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Showing posts from September, 2018

Remember. Imagine ~ Reflection on Frances Angela's 'Philip Street'

Remember. Imagine.
I know the smoke and steam of industry. Tall chimneys, the cordons of terraced houses. Shift changes: men in caps and thick jackets leaving or returning home in the dark.

The cover of Frances Angela’s new chapbook, Philip Street, evokes these memories of my hometown in South Wales. I recall the streets named for landowners, builders and benefactors. Remember the kids we were warned against playing with …
they didn’t like me playing with patsy o’malley they said her family were thieves and rogues[i]
And there was the library too:
the library just for the smell[ii]
I know that smell: dust, polish, paper.But then my childhood path diverges from the one that unfolds in the subsequent pages: a children’s home, a catechism class, whiskey. This is not my story. Yet somehow, it is my story, the one I imagine, the one I experience through my senses…
pub night the dark heap of mother’s clothes[iii]
… and through empathy and compassion for hope forbidden and lost.
a girl
i wanted …