A to B

Gerry McGrath

• Publisher: Carcanet Poetry
• Year: 2008
• eBook ISBN: 9781847777997
• Topic: Literatur
• Subtopic: Kanadische Poesie

Whatbegan asa singlepoem written on a long drive into the countryside north of Glasgow has evolved into an imaginative collection exploringmemory, journey, vulnerability, and love. This book of haunting verse ranges in theme, with observations on everything from a plane's ascent into the evening sky to imagined piano notes being absorbed by the earth.The beauty of Scotland combines with a sense of human fragility asthe poemsexamine the relationship of an old Spanish exileand his wife, the memory of a father's voice, and much more.

II

Pointing North

Frequent showers

mean the room blushes

then turns pale

in quicker than quick

succession. It’s

while I’m watching all this

going on

the little starling re-appears.

Watchful, it travels back and

forth, smuggling food

to its young

who are in a nest somewhere

inside the wall.

Tolstoy was wrong about Chekhov

but he didn’t care. Last

Saturday I saw a fledgling

by the kerb, skin all pink

and tough, like chewing gum.

The little yellow nib of a beak

pointing north.

The first thing I thought about

was the starling and its chorus of chicks,

then about beautiful days. Then Time.

Then poetry. History.

In that order.

The Colour of Water

On glassy Turnberry beach

we went looking

for a world without stars.

From sand you magicked

a castle; moat, portcullis,

ramparts, turrets

ie the lot

while my cheap feet made

do with carving the date

and our names

beside a feathery burn.

See, poetry, what you can do

when you try?

If I was feeling brave, poetic,

painterly, I might say:

take one potato (halved)

a few watercolours

and attempt to draw

this threesome –

hand that weighs, judges

man’s equine shiver

a charnel house of shells

Dry Flood

Today unlike yesterday

the wind was only audible

as rain bundling into trees.

Understudy, it mouthed

its lines behind wet lips. But

yesterday was another story.

A dry flood, it turned leaves

silver, dented fields of grass.

Dwarves had to hold on to their hats.

Zany butterflies beat their wings

inside the stomachs of giants.

It was something, to say the least.

Bats were phoning their friends up.

The earth plugged an ear, hummed

a foreign tune. Schubert quintet.

Rain when it fell, hardly disquieted

the fish basking in glimmery shadows.

Then the wind died. Covered its mouth.

Tomorrow was suddenly unploughable.

Everyone stood o...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Epigraph
• Acknowledgements
• Table of Contents
• I
• II
• III
• About the Author
• Copyright