Her work has appeared in the Guardian, The Times, Vogue, London Magazine.
There's a 6+ page forward by Robert Montgomery. He writes
- "Greta writes in a kind of reinvented English where inanimate objects are filled with life"
- "As a poet, you should struggle and push against the walls of the language you write in; and Bellamacina does this to new levels, and perhaps more brilliantly than any poet of her generation, creating new phrasings in English, which make at first only musical sense"
- "poetry in English, to be new, needs to forget the English language as much as possible, the heavy weight of all its structured precedents, and especially the terrible dulling administrative English we are forced to use every day. Twenty years ago I began to look for a poet who could do that - when I found Greta, I finally found that poet"
The section headings sound promising - "Tomorrow's woman", "Pregnancy", "Love", "Loss, grief, and thunder". So, here are some extracts: all sentences -
- she has loved all the women she has heard/ in a throat hood/ behind an eye inhaling rain. (p.3)
- Hands like stolen trees/ stuck up in the fog,/ a library card to Jerusalem/ only human in waves// a courtyard of scarlet fire/ closed so far down into itself. (p.4)
- Our child hasn't learnt his knees/ or the broken dreams of the Internet.// There is only our unprescripted love,/ not even a word yet/ but for you it's Modernism. (p.7)
- The sea birds come to show their support/ spiring pendulums, dead and still alive -/ small airports of gathered whale processions/ and invisible life// living namesake threats. (p.10)
- Hair of a horse/ over a faded clock,// modern hair like rainfall/ hunched blackbird dampness// sun beast isles/ burning in its nest. (p.19)
- The bed remains ancient in its ritual of worship/ a personal attack against strangers/ made up of all its own Trojan wars/ hung in literature, undebated. (p.22)
- The Internet is full of eagles, they cry out from all the/ isolated fullness, pushing like bread// they remind you of a storybook. (p.30)
- Viagra water flickering through morning tea/ tribes of water burning the air,/ and white heat that is a renamed cover version of water. (p.34)
- Before there was anything/ there were the stars touching time with hope,// before there was anything/ love was still blind in the darkness,// all of wonder above you,/ where you put it, up high. (p.48)
- Shaking the locking organed funfairs// the daytime observes its place to the sun,/ bewitched by the size of the hills (p.57)
- We have become old dreams/ lying on hourglass traps/ boarded up like embarrassed commitments (p.76)
- We assure ourselves 7:59, O'children/ lifting up our children,/ embarrassed angels. (p.77)
- There is no allotment for this blue rehearsal// we have replaced our faces like old caretakers,/ overwinged by the thought of secret exits// bluer than the untangle of a ballroom. (p.86)
- The night continues to note down the morning dawn// it breaks slowly, gentle like a smile/ ragged with hand-peddles from a mountain seascape. (p.89)
"Phosphorescent" is my favourite.