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There are some very odd line spacings that are none of my doing. But apologies in advance, anyway. New collections and pamphlets and chapbooks and pamphlets appear on a weekly basis, and of the ones I manage to get hold of some are good and some are not, and some are so-so. She seems to be one of those genuine stars who fly below the radar. Let me introduce her:. As well as being a familiar face on the local Calderdale poetry scene, she has read at literary festivals throughout Britain and beyond.
Jane Draycott talks about the point where a poem detonates. So many poems in Where the road runs out detonate in line after line, like dangerous Rice Krispies. But because many of her poems are about separation and loss of love or lovers, and in this collection, of a father….. Like this one.
I think this has everything in it that I think of as a Gaia Holmes poem. The piling on and on of sensory detail, the Alice in Wonderland sense that the logic of things is wrong; the wistfulness, the vulnerablity, and the pluck of a girl who will stand in a sparkling frost till her feet turn blue and the world becomes real again.
You think about your cat that moved next door, your scrawny Basil plants withering on the windowsill, the bread you bake always turning black. The first time I heard this it took me aback. I am taking action. I am standing behind the kitchen door wobbling a cross hatch saw to make the sound of thunder.