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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Linda Devlin’s Clota is a bold rush at the world, like the collection’s namesake: goddess of the River Clyde. A mirrored ball reflecting numerous versions of ourselves and the spaces we occupy, this collection invites the reader to look closer, question ‘laundered thoughts’ and admit the dark truths of damage received or delivered. There is an undeniable fragility but, like the river, currents of strength run deep and fast. Renewal’s All I can do is add my fragment to the whole lingers long after reading. (Morag Anderson, poet)
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In this fine first collection of lyric poetry, Goldie explores the contrast between the urban experience - the ravages of post-industrial economic decline, and the liberating, rugged landscapes of Scotland, with a range of precise imagery and deft phrasing that examines the complexities of both, and the relationship between them.
We also glimpse tender family vignettes, which are all the more moving for being set against this wider historical backdrop.
Rhythm is deployed with great skill, and underscores time’s relentless onward movement in Conachair (‘Saint Kilda’s screaming cliffs and stacks,’) and in Sligrachan (‘the screams of ghosts from empty yards/through the pulsing heart of that great city’)
A very impressive debut indeed.
(A Breckenridge, poet)
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‘There is straight-shooting political comment here…but there are also meditative and lyrical moments.’ (Judy Taylor, 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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