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POETRY IN THE PLAGUE YEAR
Poems written during the Coronavirus Outbreak 2020
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Martyn Halsall Santon Bridge, Cumbria. Martyn Halsall
grew up in Southport, then in Lancashire, and was a
student in Chelsea before entering journalism. After writing
for local and regional newspapers he joined The Guardian in
Manchester, covering religious affairs, then industry across the
North of England. He is completing his sixth poetry pamphlet,
Passing Place, and his second full collection, Visible
Music, about experiencing cancer. He writes about poetry
for the Church Times, and new work is appearing in Nine
Muses Press, Honest Ulsterman and Theology. Poem completed April 20, 2020. Canvas Stamped Made in China, one pound,
now aged grey, the canvas shoulder bag; frayed flap to
stow cameras when they needed lenses, and squat
black pill box cannisters for extra film. Hangs empty, now; dead weight of shoulder
sag, stubble of rust pitting its metal latches; badges campaign for yesterday’s headline
causes: Coal not Dole; motif for women bishops. Inside a cotton pocket for trace and memory same size as a folded map, where an
island’s holed by being opened in wind to check a
trackway: South Skye and Cuillin Hills, Lewis,
Benbecula. Holding space for a pen wood-turned from
yew tree, present of a notebook from the Islay ferry; old toffee wrapper from the local factory we smelled in seaside childhood before rain
came. Space also for souvenirs; small change from
walking: knuckle of pink granite, sprig of miners’
lamps from a passing whin, ankle bone of beech
for kindling, peat thumbprint on that page noting the
owl, and what’s no longer carried, that black
light meter with its stallion scent when you clicked
back leather cover to read dew on leaf’s close-up, or a dale’s
distance; aperture and speed
you’d need to catch that moment. |