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GEOFF STEVENS MEMORIAL POETRY PRIZE 2018 IS NOW OPEN

THE AMEN OF KNOWLEDGE

 

Terry Quinn was born in Birmingham in 1951 and left school at sixteen to work in various jobs such as plain clothes Security Officer at Butlins Holiday Camp, postman and night Casualty porter at Bournemouth Hospital where he discovered the world of Medical Engineering. During this time he had been writing poetry with work being published and one piece being taken by the BBC.

 

However, the demands of studying for an Electronics Degree and a subsequent career in that field meant that writing was restricted to professional and work related topics - except for writing a serial called Middle East Enders for Capital Radio in Abu Dhabi which reached an audience of two million.

 

In 1995 he settled in Preston, Lancashire where he was able to start writing poetry again and since then has been published in many national magazines with his first collection ‘away’ being published by Poetry Monthly Press in 2010.

 

In 2006 he and a colleague started a weekly programme on Preston fm called Arts Scene. The programmes’s guests have ranged from Vladimir Ashkenazy and John Godber to the Embroiderer’s Guild, Drama Groups and Choral Societies.

 

In 2012 he retired, or changed career, to concentrate on writing poetry and in his spare time watches football, especially Birmingham City, continues with the radio show and is fulfilling an ambition to walk the coastal path round England and Wales.

 

 

The Amen Of Knowledge

 

Terry Quinn

 

ISBN 978-1-909357-25-9

 

Publication 8th June 2013

 

Poetry

 

216 x 138 mm

 

64 pages

 

£7.99 + P&P

 

ORDER HERE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

grass-flat

‘Willesden Sunset’

 

Danby’s painting

is not for sale

 

you can’t buy

his winter trees

the buildings

that curious look

on a man’s face

 

leave it

there’s no price

not on this one

 

it’s not the music

of a Willesden Suite

or a novel

based on the Jubilee Line

 

it won’t be played

at the Wigmore Hall

or found on the shelves

of Cricklewood Library

 

this one is not for sale

it’s for later

when a touch will tell

that these strokes

belonged to him

 

when all that’s left

are blank walls

a bank balance

empty bottles

and a promise to keep in touch.

 

 

 

Credo

 

I believe in God

Creator of heaven and earth,

In Zeus, King of the Gods, sky and air,

Son of Cronus, born of Rhea,

I believe in Jupiter

King of the Gods, sky and storm,

In Ra, the sun God,

In Toci, Goddess of Earth,

Rhiannon, Goddess of Moon,

I believe in Odin, King of the Gods,

Son of Bestia and Borr,

I believe in the Trinity,

Father, Son and Holy Spirit,

In Brahma, the Supreme Deity,

In Allah, the one God,

I believe I am that I am,

In Nonak and Gurus,

I believe in Joseph Smith and angels,

In mediums and spirits,

I and I believe in God incarnate,

In Merlin and magic spells,

In faeries and magic glades,

I believe in Dan Brown,

The communion of myths

The force of mystery

The power of words

The question of being

and the amen of knowledge

The amen of knowledge.

 

 

 

Getting the Point

 

It’s getting to the point

of a small rearrangement

in how things were.

Not exactly a lie,

I did have a girlfriend,

she was called Eileen,

and she did, does, live in Hammersmith.

But she didn’t,

as far as I know,

drive a Ferrari

into the lake at Kew Gardens

after an argument

about a duel I’d fought

with Simon Armitage

about her honour

or the placing of a comma

in the Dead Sea poems.

One or the other

it doesn’t matter.

The point is that these days

you need an edge,

a little something

that’s hard to find

in another poem

about finding your Father’s pipe

or a lost letter from a lost love

about snow falling in Blackburn

or a night spent talking

about that Al Gore film.

 

“In The Amen of Knowledge, Terry Quinn’s poetry could be said to be exemplified by the poem ‘Costume Design Exhibition’. His imagery is often based on the everyday, as here, when time is described in terms of sewing: ‘the staccato of needle points’ and the ‘long hems of evening’.

 

His poetry is frequently spiced with humour, as when, ‘the side splitting/fun of a corset’ cleverly grounds the poem. Time passes, he stresses, but friends will be always be remembered as, ‘ties...holding together/much more than stays.’ Again reinforcing the needlework imagery, evoking the ‘corset’ reference and neatly evading sentimentality.

 

This is a craftsman at work.”

 

Barbara Dordi

(Editor, French Literary Review and Equinox)

Writing to a nurse in a war zone, online dating, a seagull in a supermarket or a Conference on Peak Oil are some of the ways that this collection suggests that knowledge, whether wanted or not, should really be the last word.

Costume Design Exhibition

(Yorkshire Coast College)

 

where did that go

three years

blurred

in the staccato

of needle points

and the hand stitched seconds

of long hems of evening

 

when all the work’s

right here

set

in centre stage

in the soliloquy

of a ball gown

or the side splitting

fun of a corset

 

where light and sound

add a final touch

to years you’ll never forget

though it won’t be tonight

you’ll take with you

it will be ties

friends that are close

holding together

much more than stays.

 

 

 

Paediatric Life Support Exam

 

multiple choice

but you’ve already chosen

 

head down

blanking the banter

of uniform humour

 

this is a tough one

not your field

 

as hard as understanding

why you have to go

again

 

no simple answers

not even as easy

as not dyeing

the grey in your hair

 

that wasn’t meant

the bit about dyeing

it’s too close

and it’s not about you

not entirely

but I think I’ll keep it there

 

and I’ll wave you off

when you pass

as you will

we all know

children can’t be failed

 

hand your papers in

 

 

 

M’s Request for an Erotic Poem

 

I’ve put a photograph on my desk,

just in front of me,

just for this,

it’s not needed,

you’re on a window seat reading,

a hotel in the Lakes,

white sweater,

blue jeans,

feet crossed on cushions,

bare feet crossed on cushions.

I’ve never tired of it.

 

 

 

It Could Have Been Moonlight

 

Walking the river path

after the movie

was right

letting images fade

in their own time

until you pointed

and for a second

we were stones again

washed by a perfect

ripple of seats

 

you whispered

it could have been moonlight

 

as across the water

a neon played

with a high tide

we smiled

full of illusions

that night.

tqbackphoto 9781909357259 WEB

WINNER OF THE GEOFF STEVENS MEMORIAL POETRY AWARD 2012

9781909357259 WEB