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I always enjoy the richness and the myth-making of Andre Bagoo’s work – and this is another strong example.
It is a book of two halves – the first a collection of poems – gems – the second an ‘erasure’ of Henry James’ The Beast in the Jungle, leaving a smattering of words on each page – this way of responding to another’s work, of creating something new with them, is skilfully done.
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I have read and enjoyed a couple of Caleb’s other books, and they a Fourteen Poems and &Change poet :-)
This book is seeped in North Wales, there is a strong sense of place, Caleb responding authentically in ways that perhaps are heightened by being from some place else yet invested, this is not the work of a tourist, it is one who is fully inhabiting where they are.
The versatility of Caleb is also at the fore in this work – and it is a delight.
Buy it from Broken Sleep Books
This is a great anthology, with a mix of powerful voices, including....
Ode to my Beloved’s Back by Katie Jukes
If Lazarus did not want to live by Jay Mitra
your room, everyday, all the time by Dylan James
not quite straight by Alina Burwitz
butter by Elenia Graf
The Stations of the Cross are a rich source, and handled well here.
With words and images Christ is placed in the setting of Orgreave, one of the flash points of the Miners’ Strike.
This could have been clunky, but Hershaw and McConnell don’t force a political point down your throat, it comes as much from what is not said – and in that way carries greater power.
Les McConnell’s images give us a Christ who is a working man – not the soft skinned fantasy of some many Victorians that linger too long in our collective imagination.
The words of the final station…
After Hours: Fear No More
Based on Shakespeare’s Cymbeline
Fear no more the heat o the sun – Cymbeline, Shakespeare
All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return. - Ecclesiastes 3:20
Fear no more the drop of the cage,
The crawl to the face, the din and the thrum.
Homeward you head with hard-won wage
Now your shift below is done,
When golden lads come from their shift,
To coal dust, ash, they surely drift.
Fear no more the frown of the boos,
No bully gaffer harms you now,
There is no fine, there is no loss,
Only one power to which you bow,
For wisdom, law, decree our kind,
Turns into ash, fades in the wind.
Fear no more the sudden flash,
Now the dreaded fall of stone,
Fear not the tomb door’s closing crash,
In darkness to be left alone.
All miners young, how much they graft,
Burn bright and flame then turn to ash.
But may your memory be well-known
And children learn about your days,
Your graves be green where grass is sown,
Your solidarity be praised,
May all your struggle now be past,
All souls like coal must turn to ash.
