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    Crowd Sensations
    Crowd Sensations
    Crowd Sensations
    Ebook74 pages34 minutes

    Crowd Sensations

    By Judy Brown

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    About this ebook

    Judy Brown's new poetry collection, Crowd Sensations, showcases her subtle and dazzling style. A poet whose work is inspired as much by thoughtful speculation and metaphysics as it is by personal experience and relationships, Brown's poems surprise and delight at every turn. A central theme is the contrast between the city and the countryside. As well as spells living in London and Hong Kong, the author's recent residencies at the Wordsworth Trust in Grasmere and at Gladstone's Library in North Wales have provided key moments of inspiration. Her skill at paradox is evident in poems of unsettling intimacy, such as 'Poem In Which I Am Not Shortsighted' alongside poems of uneasy domesticity such as 'On The Last Evening We Watch Movies in Bed'. There is also some quiet, edgy humour in 'Poem in the Voice of a Dead Cockroach' and 'Was this review helpful to you?'.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSeren
    Release dateAug 1, 2016
    ISBN9781781723166
    Crowd Sensations

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      Book preview

      Crowd Sensations - Judy Brown

      Paint

      After the Discovery of Linear Perspective

      You gave us new places to hide. Arcades and piazzas are excavated

      from your backgrounds in diptychs and altarpieces, just for the hell.

      Some of our local heroes turn out to be smallish men. They whisper

      to their spotted hounds whilst the eaves of their homes recede. Stairs

      strut and coil like tempters behind the colour-coded Holy Family,

      the bishops, the patrons, the endlessly-bystanding centurion. We all

      toe the lines, the vanishing points, the black-and-white ostentation

      of floors. Perhaps the molten paint matters more than what’s painted:

      this has become one of your tools, a closeted flourish of show and tell.

      Yet I miss their warmth: the maidens and saints twisted to press

      at the picture plane, all breathy frottage, and damp like flowers under glass.

      Come, technician, let us brush past the samey glamours of Joseph

      and Mary. Christ, there is so much gorgeous air explaining itself

      in the back of your painting! Let’s inhale its new space, shout

      merely to gather echoes, make gestures that astonish us.

      The Astronauts

      Hey, we missed the whole thing.

      – Buzz Aldrin to Neil Armstrong after watching videotapes of press coverage of the moon landing

      Each one of us was a firstborn. It was winter

      then, cut-glass solstice daylight. The stars

      were just holes in some sky. The baby’s room

      was the study re-emulsioned in pastels,

      its ceiling hung with the low fruit of mobiles.

      We were the first to come close to the moon.

      Family was learning to read the horoscope

      of your worries: Herod’s fingerpaint never far

      from the door-jamb. We came to want to tip out

      into thin air, to follow no one, crouch in capsules.

      But the real action was back in the living room:

      you, poised in your Dralon recliners; the show:

      our stumbles in big shoes. So it came to pass.

      The nursery light left on over the blue planet,

      we fell home, boxed and bouncing in titanium,

      re-entry just a sizzle in the Gulf of Mexico.

      This Is Not a Garden

      This garden, in fact, may not even be entered.

      – from A Guide to the Gardens of Kyoto by E. Marc Treib and Ron Herman

      This is not a yard, this is a garden:

      new decking slatted over a tumble of roaches.

      This is a yard full of potted tropical flora,

      the lotus swimming in its own pool,

      mosquito-eating fish guarding its stem.

      I can’t know whether this is a yard

      or a garden, though we ate out here last night,

      the iPod snicking in its dock, soft lighting

      making silhouettes behind the trellis.

      This is not a garden, this outdoor, hosable sofa

      or this bed where we never both sleep well.

      It is a sort of park, public in places, this marriage

      where amusements are scheduled and planned.

      This garden, this marriage, is divided into

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