citronella" in "Small World," and the "jasmine blooms" in "The Scent of War." The poem "Cooking with Mother" offers taste and touch through the "production / of eighty doughnuts for the tea tent."

Forrester uses the power of objects to evoke the phantoms in her poems, and to link the past to the present. For example, in "One September Day," the Registrar’s fountain pen triggers a memory of a "21st birthday gift from Aunt Win," and simultaneously creates a new memory as she "Writes in the book, the forever book, / in the forever ink" to register a birth.

A "silver and black obsidian butterfly brooch" brings to mind another aunt in "And Apple Pie." In this prose poem, it is the absence of a particular object, a "silver-trimmed barrel" from which the aunt "dispensed chocolate biscuits" which represents the unique relationship between the niece and her aunt. Forrester writes, "And I mourn that biscuit barrel, swept away in a heartless house clearance, her daughters knowing only their mother, not my aunt."

"Needlecraft" is full of details revealing the love between a family. The central item in this poem is a knitting needle which has been repurposed to check "the lemon cake is done." The needle is the "survivor of the pair I used / when my big sister taught me to knit." This prompts the memory of sitting "on the little chair, / Daddy made for me," watching "my sister make a buttonholed loop / on the pot holder I’d knitted for Mum."

We gain a sense of a life through recollections involving cars in "My Brother’s Car." The poem ends with the moving description of the brother telling "a crowded chapel how he got to know / our father under a car" with "oil dripping onto their heads and hands: / a malodorous unction, full of grace."

The phantoms in Sue Forrester’s pamphlet are sensitively summoned but her poems never slip into sentimentality.

About the reviewer
Karen Powell-Curtis has a PhD in Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. Her poetry has been published in various anthologies and magazines. 

Review by Martyn Crucefix of "Slow Burn" by Jordi Doce

The late John Burnside praised Jordi Doce as "one of the three or four living European poets whose work I most treasure." Slow Burn is a sequence of ten delicate, untitled poems of grief, finely translated by Paul O’Prey. It is not till later that the reader is told "death made its move" and Doce initially establishes an unsuspecting mood, comparing the human body to an ordinary "sunlit town square." The café chairs, the old men’s talk, the pigeons, the bell tower, form a "simple / homeostasis," a stability yet to be struck down. Likewise ordinary language (meetings, conversations) only functions up to a point, beyond which hovers "the god / of what’s left unsaid." 

Though distanced into the third person, the fifth poem portrays the writer as he used to be: "rummaging through things, / looking for their meaning." The switch to the present as he "peers through the window" comes as a shock: "He has stopped hearing the voice of himself." Doce’s verbal strikes have an unnerving delicacy. Another poem opens "Whose certainties were these?" and the juxtaposition of certainties with the past tense does powerful lifting in characterising the devastation of loss. The writer’s business is now left in "neglect" and any talk of peace or tranquillity is "to speak a dead language" or is at best "a craving for some plausible / sense of order."

A later poem takes up the earlier suggestion of the unsuspecting ordinary and evokes the shattering effect of grief through the image of a house having lost a room: "We dropped our guard / for just a moment / and it disappeared." It is here that death makes its move, "without / any hint, without any warning. / And took the whole house." The final italicised poem looks back at the sequence preceding it from beneath a sky that is "both itself / and something strange" and affirms that the flames of loss have passed across the flesh of those remaining, for whom, beneath their skin, "embers smoulder on." It is this residual grief that constitutes the mournful "slow burn" of this moving, melancholy, restrained, and exquisitely written chapbook.

About the reviewer
Martyn Crucefix: Between a Drowning Man was published by Salt in 2023; his translations of Peter Huchel (Shearsman) won the 2020 Schlegel-Tieck Prize. A Rilke Selected Poems, Change Your Life, has been published by Pushkin Press, 2024. Martyn's blog is here. 

Review by Rennie Parker of "Poems of a Nottingham Lace-Runner" by Mary Bailey, with an Introduction by John Goodridge

 

How pleasant to make the acquaintance of Mary Bailey, a lace worker ("Lace Runner") from the great industrial city of Nottingham. For here is her pamphlet, her only one, since she was dead by her mid-thirties; but available at last thanks to the combined efforts of researchers plus Five Leaves Press.

Bailey is adept at ballad metre, but this should not be surprising, as mill hands and fieldworkers alike would improve their monotonous hours by singing. It’s possible that she had popular tunes in mind when composing her verse:

          You ladies of Britain, we most humbly address
               And hope you will take it in hand,
           And at once condescend on poor Runners to think,
               When dress’d at your glasses you stand.
  

There is ample evidence of the love she feels for her children, with none of that reserve which members of the upper classes were meant to show; she works hard and gets about, rebuking mean girls and enjoying the small wins of everyday life on the breadline. I like the sound of this person; the Baileys appear like the numerous and chaotic family next door but where their priorities are in the right order. 

Moreover, it’s important to know that literature was not only available to her but a realistic means of survival at the time. Literature was not an add-on or a hobby; it was part of the work she could do and where she might expect some benefits from that production, whether in sales, patronage, or as a springboard for a career. She knows what is popular at the time: there are moral instructions, appeals, an epitaph - but I find the most engaging piece is her verse letter, meant for her family in Staffordshire:

          Dear brother and sister the packet is come
          To let you both know we are safely got home:
          And, in this epistle I’m happy to say 
          My dear little Ellinor slept all the way …

The book was produced by subscription, same as the model used by today’s online publishers such as Unbounders; her patrons are listed at the back, numbering 90 in total with the vast majority of them being female - none of that idle sitting in drawing rooms for these ladies -  and it’s probably significant that Bailey’s two editions happened in the same decade as her vastly more popular compatriot, John Clare (who was only fifty miles away by stagecoach at the time).

As an insight into one woman’s life and experience, it’s beautiful; here is an authentic voice from those times, showing how a literate working woman thought and felt in the 1820s. Only the usual word of warning for any production like this: she is of course a supplicant, asking favours of the gatekeepers and upper class folk who could determine how she lived or died, or whether the literature should continue at all.

About the reviewer
Rennie Parker is a poet living in the East Midlands, and she is mostly published by Shoestring Press. Her latest collection Balloons and Stripey Trousers, a nightmare journey into the toxic workplace, came out earlier this year. She works in FE and blogs occasionally here. She is also on Twitter/X and Bluesky.

Review by Rachael Clyne of "The Postcolonial Flâneuse" by Ramisha Rafique

I am attracted by flânerie, the random wander in cityscape, and was intrigued by the postcolonial aspect. While I anticipated the gauntlet of sharp political comment, I found myself immersed in Rafique’s gentle reflections on gender, race and religion as she tours street cafes. As a Muslim woman she already disrupts the white male origins of the genre.

From lockdown in Nottingham to Paris and Marseille, from Istanbul and Syria she offers vignettes. She wants to be part of the flow, rather than a labelled stereotype: "She has become part of / the mass. She is him, and her, / and them." Rafique vividly engages our senses with "Café Soundtrack" – music, chatter, accents, clink of cups, adding visual notes – a man fiddling with his ring, a passerby’s cloud breath. 

One minute we are on a Nottingham street, the next we are in Paris where statues of past empire become sleeping places for the current homeless. "For Those Lost in The Kashmiri Diaspora" concerns her own heritage and continuing impact of a region divided by the British then recolonised by Pakistan and India. The book covers many themes: conversing with God through a foreign language, social decline in the face of climate change and the joys of girl-chat setting their world to rights over coffee and cake.  A museum visit hints at how its art treasures reflect colonial tastes and cultural plunder. 

With the poet’s light touch we are offered a smorgasbord of tastes, customs and meditations, that stimulate food for thought. She eventually takes us into her familiar comfort zones, e.g. "Arab Quarter, Marseille," where her uncovered head is disapproved of by an older woman and she is comforted by "the fusion of black tea leaves, mint, and sugar." All in all, this is a pamphlet well written and worth reading.

About the reviewer
Rachael Clyne is a retired psychotherapist. Her prizewinning first collection Singing at the Bone Tree (Indigo Dreams) concerns eco-issues. Her pamphlet, Girl Golem (4Word) and her latest collection, You’ll Never Be Anyone Else (Seren Books), explore themes of identity and otherness, including migrant heritage, LGBTQ+ and relationships.    

Review by Éadaoín Lynch of "Exiles Across Time" by Hua Ai

"How far will hunger drive a body over borders?"

Ai’s debut chapbook is driven by an enterprising voice, and a new angle on age-old stories of birth, death, conflict and resilience. It opens with six short announcements or portents, called "Echoes," each in turn repeated in a longer-form poem – a neat example of form mirroring subject. What is remarkable about Ai’s work is her blend of contrasted conceits, political history, and mythic register, recalling elements from the work of Anna Akhmatova or Mahmoud Darwish.

Being an ESL poet, Ai’s language and syntax are reflective of the book’s thematic "exile," as the poems themselves bear the journey of translation. This journey is further contextualised in her Author’s Note, where she shares that, in her native language Mandarin, "meaning travels under the surface; readers are trusted to dive." Transposing a lyric convention from one language into another is not an easy feat, particularly where connotation and cultural context are inevitably lost in the move. Ai, however, is fearless and the confidence bears out in original, inventive poems.

The narrative focus in Exiles Across Time combines gothic and nature imagery, mythos, and symbolism in a way that rebuffs the confessional mode, or what Ai calls "English’s appetite for direct address." The chimeras of life, death and rebirth are corroborated by sweeping metaphors, such as, "History splits awake," "Ice breaks its winter silence," "Existence is a slit throat," and "In woods where history hangs itself." Here is a pastoral poetic that looks as much at destruction as creation – a fitting approach for a work that is concerned so much with exile. 

From initial mythic imaginings of maternal sacrifice and patriarchal domination to a resurgence of hope amid the hunt, Ai turns sharply in "Echo III" to a bruising account of the siege of Sarajevo, illustrating a clear reality, even in ambitious metaphors. This is followed closely in "Echo IV" by a call to action – "a million fingers pull the tyrant down" – to the final "Echoes" of self-fashioning and reawakening. Through these works, Ai charts a journey that is intergenerational, international, and grounded in political upheaval and brutality. Exiles Across Time is an auspicious debut that favours promising work to come.

About the reviewer
Éadaoín Lynch is an Irish writer & researcher based in Edinburgh. They are one of the Typewronger Writers-in-Residence for 2025, and co-editor of Re·creation: A Queer Poetry Anthology with Alycia Pirmohamed. Their poem "Brogue" was Commended for the Magma 2024 Poetry Competition by Raymond Antrobus. Fierce Scrow, their debut poetry pamphlet, launched in 2022 with Nine Pens Press.

Review by Claire Cox of "Black Skies Die Starless" by Jamie Woods

Don’t be fooled by the  slightness of this pamphlet. It’s Tardis-like, DeLorean-like; it breaches time and space, sight and sound, elegy and epiphany. Step into it and you’re like likely to think you’ve been plunged into the lightless, nihilistic abyss of a dead-end youth in a dead-end town in the 1990s. And indeed you have, but such is the power of Jamie Woods’s creative and poetic energy that he crams in so much more. 

His poems, interestingly varied in form and tone, coalesce to tell the story of one person’s desperate search for drug-facilitated oblivion on one hand and love’s home-coming and validation on the other. This living paradox, openly explored by Woods in an autobiographical frame, is punchy in its rawness and honesty. The lows are emotionally crushing, as in "You and No-one Else" and "Pavement Kenickie Bedsit 99," so too, are the numerous failed pharmaceutical highs where the yearned-for acme of revelation or ascension (the poems ring with religious, Christian imagery) is never achieved. However, for me, the pamphlet’s beating heart lies in "The Opposite of Spring," a beautifully rendered moment of loss which, within the ordering of the pamphlet, might intuit a hesitant uptick in life trajectory. 

What makes this pamphlet eminently absorbing, and more than usually engaging, is its almost synaesthetic appeal to the senses. Woods, a musician and lyric writer, has included a song title for each poem, accessible via his website, and also visuals: graphically-designed poems are interspersed to strong effect, and several poems have ekphrastic origins. These intriguing, extended dynamics offer a dense web of intersensory connections within and beyond the pamphlet’s pages. Immerse yourself in the enriching and persuasive hinterlands Woods so generously offers. Rewind time. I would never have known Hole’s mind-blowing "Northern Star" without him.  

About the reviewer
Claire Cox was co-founder and Associate Editor of ignitionpress, winner of the 2021 Michael Marks Publishers’ Award. She has a PhD (Royal Holloway) on poetry and disaster. Her poems have appeared in Primers: Volume Five and other magazines and anthologies. Claire was also the winner of the 2020 Wigtown Alastair Reid Pamphlet Prize. 

Review by Christine Hammond of "A Dress with Deep Pockets" by Jen Feroze

Winner of the 2024 International Book and Pamphlet competition, this beautifully crafted collection is an homage to love, shared experiences and the unique joy of female friendship. You sense the purity of captured moments that become the life-defining journey markers our human psyche searches for and longs to plot, both for meaning and posterity.

In "Hare Girl" reminiscence is powerful, but never heavy or overburdened by sentiment. It is this lightness of touch that characterises much of Feroze’s work, as seen here in the last two verses moving the highly tangible real-life images to an almost ethereal disappearance at the end, likened to the swiftness of a hare through the trees. 

From this, we have some understanding of a transition from the personal qualities and actions of people that leave a short-term impression, to longer-term, deeply affecting and treasured memories. 

         We went camping in each other’s gardens.
         starchy tents and popcorn and stolen vodka.
         I found her before dawn dew-soaked,
         curled in the long grass and defiantly shivering. 

         That was years ago. Sometimes she writes me letters,
         Sends sage and rose petals, chips of crystal 
         That I line up on my desk as I think of her:
         Sleek, fleet, disappearing into the trees. 

A recurring theme, we can see it again in "Selkie." Here, another friend (Stacey) is compared to the mythical, shape-shifting creature that is a "selkie" – capable of shedding its own skin to transition between seal and human, in and out of the water. Again, the poem moves seamlessly from everyday observations to an exceptionally powerful nothingness, just a slick in the water leaving a marbled imprint "soft as a sigh."

          I’m sitting in a damp towel
          Watching Stacey shed herself in the water …

          … And Stacey is untethering,
          wetsuited in the dawn fog.
          Her recipe for spinach pancakes,
          stubby coloured pencils, the persistent ringing
          in her ears. Her Gwen Stefani impression,
          nervous driving, impulse to stroke every cat,
          the way she sits in galleries,
          magnetised. All of it slicks the water,
          A marbling soft as a sigh.

A Dress with Deep Pockets is a highly enjoyable, immersive and poetic reading experience. Events and interactions rooted in the everyday are effortlessly noted, articulated and committed to a precious memory sub-strata. Thus, their value is identified as something of lasting beauty.

About the reviewer
Christine Hammond began writing poetry whilst studying English Literature at Queen’s University, Belfast. Her early poems were published in The Gown (QUB) and Women’s News where, as one of the original members she also wrote Arts Reviews and had work published in Spare Rib. She returned to writing after a long absence and her poetry has been featured in a variety of anthologies including The Poet’s Place and Movement (Poetry in Motion – The Community Arts Partnership), The Sea (Rebel Poetry Ireland), all four editions of Washing Windows and Her Other Language (Arlen House) and literary journal The Honest Ulsterman. She has also been a reader at Purely Poetry - Open-Mic Night, Belfast. Her collection SOJOURN Moments in Poetry is now available on Amazon in both digital and paperback. 

Review by Julie Gardner of "Skail" by Richie McCaffery

"Skail" is an old Scots word meaning a scattering or dispersal. This information is provided in the back-cover blurb, where we also learn that "the poems in this pamphlet take place in the aftermath of a pandemic, and in the dissolution of a long-term relationship."

The first two lines of the title poem – an especially strong piece – suggest the supernatural, perhaps hinting at threat: "The night before Halloween, he came to her in sleep, / called out her maiden name, with a cancerous rasp." But this ghost comes not so much in anger as exasperation: "He could wait no longer, it’d been 15 years already / of dilly-dally-hanging-onto-daddy’s dust." Her indecision is swiftly rectified. She involves "the great grandkids / he never even knew" who use "little grain scoops" to scatter her father’s ashes in plant pots and they leave out a "tot of his favourite whisky … to slake his thirst." 

"Little grain scoops" will not be enough. The third and final stanza returns us to the woman and then, as if mirroring the first stanza, to the intangible, the supernatural. Despite the apparent abandon of her actions, we see how keenly she feels the loss:

         But the bulk of his ash was left to her, and went
         headfirst into the remains of the vegetable bed.
         And though it was a wet night, the dust cloud of him
         hovered under the streetlamp, as if getting its bearings.

Perhaps "The Lucky Penny," one of the later poems in the pamphlet, is about the same extended family. It begins: "When you were wee, he brought back a lucky penny." Once washed, however, it is revealed to be a Victorian gold coin. That the finder has not recognised its worth is ironic, given his repetition of the well-worn maxim: "Find a penny, pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck." This failure to recognise good fortune, is, we learn in the final stanza, characteristic:

         Over the years you’ve watched your mother’s profile
         change, caring for grandkids and holding the house
         together as he aged too, cursing a life of misfortune.
         He never knew he held gold in his hand. Still does.

The poems in this slim pamphlet avoid first-person narration, perhaps signifying a desire not to claim self-importance but to draw attention to the complexity of what it is to be human. It risks seeming disingenuous, however, especially in poems that seem to evoke the ending of the long-term relationship referred to in the blurb. In "Scrap," for example, we read, "Her last words to him were written, not spoken, / a paper cut severing them and their fourteen years." And in Cicatrix, "He never heard the wind changing. / Before he knew it, he was out of the frame." The distance between speaker and poet seems small, only the pronoun holding them firmly apart. All the poems feel natural and honest, though, the speaker assuming the role of an unobtrusive observer who reports what he sees with compassion and humour. 

In "Bolt," a man gets off a bus and is "dazzled by a camera flash." He wrongly assumes a group of teenagers have taken his picture and is about to confront them when he is saved from humiliation: "the ordnance of thunder blew them all / out of their skin." The poet trusts his reader to work out what has happened. The final lines of the poem roll together the teenagers, the man, the poet, and his readers:

           That’s being human
           one instant so full of self, the next
           made to feel like no-one, nothing.

This acknowledgement of vulnerability is a thread that weaves through the poems.

About the reviewer
Julie Gardner is studying towards a PhD at Nottingham Trent University, focussing on Silence and Voice in the poetry of Vicki Feaver and her contemporaries. Her poetry pamphlet Remembering was published by Five Leaves Publishers in 2024.

Review by Nina Walker of "sum of her PARTS" by Laura Besley

In sum of her PARTS, Laura Besley provides us with a beautiful series of briefly illuminated windows - vignettes that offer glimpses into the moments of intimacy that make up a life. Besley writes tiny, furious fiction concerning an increasingly fractured world. Each story acts as part mirror, part shard, as cutting as it is revealing. This sentiment is perhaps embodied best by "shattered," in which a self-hatred over physical appearance culminates in a speaker smashing a mirror and stating, "with the shards of glass / I give myself a new face." 

Besley gives a new face, not just to the nameless speaker of "shattered," but also to the presumed limitation of flash fiction. Her creative approach to the visual presentation of flash fiction gives the collection a strong visual identity, a new face. Utilising poetic lineation techniques, Besley’s work shatters and reforms our presumptions about the form.

The collection is carefully threaded together by a series of intimacies, perhaps most centrally the intimacy one must have with oneself. In the refined and precise prose that is present across all four of her published works, Besley presents the reader with moments of physicality that ripple out beyond the pieces' short word counts. Often, the body of the speaker is positioned as an object of discussion, like a museum exhibit - an object transformed by a thread of absurdism that contrasts with the collection's physicality. In one story, the speaker is transformed into a trumpet, in another, a character grows an extra arm to hide their face. Bodies in Besley’s work are central yet malleable. They are expressed through a series of familiar quirks and fault lines, "thick middles," "haggard faces," and "bruises" that can become beautiful or bizarre at a moment’s notice. When reading Besley’s work, one is left discovering, through her typical sharp and wise immediacy, a new strangeness within oneself. 

In one of my favourite stories from the collection, "fractured," Besley writes:

          the doctor says "We’re going to need to take a
             consent form." I sign. "If you could just remove your
                bruises, multiple, along the collar bone and across the patient’s back
                   home, he might be awake, be wondering why I’m not
                      there is a bed ready for you now." I don’t

Here, the body, while still central, is cut in two by the story's perspectives. The lineation is cleverly used to construct the patchwork of the patient as observer and subject. "Patient’s back" flows cleanly into "back home," as if the thoughts of the patient effectively interrupt the clinical observation. Time is clipped and stitched as the request to "remove your bruises" merges observable reality and individual desire for escape. A clashing moment of exterior reality and interior doubt culminates in the piece's final unfinished fragment, "I don’t." The final line, when read within the context of a domestic abuse victim refusing the (albeit limited) protection of the hospital, is haunting. The lack of a concluding full stop implicates all the possible moments this patient may inhabit after this one, leaving the ending of the piece jagged and frayed.

In just thirty-four pages, Besley draws us into a network of bodies, thoughts, and conversations, always, as flash necessitates, with scant context. Yet the brief nature of each piece illuminates just how interconnected we all are, each jagged edge implicating a matching edge that may yet lie beside it. The sum of the collection's parts is a moving and sharply observed portrayal of the complexities of embodied life, where one must place gentle intimacies right alongside painful metamorphosis and absurd possibilities. 

About the reviewer
Nina Walker is a first year PhD student at the University of Leicester studying the impact of digital technology on the contemporary American novel. She also co-runs the Leicester based creative writing group Amateur Hour. She enjoys writing poetry, reading speculative fiction, and pub quizzes. 

Review by Julie Gardner of "The Stories in Between" by Teresa Forrest

There are twenty-five short poems in this pamphlet; the longest is twenty-four lines. They are written in deceptively simple language - deceptive because, despite their accessibility, the poems, rooted in real people and the landscape around them, are profound and deeply moving. They reward the reader who pays close attention. 

In the first poem, "Almost Home," a mother addresses her child:

  I, your mother, am formed from folklore,
  spit and cabbage. When I made you,
  I hadn’t finished making me. I am so rough
  around the edges.

The shortest poem and one of my favourites (it is impossible to choose just one) is "In Balerin Village." The first two lines focus on a domestic appliance, "The fat-bellied range in my granny’s house" which "works hard / to warm us." But the description of the range is also suggestive of the character of its owner, "Get too close and it warns us with a scalding tongue." 

The poetic skill here is subtle – the rhyming of warm and warn, the connection between scalding and scolding. There is humour too, "Pans hiss with home grown / and, once, a cockerel that had crowed too early for her liking." The reader can be in no doubt that this grandmother is a strong and energetic character, summarized in the fifth line of this short poem which stays with the domestic imagery, "Always the kettle whistles to her tune." But the poem is not confined to the kitchen and the grandmother cannot be contained within its lines, the final two of which expand horizons, speaking volumes about the tender relationship between the narrator and her grandmother and hinting at the stories in between: "Each morning she gives me an orange, / a small globe that feels like the world."

There are other stories. "Pillow Talk" charts the gradual disintegration of a couple’s relationship from "that first moment / of easy laughter, / pillow talk between kisses." There’s the woman who lives "on the Tenth Floor of the High Rise" who has "painted her room the colours of the sun." There’s "Mrs Ritchie" who "carries her anger in a handbag, / worn-out crocodile skin, used to have matching shoes."  

The narrative voice remains consistent throughout the collection, compassionate, observant, respectful and with an Irish lilt. This is an exceptional debut pamphlet and I look forward to reading more from this talented poet.

About the reviewer
Julie Gardner is studying towards a PhD at Nottingham Trent University, focussing on Silence and Voice in the poetry of Vicki Feaver and her contemporaries. He poetry pamphlet Remembering was published by Five Leaves Publishers in 2024.

You can read a review of Remembering on Everybody's Reviewing here. 

Review by Sally Shaw of "The Two Keisukes" by Brian Howell

The Two Keisukes is written in the third person and printed on cream cotton rag feathered-edged paper. The elongated pages are hand sewn to form a beautiful booklet. This short story is written by Brian Howell, author of several booklets and novels that include Sight Unseen. 

Prior to reading this story I had no knowledge of Howell. The content description provided by the publisher inspired me to read it.

The opening paragraph intrigued me, the words clear and crisp: "He had been here before, no, not here exactly, but then, yes, that building, an old fashioned school building that could have been from almost any period before or after the war."

Howell writes with such precision and beauty. I felt the wonderment he holds for the man, Keisuke Kinoshita, whose identity is given halfway through the story.

The story takes place on an island and yet the reader is made aware of the possibility that it’s being viewed from a distance or on the margins of time. The reader is taken from the shore of the island into a wonderland of past, present and unknown. Keisuke walks through alleyways and corridors, taking in the sights and sounds filled with the forgotten waiting to be rediscovered: "Walking further to the edges of this large park-like area, he saw a very curious group of turquoise sculptures that was both painfully familiar and yet unidentifiable."

Throughout his wanderings of the island, buildings and alleyways I’m drawn to him, I like Keisuke - both of them. I form an insight as to where each Keisuke is, one on the island, the other between the island and somewhere else. Floating in the past, present and unknown, in my mind I have ideas, two to be exact. I won’t say anymore as this would spoil Howell’s story. I will say, that through reading Howell’s words I formed the opinion that Keisuke and the others named were indeed real people (I had no prior knowledge of the Japanese film industry and history), and I sensed the history and connections between them all. I visualised what was possibly happening to the two Keisukes, felt the emotions and the power of recall and realisation of life. The ending touched my heart in a non-sentimental way. 

Around the two Keisukes Howell provides a portrait of the culture and history of Japan and the enchantment of the Japanese film industry. I read this booklet over and over again, each time discovering something new. I have started to research the individuals within Howell’s story, such was the energy of the writing. This is magical storytelling of a country, people and industry I knew nothing about, but now I want to get to know them and read more of Howell’s stories.

About the reviewer
Sally Shaw has an MA Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. She gains inspiration from old photographs, history, childhood memories, and is inspired by writers Sandra Cisneros, Deborah Morgan, Liz Berry and Emily Dickinson. She has short stories and poetry published in various online publications including The Ink Pantry, AnotherNorth, Roi Faineant Press. Sally lives in the countryside. 

Review by Gary Day of "Sub/urban Legends" by Pam Thompson

Brilliant, disorientating, splendidly polyphonic: these poems provoke, puzzle, baffle and delight the reader. Each one bears re-reading, not least the title poem, ‘Suburban Legend.’ Its zigzags, elisions, and turbo-charged imagery are typical of the volume. Everything is happening at once and at speed. The reader is not sure of their bearings or of what’s happening. Is a cooker being dumped or being used to make a meal? Who are the characters and what is their relation? The man is ‘the scourge of our town’ but there’s clearly more to him than that. The imagery is partly cosmic ‘I identify Venus, lucid tonight’ and partly quotidian ‘just a sponge and soapy water.’ The diction is a heady brew of the earthy, the enigmatic and the arcane. How often do you hear the word ‘brumous,’ meaning foggy or wintery, these days?

‘The Keys’ should be anthologised in any future volume of British twenty-first-century poetry. It is situational, symbolic and finishes with a wonderful shift that makes the poem just soar. ‘My Life as a Bat’ has a mysterious sub-text. Revenge against a former lover? Difficult to say, but it is extremely well wrought and humorous as well as sinister. The image ‘ricocheting in a cave’ conveys both fury and despair. ‘Reading my mother’s diaries’ is one of the most poignant poems in the collection. The last line is just beautiful. 

There is a lot going on in these pages. The search for something beyond the obvious in ‘An afternoon’; the relation of art and life in ‘Fête Galante’; the eerie atmosphere of ‘Explorers, Antarctica,  1901’;  and the soothing blues of ‘the evening garden.’ Throughout there is a sense of broken things that can’t quite be put back together, and the poems invite the reader’s to help join the fragments

About the reviewer

Gary Day is a retired English lecturer. He has had poems published in Vole, Ekstasis, Acumen and The Dawn Treader. His 'Anne Bronte's Grave' was highly commended in last year's Artemesia Poetry Competition.

You can read more about Pam Thompson's Sub/urban Legends on Creative Writing at Leicester here.