Próximamente

À l'hopital, Yan se trompe d'époque, de lieu, voit des choses qui n'existent pas. Dans ses propos décousus auxquels personne ne prête attention, un détail interpelle Gaëlle : un signe, que la vieille femme affirme avoir reçu après 55 ans, 6 mois et 17 jours d'attente. De quoi parle-t-elle ? D'où vient ce décompte si précis ? Gaëlle tente de résoudre le mystère.

In the poet's home county of West Yorkshire a few years ago, the Local Authority began converting a series of cow fields at the top of the road into a new cemetery. These poems, in regular, cascading tercets, sparked into being as Simon daily walked the site, with moorlands rising beyond it and the wind turbines of Brontë country to the north, watching the land tamed: eventually the muddy construction scene gives way to fresh headstones and mown lawns, and, during the Covid-19 lockdown, the spectacle of grave-diggers in Hazmat suits and socially distanced funeral services.

The Floodmeadow draws us into a seething pastoral where lightning threatens and thunder gathers, pylons and powerlines hum, and steel-framed gates sing out into the wind. In these incantatory pieces, everything is present at once. This is a visionary collection that invokes other times, dimensions and soundscapes to tell out some word of beauty and abundance in the here and now.

Reid was born in Hong Kong and, thanks to the roving nature of his father's employment, spent some of his childhood in foreign places. Most of the locations in this book, however, are the Britain of the 1950s and '60s - perhaps, at this distance in time, no less exotic. As the poems move from pre-verbal experience to adolescence, the younger self is captured in scenes that illuminate the steps by which a man - a poet - has been raised.