The power of this
collection of poems is they do not self-censor those parts of gay
life that are less than respectable – they speak of the fullness of
love, and of lust.
The long poem “Oh
my Soho!” begins...
“Urine-lashed maze
of cobble and hay-brick! Oh
chunder-fugged,
rosy-lit, cliché-worthy quadrant. I
could not call you
beauteous but nightly I’ve strolled your
Shaftesbury slums
for a bout of wink and fumble.”
It is a nostalgic
look back to a Soho that was not pretty but was a space for people
that didn’t belong anywhere else, and now is an expensive honey
trap for tourists.
Another poem that
stood out was “love version of”
tonight I watched
you sleep
naked on the futon
face down sweaty
like a small child
and knew that
everything else was bullshit
it’s so hard to
stay alive these days
or sane
so keep on snoring
danny
while I guard you
like a rottweiler
being in love with
you is fucking awful
cause one day you’ll
stop breathing
in this grey light
you already look dead
but then you smile
thank fuck
what are you
dreaming about baby wake up
tell me if the word
soul still means anything
No comments:
Post a Comment