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 […]
An angler wades in teetering like a goose slips on loose silt churned by the Don. Water rushes past and round him hip high November cold. The crack willow’s ready to tip. Browning catkins loom on the water. White geese play in its shallow roots far from the furnace the fire and soot. Only […]
Words: Sophie McKeand I was born to the sound of starlings murmurating across the north Wales coastline. The Rebel Sun rode low in an early February sky as the Irish Sea gnawed across my ribcage. My hair was knotted seaweed. Water swelled sand dunes into my belly & a flock of seagulls took up residence […]