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Indelible, Miraculous

Indelible, Miraculous brings together a collection of Julia’s poetry and is published by Arc to commemorate the 10th anniversary of her death. It includes her two anthologies, early work and a section of un-published poems.

Julia’s two anthologies Sudden Collapses in Public Places and Apology for Absence form the backbone of the book. The collection also includes a selection of poems from her early work published in the Poetry Virgin’s anthologies Modern Goddess and Sauce, in addition to the title poem from her first pamphlet Small Beauties. The poems Julia wrote for postcards as part of the First Aid Kit for the Mind are all published here for the first time along with other unpublished poems, some of which she wrote in the months before she died.

The collection has been edited by Julia’s partner Bev Robinson and the introduction is by Jackie Kay. Jackie writes: ‘Here are poems that quietly make themselves known, poised, light on their feet, nimble, balancing the surreal with the real; but do not be fooled by their enviable lightness of touch. These are poems that work by stealth, poems that also know how to ‘wait beautifully’. They creep up on the reader with their charm, nudge you into thinking – isn’t that it exactly! They ask brave and deep questions about human beings and how people cope with trauma and stress.’

From the book

Read 'Indelible, Miraculous' →

Indelible, Miraculous

friend, think of your breath
on a cold pane of glass

you can write your name there
with an outstretched finger

or frosted, untouched grass
in the early morning, a place

where you can dance alone
leave your footprints there

a deep pool of silver water
waits for you to make waves

the beach is clean after the storm
the tide has washed away yesterday

we all matter, we are all
indelible, miraculous, here

Read 'The Radio in the Morning' →

The Radio in the Morning

Melvyn Bragg seems to know everything.
I lie under my red quilt and eat bananas.
I line up my pills. I examine the sky.
He is always digging up facts with his radio voice.
My bones feel ancient, quite prehistoric.
Will they be agreeable today? And will it rain?
Tell me that, Melvyn Bragg. Tell me something
of relevance to this shrunken life