Category: Poetry


STARVE ACRE : a novel by Andrew Michael Hurley (First published by Dead Ink Books, 2019), a film by Daniel Kokotajlo (UK, 2024)

“What you go searching for and what you find aren’t always the same”

When you look for hope you can find horror or, in the case of Starve Acre, Folk Horror.

This term was first coined by The League of Gentleman’s Mark Gatiss and this flourishing subgenre is currently undergoing a major cinematic revival.

The film version of Andrew Michael Hurley’s sinister novella will add to the popularity of this moniker which is as uniquely British as Hammer Horror was in the 1960s.  It will also encourage the belief  that darkness lingers below of surface of  the apparently idyllic British countryside just as surely as Lynchian nightmares lurk behind white picket fences of middle America.

Andrew Michael Hurley’s distinctive third novel is a book about grief and a couple trying to overcome a personal trauma. The catalyst is that Richard and Juliette Willoughby’s 5 year old son, Ewan, has died suddenly in mysterious circumstances.

This tragic event occurs after the married couple’s move from the city (Leeds) to a house in the Yorkshire Dales inherited from Richard’s recently deceased parents. The new home is described as having three storeys of heavy stone, shuttered windows and a “utilitarian black” front door.

Heavy, shuttered and black? What could possible go wrong?

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As the year draws to a close, a poem of Lina Bo Bardi has stayed with me since I encountered it in ‘What Freedom Means To Me’ – an inspiring celebration of the multi-screen films of Isaac Julien at Tate Britain, London this summer.

The Italian-born Brazilian architect wrote : ‘Linear time is a western invention; time is not linear, it is a marvellous entanglement where, at any moment, points can be chosen and solutions invented, without beginning or end.’

I like to think of time like this because it encapsulates the need to avoid becoming a slave to deadlines many of which are self imposed.

Taking time is important in order to be open to possibilities and free to improvise.

Two Roads Diverged

hockney

“Two roads diverged on a yellow wood,
I took the one less travelled by
And that made all the difference”

lines from ‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost.

Tangled up in time

Last month, during a one week trip to London, I spent around three hours happily immersed in several multi-screen presentations of Isaac Julien’s films at the ‘What Freedom Means To Me’ exhibition at Tate Britain.

The film that made the biggest impression on me was  ‘Lina Bo Bardi – A Marvellous Entanglement’ from 2019, based around the life of the Italian-Brazilian modernist architect who died in 1992 aged 78. If you want to know what dancing about architecture looks like, you should watch this!

Bo Bardi is played by two actresses, movingly contrasting her as a young and older woman. The older self is played by Brazilian stage, television and film actress Fernanda Montenegro who, at the end of the film, recites lines from Bo Bardi’s correspondence in the form of a poem: “Linear time is a western invention. Time is not linear, it is a marvellous entanglement, where at any moment, points can be chosen and solutions invented, without beginning or end.”

Angela Rodel and Georgi Gospodinov

These words resonated with me and I think subconsciously prompted me to purchase a copy of Time Shelter  (Времеубежище)  by Georgi Gospodinov which was on prominent display in Foyles Bookshop as the winner of this year’s International Booker Prize . The novel was translated from Bulgarian by  Angela Rodel and is Gospodinov’s third novel to be published in English.

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Tom Verlaine was my kind of guitar hero. Not for him the power chords or false histrionics of heavy metal riff-makers. At a time when anyone playing more than three chords for more than three minutes could be accused of selling out, the title track to Television’s debut album in 1977 came like a bolt from the blue. This was punk rock elevated to a whole new level.

I first heard the track ‘Marquee Moon’ on the John Peel show while driving home late at night and had to pull over to give it my full attention. That solo guitar was like nothing I had heard before and the opening lyrics drew me into a world where poetry and rock’n’roll merged beautifully: “I remember how the darkness doubled, I recall lightning struck itself.”  

‘Marquee Moon’ is as pivotal a record as Patti Smith’s ‘Horses’ which came out two years earlier. Smith and Verlaine briefly dated and must have been the coolest couple in New York City.

Television’s debut is so perfect that it was perhaps inevitable that their second album and eponymously titled 1992 release fail to reach the same heights.

I would have liked to see Television live at their peak in a small sweaty club; – CBGB’s for example! As it was, I finally caught them in a half empty Birmingham Odeon in 1979 , a venue hardly suited to such a vogueish band.  

In the late 1980s, I saw Verlaine play a solo show at Bloomsbury Theatre, London looking so immaculately wasted that he seemed at death’s door even then. But his beaufifully chiselled featured and skinny physique have always held a special fascination for me. This was what a garret room poet ought to look like. I had no idea what his politics were or, indeed, much at all about his background, but that’s fine. He was a blank slate that I could built all my bohemian hopes and dreams upon.  

Now he has finally fallen into the arms of Venus de Milo, the world is a poorer place.

Tom Verlaine (December 13, 1949 – January 28, 2023)