The banks of the Teign at Fingle Bridge with be thick as Devon clotted cream with them.
And the image for the new cover of the second edition, ten years on, of my first poetry collection, Looking For Icarus, has been chosen. (Thank you, Gay Anderson, participant on last year's 'Writing the Bright Moment' retreat week in France.) This will appear from Indigo Dreams in June.
I still think this collection, published by bluechrome in 2005, includes some of my best work. (It isn't always the case; quite often previously-published work can be cringe-making when you reread it, and I'm still tinkering with poems published in my 20s.)
This collection opens with a long sequence of short prose poems, 'West'. Here are the opening and the closing ones for you.
Cutting a blade of grass and shaking the universe: the implicate order. The whole tree being the forest. One child being all people. One breath breathing all the winds of the universe. Weeks of rain; I’m stumbling down the track, and somewhere – the other side of the world – my footstep sets a tumble of dust trickling. There you are, out there somewhere, and I don’t see you, can’t touch you, but turning might catch a sudden scent of you on the breeze, the tremor of you flickering through these thistles and dry grasses.
In another place which we’ve not visited there’s a coffee cup and saucer in sunflower yellow. The cup is upturned and our separate moments have temporarily fused. The tides of us flow together. We walk barefoot through the lemon grove, lick honey from each other’s fingers, celebrate the sunshine, the moment. All there is.
© Roselle Angwin 2005/2015