The past, as Neil Young declares, may be ‘no fit place to inhabit’ (too much poverty, too much war and its aftermath), but it is fertile ground for poetry for this son of Belfast. On show is a dry-eyed (and sometimes dewy-eyed) nostalgia for the (far from) ordinary lives that history overlooks, including a mantlepiece of family photographs and a mother’s collection of ‘buttons, badges, stubs/of dance-hall tickets’ stashed in a ‘childhood biscuit tin.’ Neil Young realises that we are all keepers of myths and in its way, this collection is a book of heroes – the famous and the (almost) forgotten who show us ‘what history looks like when it’s the last place to look’. By questioning the past there’s a chance we’ll forge a future worth the effort of making.
(Chris Powci)
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5 new poems by the acclaimed poet, Graham Fulton, work by Charlie Gracie, Magi Gibson, Jim Ferguson and many others. A truly engaging anthology.
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If you want your poetry as a lulled accompaniment to whatever you happen to be doing - don't read Jo Gilbert. If you like your Doric couthie and couth, paired with a wee sepia photo - don't read Jo Gilbert. But if you need poetry that makes you 'Get aff that fuckin horse. Now!' , and opens your 'kohl clarted eyes' to garr ye greet and laugh aloud...then read Jo Gilbert. And what a titular poem. Three lines, punching hard with every word. What a debut.
(Beth McDonough, writer)
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The three poets in this collection have a lot in common. They’re gritty, tough, their observation is born of personal experience, not all of it pleasant. That is recommendation enough but there are many moments too of pure revelation. Donna Campbell’s pearls brimming with moonlight that are the bi-product of pain, the stark beauty of Lesley Benzie’s poem about a father’s death ‘Fan she an her sester met their faither’s unbent gaze…’ and Linda Jackson picking up ‘petals of words from smart-dressed lovers’. Such simple beauty is not easily achieved. At its best poetry can be both empathetic and transformative. This is it, at its best.
(Hugh McMillan, poet)
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Charles Bukowski is a master at writing in a similar fashion about the underclasses but Graham Fulton’s work is better by miles. Not a wasted word and each phrase as carefully balanced as a swaying drunk on a bus.
(Des Dillon, writer)
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