‘More superb poetry from Donna Campbell. Looking for Mae West pulses with life. Her focus ranges from rural hardship to disappointments in love, from sensual exhortations to fierce castigation. This is what we expect from her now, after her wonderful first collection, Mongrel – in every word you see Donna’s smile, hear her confident assertion.
The thing about Donna Campbell is: she a truth-teller, as much about herself as other people. Her poems are always forceful but never brutal – it’s a good trick that, even when she’s telling brutal things.’
(Charlie Gracie, writer)
£10.00
New collection by three women poets, Linda Jackson, Donna Campbell and Lesley Benzie. The women are travelling in Europe this year with the book so have some of the poems translated. 18 new poems in this edition.
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'Memories of a wonderful writing retreat', 'AN emotional and inspirational trip to picturesque Barga through time, poetry, art, photography and villas. Researching families was one of the highlights for me after visiting one of their homes.. And then Pascoli's house? How could we not be inspired?'
This book contains a number of the original English poems translated into Italian, and will be launched in Barga, Italy on September 28th in La Capretz. Piazza Salvi at 7pm.
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Donna Campbell’s first collection may be called ‘Mongrel’ but it is purebred poetry. Her use of words, especially in the Glaswegian vernacular, combine with images to form brutally beautiful poems about aspects of life that less fearless poets might shun. (Lesley Benzie, poet)
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'What a welcome second collection from Lesley Benzie. Fessen is a total delight. She melds her native N-east Scots with English in writing which is a keen observation of both the outside world and a close scrutiny of human behaviour and relationship. Her language is muscular, strong, yet tender.
She is interested in everything we know of life...walking on the high cliffs of Catterline remembering Joan Eardley, guillemots...perched on tiny ledges facin intae the scarp/like they hiv come tae worship/at the wailin waa...burnt umber plumage/like oiled velvet...and that final homage... a wee prayer for the coastline/that pressed itsel intae Joan's hairt.'
(Sheila Templeton, Poet)
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