INDIGO DREAMS

PUBLISHING LTD

 

GEOFF STEVENS MEMORIAL POETRY PRIZE 2018 IS NOW OPEN

Alyson's latest pamphlet, Toots, was shortlisted for the Michael Marks Award and Callum MacDonald Memorial Award. Jackie Kay said: 'As fresh as anything, the voice just jumps straight out at you'.

Poetry, breathing, fiction, dancing, stones, art and collaborative practice are at the heart of Alyson's work.

She lives in Somerset, plays piano and swims whenever she can: www.thestonelibrary.com

Cover artwork ‘Vision in Time III’ by Wilhelmina Barns-Graham

 

Author photo of Alyson Hallett by Sean Malyon

 

Author photo of Penelope Shuttle by Jemimah Kuhfeld

 

Poetry

 

156 x 234mm

 

80 pages

 

£9.99 + P&P UK

 

ISBN 978-1-910834-76-3

 

PUB: 12/11/2018

 

 

ORDER HERE

 

 

 

 

 

 

LZRD

Poems from the Lizard Peninsula

 

 

 

In this collection of poems drawn from the Lizard Peninsula in Cornwall, land is not just alive and singing, it's full of mischief and mystery and power.

 

Beaches, serpentine stone, cliffs, chips: the Lizard is a prayer book with the pages in a deliberate wrong order.  The Lizard is a church made of celtic air.

 

Everything is tinged with salt and freshened with a breeze that's fast and furious off the sea. St. Keverne, Cury, Ruan Minor - wherever LZRD goes, it invites you to the party.

 

This book opens its doors and says come in, come with us as we travel across this magical land.

AlysonHallett-021 amend Penny amend 9781910834763

Penelope Shuttle lives in Cornwall.  Her most recent collection is Will You Walk A Little Faster? (Bloodaxe Books)  of which Kayo Chingonyi  wrote:

‘…This fluid lineation is a hallmark of this book and contributes to an overall feeling that Shuttle is in perfect control of her material…’(Poetry Review).

This book is dedicated to the memory of Peter Redgrove

Lzrd

 

you interloper

 

you wastrel

you coil around my heart

 

 

Lzrd

 

you squeezer of vowels from words

 

you limpet  

you crazy misfit Cornish wonder

 

 

Lzrd

 

you wizard you witch

 

wildflower magnet

we can't resist

 

 

 

Saint Corantyn

 

gives me a snowdrop posy

a chunk of storm

a church built on sand

 

gives me the past

in the shape

of a village with five names

 

On Shrove Tuesday

he leaves me

(to my own surprise) well-shriven

 

Corantyn

hands me a prayer book

its pages in deliberate wrong order

 

offers me hail

a gargoyle’s grin

and a nudge in the ribs

 

Saint Corantyn gives me Antioch

all of the kit

and most of the caboodle

 

my ship coming in

my gold turned back to straws

blowing along the poverty road

 

He gives me white-hot truth

hidden in a stone-cold lie

Quimper Cathedral on the palm of his hand

 

He bails out my grave

He guides me

through the stone doorway

 

with its chevron

and pellet enrichments

to the nook shafts and the jambs

 

He writes me into his journal of dowsing

takes me fathoms deep

to old forests of oak, willow and hazel

 

gives me his freshwater blessing

sends me on my way

riddling

 

 

Lovely Lizard

 

how can I be satisfied

with a serpentine pebble

on a table on a balcony in Somerset

when Kynance Grade Manaccan

rival every other place light plops down on?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thirteen Practical Reasons for Visiting The Lizard

 

To check-out every mischief-saint of the peninsula

To dowse your doubt

To raise your spirits    one by one

To discourse with the summer Hassidim

To hoot the owl      to comprehend the pilchard  

To hear laughter from the well-house  

To pause on the road, listening for it again    

To clean-slate your life

To call the life-boat your friend

To trust the wheat field to take you in the right direction

To remember your dead

To hold court with the living

 

 

 

St Ruan Minor

 

In a tiny village

sits a tiny church,

its tiny tower covered

in reddening ivy.

A tiny lichen city sprawls

along the branches

of a tree, crab apples

shiny as newly-lit

street lamps. Tiny steps

take us almost

nowhere as we stop

to listen to the slow

hush hush of a broom

brushing a brick-stoned

yard. The sound shakes us

down, readies us for

the church of St Ruan:

porch so low we touch

its roof with our tiny

hands before stepping

into its glove of wood

and stone and kneelers.

 

 

 

Dolphin Ditty

 

Admiral Font sang up his dolphins four

the dolphins dear to his heart

 

He heaved them up by their wooden tails

o those swimmers he knew so well

 

Zig me your zags and zag me your zigs

sang Admiral Font to his dolphins

 

Shiver m’timbers   my holy-water lovelies

belay belaybelay

 

Font full of sea     seadog full of brandy

That’s what I saw above Kynance

 

White sail of a sermon       anchor of a prayer

That’s what I saw with the jolly old Admiral

 

Font full of brandy     prayer full of dolphins

That’s what I saw above Kynance

 

 

 

St Keverne

 

After porridge get in your car

and drive to St Keverne.

Park in the church-shadowed square,

walk down past sun-spattered

fields to a stream.

 

See how light stretches

its thin blue tongue

over stones and water.

How trees

stride into the sky

and soil sinks around

the tunnels of worms.        

 

Who knows what happens

to you when you walk

here – you return home

changed and unchanged,

something soft, like the cough

of an angel, lodged

between your ribs.