![\"\"](\"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/05\/abicoverjpeg6-211x300.jpg\" "\\"abicoverjpeg6-211x300\\"")
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
There is a softness at work in Abegail Morley\u2019s second collection, Snow Child, published by Pindrop Press.\u00a0 Words appear on the page with the crisp crunch of footsteps on fresh snow.\u00a0 Opening the book, the outside world is suddenly muffled, distant.\u00a0 This is a world of unexpected silences, where what is said really matters, and what is unsaid, matters even more.<\/p>\n
One of the main themes of the book is stated in the title of the opening poem, Unstable<\/em>.\u00a0 Instability is at work everywhere here.\u00a0 There is little to hold on to that is guaranteed not to move.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Quite unexpectedly this morning This inner light is a visible tangible thing,<\/p>\n dangerous in its beauty.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The poet echoes Yeats with this knowledge of beauty\u2019s danger and power.\u00a0 This inner light, for her, and perhaps for all of us, is that which holds us to ourselves, losing it disturbs our gravity.\u00a0 This inner light is fragile, essential, it defines us all, it is the Essential Self, something beyond our daily lives, outside of who we are.\u00a0 It is something that we can be separated from.\u00a0 Behind this delicate poem is a sense of despair.\u00a0 If we lose our light, who are we?<\/p>\n Unstable<\/em> is a poem of seven short lines that acts as a stone thrown into a pool; its ripples spread wide. <\/p>\n you let the sun tilt its light, hold it globe-like in your hands, from hand to hand.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Among these god-like humans, there is a tenderness , an intimacy.\u00a0 The relationships have a gentleness:<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We loosened our fingers\u2026 <\/p>\n Relationships offers an escape from the world:<\/p>\n <\/p>\n come here for me <\/p>\n But this fine collection is filled with sadness, for despite the invitation, lovers, though always loved, always leave.\u00a0 This is grief, observed, with a scientist\u2019s detachment.\u00a0 Relationships have a built in senescence.\u00a0 At the outset, there is nostalgia, as, in the poem, I learn this from him<\/em>:<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Give yourself totally to another until time moves on.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n In this short poem, footsteps in the snow, ink stains on a page, the full sweep of a relationship is conjured up.\u00a0 This is a relationship that is destined for failure from the beginning, sadness there at its inception.\u00a0 Give yourself totally, with abandonment, holding nothing back, until it\u2019s over.<\/p>\n In these relationships the Self is flayed, filleted.\u00a0 In Angler<\/em>,<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He takes a skinning knife \u2013 I\u2019m tiny boned; <\/p>\n Love and death, bone and chink, the fragility of the subject in this poem breaks and shatters.<\/p>\n What is heart-breaking in these poems is the poets knowledge that this is always destined to be as in Wait<\/em>:<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I never said what it could and took back <\/p>\n Vowels and consonants in this line, finish echoing, swinging in mid-air.\u00a0 The \u2018n\u2019 like the sound of a temple bell, its tone quietly continuing to reverberate until it finally dies.<\/p>\n The poem Blackberry Picking<\/em> announces itself on the page with a joyous confidence,<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This morning she sets out early\u2026<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Both title and time of day, promise a refreshing change for the poet.\u00a0 But she finds there is no getting away from<\/p>\n <\/p>\n her shadow, still short from the night,<\/p>\n <\/p>\n and now it is her shadow who leads the way, inviting her to follow.\u00a0 She follows her Shadow and although Nature in this poem is vibrantly, passionately experienced,<\/p>\n <\/p>\n grasses waving in slow motion, <\/p>\n after barely two lines of respite, the poet is again aware of<\/p>\n <\/p>\n sharp, spiny thorns,<\/p>\n that<\/p>\n mourn the broken flower buds.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It is inevitable to when blackberry juice mingles with blood in her palm.\u00a0 The essence of life co-mingling with its shadow.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Reading this collection,<\/p>\n I feel it gather itself, a small hush around me <\/p>\n This perfect collection is a welcome respite, allowing us all a time in the snowy woods, a chance to walk away from the din.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nI splashed my inner light
\non the hallway floor\u2026<\/p>\n
\nHuman beings in this collection, are essential, god-like in their power, but with none of the pomposity of the Gods, as in When You Visit<\/em>.<\/p>\n
\nease its axis to the left, to the right, as you roll it,<\/p>\n
\nstroking the weed caught on its side;
\nit was soft, like a child\u2019s hair.<\/p>\n
\nWe can walk away from the din.<\/p>\n
\nbone on this boniness.\u00a0 Later, my eyes
\nsolidify and chink on the plate.<\/p>\n
\ntime lied to us.\u00a0 I knew it gave<\/p>\n
\nwhat it wanted, leaving me hanging on.<\/p>\n
\nbrambles spilling over hedges \u2013<\/p>\n
\nand its silence rings loud.<\/p>\n