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THAW Charles Bennett

£5.99

Perfect Bound paperback
216mm x 140mm
36pp B&W inners
978-1-911048-33-6
Pub. date 13.09.2018 Now available to buy here
Cover image by Carry Ackroyd
(p&p included)

Description

“It’s difficult to imagine poems that listen more closely than these to the ‘green music’ of the natural world.”
Katharine Towers

“Charles Bennett writes so beautifully: a poet who really seems to have his own kingdom, with its quiet moments, of sun, fruit and weather, which he catches with a peculiar loveliness.”
Alison Brackenbury

“Charles Bennett is such a fine poet. It’s marvellous work, beautifully observed and felt and thought.” 
Katrina Porteous

“This is a beautiful collection.  The sort of poetry that you will want to read again and again.  Precise…amazingly well observed and brilliantly crafted (in that very special way where you don’t notice it is).”
Emma Purshouse

 

Beginning and ending in gardens, this Poetry Pamphlet explores aspects of experience informed and affected by close observation. Time and again, whether in the form of a blackbird’s tuneful message, a seashell’s glossy interior, or the smell of fresh rain, our relationship with ecology is reinvigorated.

Delighted, rapturous and occasionally disturbing, this is a collection enthralled by the sensual delights of the natural world and its creatures.

CHARLES BENNETT is widely acclaimed. Evenlode, his ninth collection, cemented his reputation as a lyrical landscape poet of depth and passion. He demonstrates gifts of vivid imagery and a deeply musical imagination. His work with choral composer Bob Chilcott has seen him hailed as a memorable and mesmerising librettist. He is writer-in-residence at Wicken Fen and combines this with his duties at the University of Northampton where he leads the BA in Creative Writing. He lives on the edge of Northamptonshire and Leicestershire with his wife, daughter and Labrador.

Here is the first poem of the pamphlet:

Death of a Wasp

Zero moments drown me. I forget
how to play the garden’s green music.

I dozed under gutters or lapped the cool
windowsill’s luscious wood. Let me show you

wind-fallen pears, hollowed into stumps
of succulence. Sweetness completes me now

by three carious bricks and an overgrown fence.
This nothing I must swallow down until I am full

tastes of snow. It is time to be still and silent;
time to become a shadow.

My poison is a drop of gold in the slow light.
Beneath my feet the leaf is letting go.

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