Reviews

The Streets, Like Flowers, Come Alive in the Rain. STEVE DENEHAN (Potter’s Grove Press) ISBN 978 1 951840 23 5 (Price : Unknown)

Significant moments illuminate Steve Denehan’s latest poetry collection. The title is taken from the first poem, “A Rainy Night on Wexford Street, Dublin”, in which the poet witnesses a minor car accident through a rain streaked café window. Outside, the drivers argue, then in the space of a moment: “they are standing outside their jigsawed cars/he is holding her in his arms/she is heaving with sobs”. The stage is set for what follows: a chronicle of everyday life and a portrait of contemporary city life. Writing in a restrained and colloquial style, he views encounters with neighbours, strangers, family and friends, with detachment, sardonic humour and often great sensitivity. The foreword is written by Denehan’s young daughter and she is a vibrant presence in several poems. The tenderness of the father daughter relationship is captured in ‘Unicorn Dressing Gown’, as the poet brushes her hair, “the trick is to hold a section/tightly, near the scalp/before quickly brushing the knots away”, realising that this routine task will not be a parent’s for very long: “but soon the unicorn dressing gown will be cast aside/the way of many other things/soon/she will brush her own hair” Kildare-based Denehan, twice winner of the Irish Times New Irish Writing competition, says that poems come to him and he tends to write them in batches. “The Unwritten Poem” is a playful take on the tensions between writing and living, as wife and daughter cheerfully interrupt him, when he does try to sit down and write: they have come inside to tell me about the night time noises and the cats and to ask me if I would like a square of chocolate and to boil the kettle again Many poems dwell on how other lives turn out, how people drift away. In “Just to Drive”, a visit to someone in prison (“We weren’t friends exactly/not acquaintances either/ somewhere in between”) is an attempt to understand the loss of freedom. The encounter in “Dead Heat in April”, shows that catching up with a former friend, “still a better man than me” proves only that it is too late to connect again and “we shot what little breeze was left to shoot.” In “Eamonn”, an enigmatic work colleague who simply stopped turning up at the office, and was later replaced, is spotted on a bus: “I began to talk to him/but he pretended not to know me.” More hopeful connections are made with the natural world: a thirteen year old enjoys an “infinite and never ending” summer Saturday in “The Grass was Long and Soft” and realises he will be all right. In ‘The Sparrowhawk’: an injured bird “its eyes , a jarring cartoon yellow” has seemingly fallen out of the sky: “I took it my hands/ light as its feathers/ its small heart fluttered against my palm”. Denehan has the heart of a storyteller, able to evoke pub chat and the undercurrents of everyday small talk, catching moments on the wing, casting a poet’s eye on daily life and the passing of time with emotional honesty and a delicate lyricism. SB

The Book of Tides ANGELA READMAN (Nine Arches Press) ISBN 9781911027102 £9.99 from www.ninearchespress.com

Angela Readman is one of our vibrant and most potent writers. Her poetry & prose is consistently, considered, diverse and fascinating. This is yet another gem to add to her treasure trove of written sparklers. Its acute angle poems that focus on unexpected collisions between the mythological & real worlds are cast with men with bees for beards, women with geese on their heads & Mermaids, Selkies & odd characters from folklore intertwined with a modern sensibility. Edgy yet imbued with a tremendous clarity of purpose. Her words are powerful and used to great effect As in ‘The Tattooist’s Daughter’ Every time she wants to recall her mother’s eyes, she Rolls up his sleeve and stares at the swallow flying Over the milk of his wrist.The feathers are the colour Of dish cloths, a freckle of ink floats on a vein. Each poem unfurls its tale on the page and is obvious, in that way that great poetry is, where the trick is to write it and make it obvious to others. Readman ’s poetry is enthralling and despite its oddness on occasion is chock-a-block with recognisable and relatable feelings and incidents. The joy of words within the poet, her playfulness in reeling us in to her universe, her inventiveness of subject matter is extraordinary. I’m telling you, buy , beg or borrow this book, (no really, you must.) In fact track down all of her books and build a cave to read them in and live in it. She might make you into a poem if you are very lucky. What a talent she really is. JC

I Have Grown Two Hearts Zoë Sîobhan HowarthLowe (Hedgehog Poetry Press)36PP 978-1-913499-10-5 £7.99

Zoë Sîobhan Howarth-Lowe’ s I Have Grown Two Hearts is a short, intimate and touching glimpse into motherhood. Her poems never exceed half a page (vertically), nor do her lines extend past the middle of the page (horizontally). Howarth-Lowe’s poetry is concise and successful in condensing the difficult and intricate into vibrant statements –

‘Baby born only to die, / over and over’ in ‘Children Who Come and Go’; the projection ‘Favourite soon’ in ‘Grandchild’. Populating her collection with children sleeping, children crying, with parents holding up negatives or grieving ‘not yet cold’ cradles, I Have Grown Two Hearts pulses with born, unborn and lost lives. Howarth-Lowe’s poems push and pound like babies in mothers’ bellies, and her poetic debut holds the promise of a new-born’ s cry. MGG