Tuesday, 7 July 2020

The Tin Lodes, Andy Brown and Marc Woodward. Oh, and the magic of poetry.

This arrived in the mail today:

Then I needed to drive a friend to her home to sort some stuff out. I took the book with me. when she saw it she said: 'Good, you have a book'. Meaning that she knew she could take her time, no pressure, I was happy sitting in the car listening to Dylan and reading something keenly anticipated.

The Tin Lodes is a delightful book, the authorship of each poem is unknown but that very quickly becomes irrelevant, here are two minds in tune, they know each other well, they must. They know their river too.

By the time I had got to page 25 I put the book down, ripped open a CD cover on which to write notes of a memory from years ago, when anchored in the lower reaches of the Deben late one moonlit night waiting for the tide to take us over the notorious bar and out to sea. The water surrounding the boat became alive with small fluorescent fireworks; ragworm dancing at the surface, something I had never seen before and have never witnessed since.

The power of good poetry to invoke memory.

A wonderful book.

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