Review of 'Roads to Yair' by Bridget Khursheed
'Roads to Yair' Some Border poems by Bridget Khursheed. Twinlaw Publishing. 2015. £6.99.
The preface tells the reader that a 'yair' is an old Scots word for a fish trap and a quiet spot in Tweeddale where King Malcolm allowed the monks of Kelso to create a pool in which to fish.
This feels like a good premise for a first collection as the poet has corralled many enjoyable poems into her yair.
I've had the pleasure of hearing Bridget read some of her poems. She's a wonderful raconteur and in this collection she offers the reader a strong sense of place, history, people and the natural world of the Borders. She loves getting her poetical teeth around phrases like " the clatter of coal in clarty carts" (The Clovenfords vineries), "garbage of flesh, crumpled clothes and crows" (Rough Wooing).
In these poems Bridget generously offers her knowledge and affection for Border haunts and people with humour and sharp observations. Her poems reveal that she one eye on history and the other on the present day and that she is able to step out of the way and allow the words to come alive.
Best work I did there
but I had nothing to do with oranges
the glass panes the cutting of them
and their angles
we had worked on stained glass
and its leading but these
the panes their fine-ness
a meadowsweet head
cut down its shapes
in glass and the curve of it
all the hold oranges
I had nothing to do with oranges
( extract from 'The little gothic orangery')
But the tour de force for me is the poem I heard the Bridget read at the Scott's Treasures Poetry Showcase last November, 'The Abbotsford gasoliers'. I recommend that you read this one out loud to get the full effect. The poem manages to be informative, knowing, very funny, nostalgic and tightly written.
Gas smells bad. The nauseous price of first sight.
No one but Scott could tolerate its smoky torpor.
At table though, virtual - we must imagine the delight - gasoliers
convert glitter
into cool diamonds. They drip light
then becomes a curtain raised at the theatre,
a game over dinner. A cabbage white.
(extract from 'The Abbotsford gasoliers')
'Roads to Yair' is full of stories and legends, the everyday and the mythical. The poems work well together and are accomplished and highly original. Accompanied by some great black and white images and notes on the locations, the presentation of this collection is superb. Highly recommended!
The preface tells the reader that a 'yair' is an old Scots word for a fish trap and a quiet spot in Tweeddale where King Malcolm allowed the monks of Kelso to create a pool in which to fish.
This feels like a good premise for a first collection as the poet has corralled many enjoyable poems into her yair.
I've had the pleasure of hearing Bridget read some of her poems. She's a wonderful raconteur and in this collection she offers the reader a strong sense of place, history, people and the natural world of the Borders. She loves getting her poetical teeth around phrases like " the clatter of coal in clarty carts" (The Clovenfords vineries), "garbage of flesh, crumpled clothes and crows" (Rough Wooing).
In these poems Bridget generously offers her knowledge and affection for Border haunts and people with humour and sharp observations. Her poems reveal that she one eye on history and the other on the present day and that she is able to step out of the way and allow the words to come alive.
Best work I did there
but I had nothing to do with oranges
the glass panes the cutting of them
and their angles
we had worked on stained glass
and its leading but these
the panes their fine-ness
a meadowsweet head
cut down its shapes
in glass and the curve of it
all the hold oranges
I had nothing to do with oranges
( extract from 'The little gothic orangery')
But the tour de force for me is the poem I heard the Bridget read at the Scott's Treasures Poetry Showcase last November, 'The Abbotsford gasoliers'. I recommend that you read this one out loud to get the full effect. The poem manages to be informative, knowing, very funny, nostalgic and tightly written.
Gas smells bad. The nauseous price of first sight.
No one but Scott could tolerate its smoky torpor.
At table though, virtual - we must imagine the delight - gasoliers
convert glitter
into cool diamonds. They drip light
then becomes a curtain raised at the theatre,
a game over dinner. A cabbage white.
(extract from 'The Abbotsford gasoliers')
'Roads to Yair' is full of stories and legends, the everyday and the mythical. The poems work well together and are accomplished and highly original. Accompanied by some great black and white images and notes on the locations, the presentation of this collection is superb. Highly recommended!
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