Only by bringing it home could she get its measure. How this was done she doesn’t remember. She must have been drunk. Now her favourite hunk of millstone grit pulled from the river’s bed vested in moss and white oxalis has swallowed the room land-grabbed most of the carpet. Her children inch round this cuckoo’s […]
Past the cutlers, halfway over the Don I stop to watch the river’s dull pewter slow-shimmy the strait, grinding stone, cutting shingle. Mallards perch the weir sloped in water-gush and slugs of rain like dregs of Kelham Ale. I envy their grit, webbed roots dug down against the braid of ore-heavy stream, a quiet unshifting. […]
The clump of gawkers stood around to watch a digger lift the dead calf from the beach. A Devon Red its beaten hide sand-caked, twisted legs flung out, lying like it might have dug its way up from a darker place, to die, satisfied, in ozone and light.
Sun up, first Sunday after Candlemas. I took the corpse road through first frost, vision prickled with lens flare as though I’d taken a blow to the head or been dead drunk and only just come to. I couldn’t pick out the orange flowers of narthecium ossifragum, that’ll brittle the bones of the yearling lambs, […]
Robin Turner assesses Fatherland and Street Poem, the Karl Hyde works showcased at Manchester International Festival earlier this month I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve watched Karl Hyde perform on stage. I first saw him front Underworld in 1993 at a half-full Venus in Nottingham, my first assignment as their newly-employed press […]