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Green Hauntings<\/em><\/strong> draws selections from four of Alan Morrison’s first six full volumes of poetry: The Mansion Gardens<\/em> (2006),\u00a0A Tapestry of Absent Sitters<\/em> (2009), Blaze a Vanishing and The Tall Skies<\/em> (2013), and Shadows Waltz Haltingly<\/em> (2015)\u2014published by Paula Brown Publishing, Waterloo Press, and Lapwing Publications, respectively. Although some long poems are included here, most are shorter to medium in length, providing a varied and comprehensive diversion from the epic book-length poems with which Morrison has latterly become most associated.<\/span><\/p>\n\nThe title Green Hauntings<\/strong><\/em> alludes to past poems of a younger self returning to \u2018haunt\u2019 the present, as well as to the ghostly quality\u00a0of much of the poet\u2019s earlier more (\u2018covert\u2019) pastoral, even gothic, poetry\u2014a recrudescent hauntedness which, partly prompted by the 2020-21 pandemic, has resurfaced in his most recent verse, hence the inclusion of some similarly-toned poems as supplemental complement.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/span><\/div>\n\u2018One of Alan Morrison\u2019s great strengths is his abilty to transmute social history into highly readable long form poems. \u2018Cheap soap and woodbline, chip shop and Brylcream\u2019, for example, is his pungent image, after Orwell, of volunteers arriving to fight in 30\u2019s Spain. Richly-drawn mini-portraits of poets, thinkers and social reformers are similarly rewarding, alongside compelling narratives of anxiety and want. <\/em>Green Hauntings<\/strong> is Morrison\u2019s most recent, and most thoroughgoing, contribution to the literature of progressive imagination and witness.\u2019\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n\u2014Anne Rouse<\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nThree poems from the book<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nA Hamper From Landrake<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n\n<\/p>\nIn the creel of a slate-skied Cornish winter\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nwe caught a scraping sound outside;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\na huge mass landing, heavy as the weight\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nmy father prayed would be lifted from\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nhis jobless shoulders scraped and bowed\u2014<\/span><\/div>\ncold wind shot through the hallway, lo!<\/span><\/div>\nwe beheld a hamper packed with tins\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n& vegetables\u2014no Christians,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\njust a scribbled note blown on the lino\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nsaying from the Parish<\/em>\u2014my father scowled:\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nnow he was obliged to let them Save him.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\nThe Haunted Ghosts<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nA face peered through the two-way window\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nOf our shadow-cottage, squinting in<\/span><\/div>\nWith sun-shade hand, it shook back as<\/span><\/div>\nThe dogs claw-scraped up to the ledge\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nBarking ferociously as Cerberus<\/span><\/div>\nAt the gates of Hades \u2014I, Orpheus<\/span><\/div>\nWith my shrinking father (Oeagrus)\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nQuickly stirred, blinking & startled at <\/span>
Being discovered in our rustic squat<\/span><\/div>\n(The limbo we Shades haunted)\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n\u2018I\u2019M SORRY\u2019<\/em> called the trespasser <\/span>
Through the starved glass, gingerly <\/span>
Retreating, \u2018I DIDN\u2019T THINK ANYONE <\/em><\/span>
LIVED HERE\u2019<\/em> \u2014& nor did we\u2026<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\nWhere Banshees Brought Me<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nGusts hurled blustery fists outside<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 & threw, with sweeps, the rain<\/span><\/div>\nThat lashed against the draughty glass<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0Of the sunken window-pane;<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\nI caught the squalling croon<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0Of a thousand drowning choirs;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nThe bawling caterwauled across<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0Plunging downs and dipping mires\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\nI heard them beckon me outside;<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0Their morbid song, lifting in pitch,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nLed me from a restive mood<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0To the turbid depths of a ditch;<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\nThe wails turned to watery gasps\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 Into the ditch I tripped and fell;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\nThe rain filled in the dug-up grave<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 & there\u2019s little else to tell\u2026<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nExcept that here I drowned with ease\u2014<\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0My thoughts, the bricks around this well.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nISBN\u00a0<\/strong>978-1-8384966-2-3
<\/b><\/span>Publisher: Caparison, 2022
<\/strong>Clothbound hardback with wraparound dust jacket
<\/b>Limited edition signed copies
<\/strong>322pp
<\/strong><\/span>\u00a315 (plus \u00a35.00 p&p)<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n