Poet Philip Gross is becoming something of the dark horse worth placing a bet on. Having won the UK's top poetry prize back in January, for one book, The Water Table, he has now won Welsh Book of the Year, for another - this time the captivating I Spy Pinhole Eye (perfect for the themes of this blog) - published by vital up-and-coming small press Cinnamon. The book has photographs by Simon Denison. More power to Mr Gross. He's one of the very best poets Britain has on tap right now. Order this book and see what the fuss is about.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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