SAILING THE SANDS was published by Dionysia Press with a Scottish Arts Council grant in 2000 and may be purchased from their web site: https://dionysiapress.
|
This is a travelling book, dealing with the poet's experiences in Scotland, the USA, Canada, Egypt and Turkey. Below are two sample poems from it.
STELLAR JAY
How can any bird have the plume of an Ancient Greek warrior on its head? Blue-black, nodding, as you snap out your sea-blue tail scintillating in the sun and lean forward to thrust the sharpness of your beak at our crumbs, holding four, five, six at once. How many stomachs do you have? Just the big one or are there more shrieking in the trees, cracking their hunger at you? At first you sat there demurely on a branch, looking like a bright blue accident. The face we happened to be sitting in a picnic area eating sandwiches was just one of those things. But you were not slow in stepping forward, quite indignant when we noticed a sparrow with a black-and-white streaked head, wondering whether it might dare. Ancient Greek warriors have not time for punks. So noble, or do you just squabble and push like us? |
SILENCE SPEAKS SILENCE
(for Ina)
The silence says creak.
It says rustle of leaves at the window pane.
It says footsteps bringing mail.
It says car drawing past.
It says
he has gone.
Silence is not bitter.
It speaks quietly in suggestions of sound,
rumours of movement,
of his coming back,
the sound of his key in the lock,
his laugh in the wind.
Silence tells lies.
It does not tell of tensions,
words fighting each other for space.
It tells you
his capable tone,
the note of his kindness.
Silence speaks silence,
louder than storms breaking,
as painful as hate.
BIRDSONG AND FLAME
is a book of poetry written over a period of four years when the poet was living and working in Turkey. The book deals with the poet's attempts to come to terms with that experience. This can be purchased from Nairn Bookshop who can arrange for delivery worldwide. They also stock Sailing The Sands. Their email address is [email protected]. Their telephone number is 01667 455528.
Below are two sample poems.
LOSING IT
I tilt forward
as if I might spill, then jerk back.
The bus dawdles, lurches, stops.
Cars menace against it,
their exhausts coughing cirrus.
Bodies close in,
a girl's softness passing fleetingly,
a man's rank smell harassing me.
My hand manacles itself to the metal rail.
The darkness of Turks
weighs on me like a bad memory,
eyes, hair, looks black.
Outside the bus,
lights tack past,
traffic gutters at us.
Darkness looms like a building,
tall, awesome.
The bus lumbers forward,
stumbles against the world,
lights and concrete angles.
It stops, thrusts forward. stops.
I sway into the next moment,
looking for balance, losing it,
looking for it again.
RICH
On the Bosphorous, a white cruiser
bobs lightness up and down,
as laughter cantatas out
from the casually angled bodies
and the rich raise
their glasses to today.
Along the shore,
a red Ferrari suaves past,
signalling something
optimistic in silver
with the golden
Istanbul sunshine.
The morning treads cheerfully
in tracksuit, Raeboks,
and stereo headphones.
The rich make the pace
as balloon sellers float
cheap plastic hopes
cheerfully towards their sun.
Out in the channel,
a powerboat sleeks past
trailing bubbly behind it
as my eyes struggle to keep up,
and waiters wait, and bus drivers
drive round in circles
and Istanbul paces up
and down its pavements,
harassing itself
with traffic and fumes;
and the ordinary lives
fritter impatiently
at traffic lights
all over the city
that refuse to signal green.
(for Ina)
The silence says creak.
It says rustle of leaves at the window pane.
It says footsteps bringing mail.
It says car drawing past.
It says
he has gone.
Silence is not bitter.
It speaks quietly in suggestions of sound,
rumours of movement,
of his coming back,
the sound of his key in the lock,
his laugh in the wind.
Silence tells lies.
It does not tell of tensions,
words fighting each other for space.
It tells you
his capable tone,
the note of his kindness.
Silence speaks silence,
louder than storms breaking,
as painful as hate.
BIRDSONG AND FLAME
is a book of poetry written over a period of four years when the poet was living and working in Turkey. The book deals with the poet's attempts to come to terms with that experience. This can be purchased from Nairn Bookshop who can arrange for delivery worldwide. They also stock Sailing The Sands. Their email address is [email protected]. Their telephone number is 01667 455528.
Below are two sample poems.
LOSING IT
I tilt forward
as if I might spill, then jerk back.
The bus dawdles, lurches, stops.
Cars menace against it,
their exhausts coughing cirrus.
Bodies close in,
a girl's softness passing fleetingly,
a man's rank smell harassing me.
My hand manacles itself to the metal rail.
The darkness of Turks
weighs on me like a bad memory,
eyes, hair, looks black.
Outside the bus,
lights tack past,
traffic gutters at us.
Darkness looms like a building,
tall, awesome.
The bus lumbers forward,
stumbles against the world,
lights and concrete angles.
It stops, thrusts forward. stops.
I sway into the next moment,
looking for balance, losing it,
looking for it again.
RICH
On the Bosphorous, a white cruiser
bobs lightness up and down,
as laughter cantatas out
from the casually angled bodies
and the rich raise
their glasses to today.
Along the shore,
a red Ferrari suaves past,
signalling something
optimistic in silver
with the golden
Istanbul sunshine.
The morning treads cheerfully
in tracksuit, Raeboks,
and stereo headphones.
The rich make the pace
as balloon sellers float
cheap plastic hopes
cheerfully towards their sun.
Out in the channel,
a powerboat sleeks past
trailing bubbly behind it
as my eyes struggle to keep up,
and waiters wait, and bus drivers
drive round in circles
and Istanbul paces up
and down its pavements,
harassing itself
with traffic and fumes;
and the ordinary lives
fritter impatiently
at traffic lights
all over the city
that refuse to signal green.