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Today's progamme marks the end of the Durham Book Festival with a strong poetic offering in the Palace Green Library. Sinead Morrissey is this year's Festival Laureate and what a star she is. A power-house of such intensely lyrical poetry that seems to strip its subjects naked left the audience in slightly stunned wonder. Her long and insightful writing, delivered from heart was clearly the best performance of the entire festival's poetry programme and I think Durham's best laureate to date. If you get the slightest chance of seeing her, take it. I certainly intend to. A super end to another great festival from Durham.
LAST WINTER
was not like last winter, we said, when winter
had ground its iron teeth in earnest: Befast
colder than Moscow and a total lunar eclipse
hanging its Chinese lantern over the solstice.
Last winter we wore jackets into November
and lost our gloves, geraniums persisted,
our new pot-bellied stove sat unlit night
after night and inside our lungs and throats,
embedded in our cells, viruses churned out
relaxed, unkillable replicas of themselves
in the friendlier temperatures. Our son
went under. We'd lie awake not touching,
and listen to him cough. He couldn't walk
for weakness in the morning. Thoracic,
the passages and hallways in our house
got stopped with what we would not say--
how, on our wedding day, we'd all at once
felt shy to be alone together, back
from the cacophony in my tiny, quiet flat
and surrounded by flowers.
rhannu – gallwch gopïo, dosbarthu a throsglwyddo'r gwaith
ailwampio – gallwch addasu'r gwaith
Ar yr amodau canlynol:
cydnabyddiaeth – Mae'n rhaid i chi nodi manylion y gwaith hwn, rhoi dolen i'r drwydded, a nodi os y bu golygu arni, yn y modd a benwyd gan yr awdur neu'r trwyddedwr (ond heb awgrymu o gwbl eu bod yn eich cymeradwyo chi na'ch defnydd o'r gwaith).
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0CC BY 2.0 Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 truetrue
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