A decade’s poetry collection
every sense.
The poem “And We Danced”, is skilfully woven with the writer creating captivating visual effects in text. The romantic piece narrates a blissful night out for two lovebirds, describing various scenes with clarity. The rich diction and the way the poem is put together is pure genius, the writer skilfully painting vivid images of the whole night.
“Vague, alien, animated shapes moved with staccato stubbornness across a shadow shouldered world, of strobing cigarette smoke, beneath a balcony wasted with the slow eyed voyeur tribe, the lonely loves labouring to pose and peer down into low temptation. In a corner, perched on yellow plastic, buttoned still where crisps and crumbs congealed with ash and ale we sat, with bottles drawn to lips that talked away the smallest hours with large, hollow vowels,” goes the first two stanzas of the poem, creating visuals of people dancing within a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Badger Hunting”, is another poem that demonstrates the writer’s descriptive skill, written in a manner that puts the reader in the thick of the action. From the scenic views to the events transpiring during the hunt, the writer crafts his poem in interesting storytelling fashion.
“Looking up through bare branches at the sun we caught the shift of small white clouds along the morning’s cascade breeze. Below the crown of newly budding leaves the sky stood still and giggling, we revolved.
“Moss stained, abandoned, fungus crowned logs that flaked and crumbled in the damp morning stew, lay across our stumbling, soggy way. We found the head of the hill tumbling water and prodded out the smell of black leaf pools.”
In “Cold Shore Ballard”, the poet paints a picture of the organisms and characteristics that makeup a cold shoreline. From the cold wind howling to the seals and gulls by the shore, the poem describes an interesting scenic view.
“I am the wind, the voice of the gale-howl, the shriek in a sleepless night, the sigh that softens stone and heart, I am the seal head on grey surge surf, the white bobbing gull maiden, the breath of a woman waiting, these long drawn years for the footstep, for the glad home rising swell of hobnails and the drag of a sledge on cobbles.
“I am the seal head on black water, the gull maid, the sea mist, the sigh on the point, the squall wraith, my eyes the gleam of sunlight on rock surf spray, my path the way of the setting sun on the calm blue-black of a summer eve, aye, I am the wind.”
This collection takes the reader on a journey of discovery, with poems that do not fit in a particular time zone and space but are rather broad. Gilson’s talent and imagination is rare, displaying an ability to capture the reader’s attention in verse. His poetry does not only provide a great reading experience but also delves into various cultural explorations from around the world.