Harry Guest's new collection So Far is just in from Stride - £7.95;
118pp; ISBN 1 900152 46 0
It's great - warm and lyrical, and covering an amazing range, and with
a lovely Ivor Hitchens in full colour on the cover, and a hilariously
olde worlde quote from the Telegraph: "Mr Guest has a wonderful feel
for words" - just as well, for a poet, I guess. Guest is one of those
writers who doesn't fit into any of the niches of UK poetry but every
so often produces one of these full and varied collections which
remind me what a unique place he's made for himself. He threw his
Inovationists' Party Card away years ago - yet he still surprises,
tweaks away at the sensibilities. In the little piece of gothic below,
listen to the way the structure builds and echoes, the rhythms build
and repeat with a minimum of showy fuss:
___________________
Prisoner Of Time
Tower room by starlight.
Hunched at the table.
Nail-studded door.
Spiral stairway.
Smell of mould.
Pitch-dark. Glimmer
of night sky. Pitch-
dark once more.
Down the uneven
steps. Arrow-slits
gaining in pallor.
Under the arch
at the foot broad
daylight. Spring
flowers. Child
on each hand.
Prattle. Warm breeze.
Only so far. Half-
way across bright
grass the moment
tugs at the leash.
That time long gone
vanishes. Plans
at the start.
Drawbridge down.
Highway dwindling
beyond blue moat.
Fatherhood.
The distance. No. Jerked
back up the staircase
knuckles barked
shins scraped.
Jolting against
granite edges
curved wall.
Door slammed to.
Bolt shot. Key twisted
in lock. Back
in their place
pain age
impotence.
Tower room.
Barred window.
Small hours.
_____________
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