Description
These poems bear witness to the cycles of growth and decay that make up our lives. They are the work of a poet writing with an awareness of the seasonal circle closing, for the year and for herself. They are at once fearful, fragile and fearless in announcing ‘For now, we have October?/ October, lined with gold.’ They are also homages to the dead and the dying, and a reaching beyond the veil of the ‘now’ to a place where there is ‘nothing but nothing’. At times they are deeply personal, while still existing within the mythic and the impersonal, as when the recall of a room reflects the ‘casual, artless grouping of all longing’.







I May Be Stupid But I'm Not That Stupid
Gold from the Stone
Somewhere Else Entirely
Collected Poems and Drawings of Stevie Smith
Disturbance
On the Edge
Girls Are Coming Out of the Woods
Pretend You Don't Know Me
Luck Is the Hook
This Is Yarrow