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    Joy
    Joy
    Joy
    Ebook68 pages28 minutes

    Joy

    By Sasha Dugdale

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Sasha Dugdale's fourth Carcanet collection, Joy, features the poem of that title which received the 2016 Forward Prize for Best Single Poem. "Joy" is a monologue in the voice of William Blake's wife Catherine, exploring the creative partnership between the artist and his wife, and the nature of female creativity. The Forward judges called it "an extraordinarily sustained visionary piece of writing". The poems in Joy mark a new departure for Dugdale, who expresses in poetry a hitherto silent' dialogue which she began as an editor of Modern Poetry in Translation with writers such as Don Mee Choi, Kim Hyesoon, Maria Stepanova and Svetlana Alexeivich. Dugdale combines an open interest in the historical fate of women and in the treacherous fictional shaping of history. In the abundant, complex and not always easy range of voices in Joy she attempts to redress the linear nature of remembrance and history and restore the maligned and misaligned'.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCarcanet Press Ltd.
    Release dateDec 19, 2017
    ISBN9781784105044
    Joy
    Author

    Sasha Dugdale

     Sasha Dugdale is a poet, writer and translator. She has published five collections of poems with Carcanet Press, most recently  Deformations  in 2020. She won the Forward Prize for Best Single Poem in 2016 and in 2017 she was awarded a Cholmondeley Prize for Poetry. She is former editor of  Modern Poetry in Translation  and is poet-in-residence at St John’s College, Cambridge (2018-2021). 

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      Book preview

      Joy - Sasha Dugdale

      for Paul

      Contents

      Title Page

      Dedication

      Joy

      The Widow and the Kaleidoscope

      The Ballad of Mabel

      Valentine’s

      ‘Tonight I thought of you…’

      ‘Do you remember how we chanced upon a home…’

      Villanelle

      The Canoe

      Cutting Apples

      Ironing the Spider

      The Ballad of the Sewing Kit

      Pfingsten in Paterki

      How my friend went to look for her roots

      Mappa Mundi

      Kittiwake

      Days

      The Daughter of a Widow

      For Edward Thomas

      Acknowledgements

      About the Author

      Also by Sasha Dugdale

      Copyright

      Joy

      A dark stage. A woman in a rocking chair. Catherine Blake.

      Silence.

      They don’t want me here… they don’t want me…

      An old woman, getting in their way,

                                                   under their feet.

      Look what the cat brought in. An ancient orphan, no future to bless her.

      A sparrow, a spider, a nothing.

      Good for nothing. And nothing will come of nothing… And nothing will come of me now… A nothing left in darkness…

      This is how it is. This is how it has been always. A parting.

      We are parted

      The fibres of our souls are spread. They cling –

      A tear. A tear. And a tearing.

      I am a rent shirt… I am a poor man’s shirt and a pair of woollen stockings and a patched jacket thrown from the hearse… Every breeze shudders me… And no one wants me…

      How I ache… How I ache… How I ache…

      Nine days I laboured, nine days and nights I laboured, and on the tenth he gave me my freedom, singing. And my freedom was a wicker basket for the husks of shells. My freedom was a quilt of unspoken words…

      looks around

      A foreign kitchen, a winter light.

      Seagulls very high in the clouds. How I ache.

      A foreign hearth in London. My freedom is someone else’s hearth in his town. The tenth day is drawing to a close. How I ache.

      And he is gone, fled singing to some place I cannot reach. His angels came and he sang to them and they told him they needed him more than I did… Merciless, merciless angels… Merciless angels who know nothing of human despair. And he went with them. He nodded and spoke mild words and was soon gone… And he left a shadow of grime on his collar and a warm bed. And the angels had tall wings, like steeples, or like sails and spread white like the King’s ship in dock, and they took him, only I couldn’t see them, but I know how they looked, for hadn’t he

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