Date: 07/09/11 - 09:23 am Title: Chapter 1
I get the sense of a man handling fine and delicate things, and tenderly arranging them - or piecing them together. This applies to many of your poems; and to this one in particular, I think. The image that remains is of an empty chair in which a man once sat. It's exquisite.
Hi Mark. Many thanks for your insight. You are right in that I do wish to handle these 'delicate things' and put them together again. I love to stuff my poems with things; stones, leaves, waves, birds, and the people that have become part of the natural world for me, such as my parents. I keep putting them together again and again, and seeing them so again and again freshly, but the pieces are as ever the same. I'm touched by your comment.