Tuesday, 13 May 2014

Kevin Young - Book of Hours

On Monday I decided I would give myself a complete day off from Arabic on Tuesday. My plan was to read a collection of poetry from my shelf.

Amazingly, I did it! As I read I spotted the sudden revelations of snippets about Kevin Young's father and about the process of  becoming a father himself. I got used to the extent to which I was in tune with his style of writing. I let the bits I found less understandable wash over me, no dwelling and worrying about words or lines.


I chase the quiet
round the house.

'It's death there' p180


Here I was writing a poem
Called Heaven

actually about the earth.

Pilgrimage p147


You are not still,
nor born,
now never

will be.

Stillborn p135


Where's the soul?


And the breath?
Only wind.

Truce p122

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