At the centre of these texts is the person loved: never described, never allowed to speak, this eternal body, this love that emerges from the shadows around us, central to the voice of the poems, loved with constance and unswerving fidelity, pledge of the poem's lifeblood, impression of their voice, their image, their pressing against the limits of banality, daily depression, personal despair. The words echo in the reader's head. Despite the highly chiselled use of language, the almost clinically cold choice of words, the ...
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At the centre of these texts is the person loved: never described, never allowed to speak, this eternal body, this love that emerges from the shadows around us, central to the voice of the poems, loved with constance and unswerving fidelity, pledge of the poem's lifeblood, impression of their voice, their image, their pressing against the limits of banality, daily depression, personal despair. The words echo in the reader's head. Despite the highly chiselled use of language, the almost clinically cold choice of words, the adherence to the vocabulary of daily discourse, the poems offer strangely calming comfort, a soothing hope for those who question and move through the world with sensitivity and a certain tentativeness.
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