Tuesday Poem: “Winter Light” by Kathleen Jones
Winter Light
Horizontal strobes
across the russeting slope
disclose the contours of the land
the fierce geography of rock
the patterning of sheep through bracken
lipped water-marks on sand
The mountain’s shadow
bruises the lake.
The season is wintering in
and the cold is like loss:
a cramping hold on bone
muscle, thought, spilling in
from the east.
The air tastes metallic
like snow dissolving on the tongue.
This is the death month;
December’s Druid alphabet
that signified
the rebirth of the spirit.
Ash trees clumsy with unshed seeds,
a deer’s tooth grooving the bark.
I glimpse a snowdrop spiking up
through a dead leaf
before the falling sun herds
us into the longest night.
.
© Kathleen Jones
.~ published in Not Saying Goodbye at Gate 21, Templar Poetry, 2011
Reproduced here with permission.
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Or firstly, about the collection, Not Saying Goodbye at Gate 21. It is only Saturday since I featured Kathleen Jones’ new collection as a “Just Arrived” here. I said then that I was very keen to read it, not just because Kathleen is a fellow Tuesday Poet but also because the manuscript had won the Straid Collection Award in 2010. I also wrote that I had liked what I saw in my initial quick peek at the poems. Since then I have been reading avidly, and although I have not yet finished the collection I can tell you that I love what I have read so far—so much so that I would like to feature a considerable number of the poems here of a Tuesday!
Fortunately for me, today is the solstice: summer solstice here in New Zealand and the winter solstice in the northern hemisphere. Again fortunately, one of those poems that I have really enjoyed in Not Saying Goodbye at Gate 21 is Winter Light, a poem that addresses the longest night—or in our case down here, the longest day. But Kathleen is a northern hemisphere poet, so for her this is winter solstice—and so fitting, I thought, to ask to feature Winter Light today. I am delighted that she has agreed.
About the Poet:
Born and brought up on a hill farm in the north of England, Kathleen Jones read law and then English Literature at university before specialising in early women writers — work that culminated in A Glorious Fame (Bloomsbury, 1988) the life of the 17th century Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle.
Kathleen spent several years in Africa and the Middle East — where she worked in English broadcasting — before returning to England. Her published work includes radio journalism, articles for magazines and newspapers, short fiction and eleven books — a mixture of biography, general non-fiction and two poetry collections. Her biographies include:- A Passionate Sisterhood (Virago, 2000) — an account of the lives of the women who lived with the ‘lake poets’, which was reviewed in the TLS as ‘a fascinating, marvellous, utterly absorbing book . . . the stuff your English teacher never told you’; Learning not to be First: The Life of Christina Rossetti (OUP, 1992) which was Doris Lessing’s ‘book of the year’; and Catherine Cookson: the Biography (Time Warner, 1999), which the Literary Review described as ‘a compelling account’ of Cookson’s life and work.’
Kathleen Jones’ most recent biography, Katherine Mansfield: The Story-teller, was published by Penguin in 2010 and Edinburgh University Press in December 2011. Her latest collection of poetry, Not Saying Goodbye at Gate 21, winner of the Straid Collection Award, was published by Templar Poetry in November 2011.
Kathleen’s home is in Cumbria, but as her partner is a sculptor working in Italy she spends a lot of time flying between the two on budget airlines! She has taught creative writing in a number of universities and is currently a Royal Literary Fund Fellow. Further information may be found at: www.kathleenjones.co.uk
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Such a powerful poem; the shadow bruising the lake, the ash trees clumsy.
Thanks for putting this up Helen.
I must try and taste snow at least once in my life.
Penelope, it is only one of many wonderful poems in ‘Not Saying Goodbyet at Gate 21’—but I loved the way it spoke to my own experience of the northern winter and especially this time of year.
I love Kathleen’s collection, Helen. It arrived in the post and I read it in a sitting – far too fast, but a fantastic experience. Her poems are strong and honest with a strong sense of place.
I finished the collection today and loved it from go to whoa—but now I shall have to re-read and savour at a more leisurely pace.
I love the image of the trees ‘clumsy’ with the remaining seed pods – this is precisely what Ash trees look like. Marvellous. Thanks, Helen and Kathleen!
The use of language throughout is marvellous–both precise and powerful. I really recommend the collection, Elizabeth.
I’m part way through reading Kathleen’s collection at the moment, and I have already picked out my own favourites for possible Tuesday poems (subject to Kathleen’s agreement, of course) – it’s conceivable some kind of roster will have to be employed 😉
Another powerful poem which certainly puts the typical Wellington winter into perspective.
Tim, should I foresee poetic ‘pistols at dawn’ scenarios? I know what you mean though—there are just so many ‘postable’ poems!
Another great winter poem, I love Kathleen’s work. And your write up is fantastic
And since it’s that time – Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Have a good one.
Thank you so much, Alicia—and the same to you!
I’m blushing with all your compliments – and so glad that you like the collection. Thanks for posting this Helen. Wishing you all a really fantastic Christmas and New Year and may all your books be best-sellers!!!!
Thank you so much Kathleen—and I don’t think you should blush too much, becasue in the case of “Not Saying Goodbyet at Gate 21” I feel every word of praise is well deserved.:)
I love the way the poem reminds me of the taste of snow. It does taste metallic and so does cold northern air. Wonderful.
You really do get the feeling you’re in the ‘dying season’ of the year, don’t you?