By Don Paterson
In those poems, Paterson courses readers down the labyrinths in their such a lot deepest feelings. eternally inquiring and deftly tuned into the emotional cackle of the realm, Paterson explores the swings of sunshine and darkish that mark out troubling emotions.
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The present is a trick played in your head. You already walk among the mineral dead. You have slipped off into time the way a leaf will wither and detach itself and drift into a stream, not knowing its free spirit is death, its animation lent to it. There is no wall. Pick up your bed. Walk through it. Last chance, friend. So do it or don't do it. The Rat A young man wrote a poem about a rat. It was the best poem ever written about a rat. To read it was to ask the rat to perch on the arm of your chair until you turned the page.
I'm drunk with them again. The Boat This little pencil sketch it's certainly him. It was made quickly, one long charmed afternoon on the Ionian. Yes, I'd say it caught his looks though I have him more handsome; so much the sensualist, you'd say he was lit up with it ... Yes, he looks so much more handsome, now my heart calls him from so long ago. So long. All these things are very old - the sketch, and the boat, and the afternoon. The Bandaged Shoulder He said he'd hurt himself on a wall, or had fallen, but no doubt there was some other reason for the wound, for the bandaged shoulder.
She whispers some growly and baritone nothing, -and mercy! you spawn and expire and are sinking away to some half-tuned dream-channel when your hand or her hand flies out to the lamp and you find yourself buried right up your own arse to the barcode. The look on your face, you presume, is also precisely the look on your face and priceless, or would be on anyone else's. You lie there all night or forever, with both of you caught in the wild feedback-loop of your screaming as what you had fancifully fancied your one unassailable notion, like: one, is returned to you feminised, travestied, whittled away by unspeakable steady degrees.
Landing Light by Don Paterson