Inroads

By Carolyn Jess-Cooke

Intelligent and humorous, this debut collection showcases multi-faceted and often paradoxical poetry from a talented female writer. Touching upon various topicsfrom the versatility of language and modern cable TV shows to the difficulties of childhood and the power of maternal lovethis compilation brilliantly utilizes satire and metaphor to evoke both laughter and heartbreak. Fans of poetry and women writers will enjoy discovering this striking new voice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seren
• Release date: Feb 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781854116154

Carolyn Jess-Cooke

Carolyn Jess-Cooke is an award-winning poet, academic, editor and novelist published in 23 languages. She is a Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Glasgow, and founder of the Stay-at-Home Literary Festival.

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Seren is the book imprint of

Poetry Wales Press Ltd.

57 Nolton Street, Bridgend, Wales, CF31 3AE

www.serenbooks.com

The right of Carolyn Jess-Cooke to be identified asthe author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

© Carolyn Jess-Cooke 2010

ISBN: 978-1-85411-615-4 (EPUB edition)

A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted at any time or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright holder.

The publisher acknowledges the financial assistance of the Welsh Books Council.

Cover art: ‘A Ten-Penny Prophet’ by Jamie Baldridge.

Ebook conversion by Caleb Woodbridge.

Author’s website/blog: www.therisktakersguide.com

To my children

and in memory of my stepbrother

Lance Corporal Nigel David Moffett

killed in action

in Afghanistan, 30th May 2009

Carolyn Jess-Cooke

Inroads

A world with a hundred kinds of home will accommodate

a thousand kinds of homesickness. 

– Pico Iyer, The Global Soul

Accent

Stowaway inflections and locally-produced slang

have passports of their own, a visa for the twang

      that tells me you’re not Xhosa

but a Geordie raised in Grahamstown, maybe. It’s a blitz

of souvenirs on the ears, the way you bring your bliss

      of home that much closer.

Home? Or everywhere? Like combing coral

or sand and snow globes, or a wave-shaped petal

      from Sydney’s Manly Cove

my voice fossils places. The way sound chases

itself in tunnels and halls, the way senses

      fold memory into five

is an accent’s suitcase aesthetic. Listen.

There’s an address, a postcard in the tone,

      the foreign rhythm

and that emphasis, that accent on the off-beat

which echoes longing clearly; the picked-up place-music speaks

      where you ache to be, with whom.

Open-Mic Night at the Memory Karaoke

Memories restage the past in nostalgia’s spotlight.

The mind’s golden hits

are fished out of the karaoke box

and dribbled back into the mic,

but with a difference. Contestants stagger

to counterpoint under the influence.

Our first flat gets up. I cringe at the damp-

stains, the broken fire, expect it to sing

controversial recreations

of my dirty laundry. Instead it rings

out bad times without their sting: no loo

for three whole weeks (the crowd finds this funny);

an argument’s subtexts in the key of

triviality; slap-stick orchestrations

of an ant-hunt with deodorant.

Next, a Russian doll from Berlin sheds skins

like a girl thinning into silence

until she is lost in mistranslation.

My first car revs speed convictions under

a blare of