Literary reviews by Tim Love.
Warning: Rather than reviews, these are often notes in preparation for reviews that were never finished, or pleas for help with understanding pieces. See Litref Reviews - a rationale for details.
Showing posts with label Gregory Leadbetter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gregory Leadbetter. Show all posts

Wednesday, 4 February 2026

"The infernal garden" by Gregory Leadbetter (Nine arches press, 2025)

Poems from Poetry Birmingham, Bad Lilies, Under the Radar, Poetry Ireland, Wild Court, etc.

The trilogy of Self, voice/sounds and the written word appear in several of the poems, especially at endings. Sometimes it is Nature's voice (rather than a human's) that appears from a void -

  • Then, as the river turned to flow, it was real
    and what the broken water said, I heard.
    It rose, as if a wish had kept its word,
    to breathe the earth - submerged, and let the river heal. (p.38)
  • I try to call down the contours of sound
    whose words are like those of a bird
    ...
    The air and its instrument alphabet,
    the neume that calls back to the bird. (p.43)
  • It doesn't matter who I am, nor that my lips
    speak and close before you see them move. (p.47)
  • the glass cell
    of spoken thought:
    a self uttermost
    inside a space
    as far as a human
    voice is thrown. (p.51)
  • And so, in his words, the dark
    speeds from his throat as the silence
    that breaks to surround his tongue.
    It is where he listens: the rift
    where the speaker enters his speech -
    where the I is heard and hidden. (p.59)
  • Let us slip the habits
    of ourselves and reap the silence
    that of its nothing grows (p.85)

Some other poems end with a statement about the failure to express -

  • The nests that sowed the world
    with young are empty, and the young are lost
    on wings too new to know, calling
    for the broken heaven of the speckled blue egg
    I keep as a secret and cannot let go (p.25)
  • The rain has sifted pale Saharan dust
    in desert powders ghosting water's trails
    across the sun-drowned day's midsummer crust.
    The air remembers how to move but fails. (p.27)
  • Trees half-spoken in a winter mist
    start to walk in a distant speech

    that stills again when they are seen
    a few steps nearer to the ear they reach (p.73)
  • The bunting has vanished into the art of its plumage
    but, like the cry out of sight, is nonetheless
    real unseen, for being both feather and veil.
    The man in the hide, out of reach of his language,
    is blown on the notes that rise through the reeds to the ear (p.77)

The language is usually elevated, with a wide vocabulary -

  • Those figures at work in the wound of a fen
    I see from a train have cut the skin
    of the several worlds with the same precision
    as the sacred geometry of the first propylon (p.18)
  • Weird as a withered human foot
    once held to be that of a saint -
    refuse from a reliquary pillaged
    for the jewelled slipper it had worn -
    this fallen oak, all bole, its branches
    long since lopped by the dead
    for the dead, lies like the uncut hull
    of a Bronze Age boat on the lost shore
    of its flickering field. (p.37)
  • had not been seen since human fires
    burned so low they let the night
    etch the mind with all its stars (p.74)

Wednesday, 26 October 2016

"The Fetch" by Gregory Leadbetter (Nine Arches Press, 2016)

Poems from Poetry London, Poetry Review, Magma, Rialto, etc. His first degree was Law at Cambridge (irrationally perhaps, I prefer writers not to have a first degree in literature). It's tempting to thank his legal training for his control over long sentences, and his exploitation of sound effects is perhaps influenced by his reading of the Romantics. Iambics haunt many of the poems, and lines like "It brims from the lake/ where a dead fish floats/ white as a blind eye." are rich in repeated sounds. The poem that contains these lines , "Gloaming", ends in a way that shows another facet of his work: imagery - "Now I learn/ how the bats disappear/ through the door of the trees/ to return seconds later,/ though gone for years.". There are couplets (loosely rhymed sometimes), sonnets, and a villanelle (the result of doing an exercise he'd set his students). There are abba and abab rhyme patterns. The stanzas of "Misterioso" have abbcca, abcabc, abccba and abcacb rhymes. In "Sum", each line has an "I"; they're aligned down the centre of the page. 2.5 pages of mostly etymological notes help with the extensive vocabulary used.

One definition of "fetch" is "apparition" or "double". Entities of uncertain ontological status (the result of reflection, new selves raised from the dead, etc) appear in "Homo Divivus" for example, "The Departed", and "The Chase" - "I saw my reflection double and run". More generally, emergence could be a theme. In "The Leap" fish begin to leave water - "Something not yet thought/ wakes out to sea". Elsewhere there are dawning realisations, ghosts finding form, statues with some signs of life - "that trick in the flicker of a breath/ through flame that makes the livid/ brink of perfect stillness dance" (p.30).

Looking for roots of consciousness (or culture) in nature (or the past) in poems like "Doggerland" and "Misterioso", the persona often ends up confronting the self - "a séance in a mirror, face to face I see/ what the part of me that died has seen" (p.15); "there are no/ birds in this damned wood,/ and no path - only you" (p.59); "I saw/ that figure form itself from what I am/ in what was left of my reflection" (p.67). The path that wasn't found in the quote above appears in several other poems, including "a path I could not walk/ without stones in my pockets". This sounds more like the path Virginia Woolf took than Dante's "cammin di nostra vita". Perhaps it's a path that only those with an awareness of death can take. What separates the living from the dead? "True Story" addresses the issue, as does "My breath// condensed. I saw it slowly take/ the outline of a child, afraid/ of the dark of which it was made" (p.13), and "Gibbet Lane", home of "the teeming dark/ where the brain takes root" - "He breathes where the living lose their breath".

During the quest, observer and observed are prone to exchange body fluids - "I dry out my sweat, leave you the salt (p.12)"; "The year was bleeding across the sky" (p.23); "blood soaks through your stone eyes" (p.30); "she would lap at whatever saltwater/ leaked from me" (p.69). Notions of identity are queried too, in "The astronaut returns" (compare with "The Human Circadian Pacemaker" by K.J. Orr, where a returned astronaut has dementia-like problems). In "Sea change" the regression goes further, back through evolution until "Be still. Begin to feed from your beginning".

Though the self may be transient and emergent, there's a lot of timeless poetry - eyes, breath, love and locations in landscapes (rather than in cities) feature, provoking contemplation. The imagery can be dense even where the syntax is plain - e.g.

Cradle
The bog is a beating fontanelle
at the place I cast a penny wish

where carr and fen leaches out
an orphaned head for the fallen sun

"carr" is fen woodland - the ground that gives underfoot. Later in the poem, the imagery returns

Soft and pulsing now,
drawn like water from a spawning well
it is the foundling head I bring

that thinks the wish that wishing
grows a thing through which
my tongue might leave its lair.

I'm a sucker for imagery like "The body sinks, one breath lighter./ Scales tip into the dark future/ with the weight of one bird, singing." (p.63) but wouldn't a lighter body rise rather than sink? That solitary singing bird is one of the book's flock of generic birds as well as particular species - magpie (p.11), heron, mallard (p.21), kestrel (p.23), swan (p.43), pelican (p.48), jackdaw (p.59), blackbird (p.60), grebe (p.64), peregrine (p.65), buzzard, cuckoo (p.68).

Comparing it with his earlier pamphlet The Body in the Well (Happenstance 2007, 5 of whose poems appear here) I feel there's more anecdote (aka life-experience) to ballast the metaphysical. I struggle with phrases like "it is our freedom to summon the fact/ between the flow of being and the state/ of becoming" (p.24). In contrast, the series about his father includes more grounded imagery like

  • "Back home, mirrors imagine me/ alive. I seek consolation/ in a splash of water - look up/ to see the face washed from me" (p.38)
  • "You are too still for mind to bear - so that/ I see your chest rise, only to catch on the fact/ that I have not, like a foot on a missing stair" (p.41)

and "Pumpkin" starts with "The black bloom of mould/ that crept through the eye/ of the carved head, between/ his death and funeral, within a week/ of the flame that gave the glow/ and shiver of life at Hallowe'en/ to shadows dying into smoke".

Sonic effects, sound bites, forms, love and death - what more could you ask for? A little leavening humour perhaps, though that might break the spell.

Other reviews

Wednesday, 14 November 2007

"The Body in the Well" by Gregory Leadbetter (Happenstance, 2007)

The acknowledgements include Agenda and Poetry London, so this poet's already experienced. After reading the first 2 poems I was getting worried, but I liked the next one, "Knowledge". This kind of pattern was repeated throughout my reading. "Freya and the Ba'tn'bah" and "The School of Resonance" were my particular favorites.

By the time I reached the end I felt that there was a lot of good writing, with quiet, appropriate imagery - e.g. "I saw a weasel streak its sine-wave over the grass" ("The Call") or "Your breathing is distant, a shiver of cymbals" ("Incubus"). The density of imagery varies, as does the subject matter. But I also sensed a lack of variety - the sentence structures don't change much, and because the lower layers of sound, rhythm and layout are barely exploited, there's little else to fall back on. It wasn't just that though. There are many butterflies, and where there were butterflies storms were never far away. Some of the endings resemble each other too. Compare

where I found wild flowers laid
in a guesswork bouquet of runes
(p.17) with
a ticker-tape of rose-petals
celebrating her stumble
only 2 pages later. More generally the last lines either flee to infinities/abstracts or retreat into enclosed stillness - a tension elegantly illustrated on the cover, where the body in the well could as easily be the man in the moon. Here are extracts from the last line or 2 of all but 4 of the poems
  • Inward - "so I can rest", "to wait", "wait", "hands that fit the foxgloves", "freezing", "bound inside you", "searching the cold space in the bed", "stillness of this room"
  • Outward - "dreams", "everything", "wide open", "run", "telepathy", "infinity", "a window of time", "open your planetary eyes", "the sun on your wings", "expanding", "raises a storm", "everywhere ... sky"

Some of the poems seek a correspondence of sorts, a resonance between dream and room, or "butterfly inside his skull" and storm. Others leave us inside (having glimpsed out) or outside (having found a way to follow our senses or thoughts beyond ourselves).

A unified collection then, best in small doses.