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Imagined Sons
Imagined Sons
Imagined Sons
Ebook62 pages24 minutes

Imagined Sons

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The book consists of two sorts of poems. The numbered “Imagined Sons” poems are little scenes where the author/narrator imagines, over a period of years, just what might have become of the son she gave up for adoption at birth in 1986. She imagines all sorts of destinies for him from the mundane (supermarket clerk) to the lively (singer-songwriter). Sometimes the scenes are realistic and sometimes they are steeped in the surreal: “visions” that evoke nightmares or practical jokes. The other “Birthmother’s Catechisms” poems present the author/narrator’s emotions more nakedly, in chorus-like laments for what might be or might have been.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherSeren
Release dateFeb 1, 2014
ISBN9781781721544
Imagined Sons
Author

Carrie Etter

American expat Carrie Etter has lived in England since 2001 and published four collections of poetry: The Tethers (Seren, 2009), winner of the London New Poetry Prize, Divining for Starters (Shearsman, 2011), Imagined Sons (Seren, 2014), shortlisted for the Ted Hughes Award for New Work in Poetry by The Poetry Society and The Weather in Normal (Seren, 2018). She also edited Infinite Difference: Other Poetries by UK Women Poets (Shearsman, 2010) and Linda Lamus's A Crater the Size of Calcutta (Mulfran, 2015). She is Reader in Creative Writing at Bath Spa University and lives in Bath.

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    Book preview

    Imagined Sons - Carrie Etter

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    Imagined Sons 1: Fairy Tale

    My son leans from the tower; his red pompadour, stiff with Aqua Net, resists the quick wind. When he sings, the notes hasten to the forest a mile south before they descend. I clamber onto my restless horse; she starts before I am secure. Almost too soon we reach the wood.

    The notes are red. I pluck them like poppies.

    Imagined Sons 2: Delivery

    Pushing a trolley stacked with grocery crates, a delivery man follows me on the circuitous route to my flat. ‘I’m surprised you found it so easily,’ I say, ‘your first time.’

    ‘I’ve been here before,’ he replies.

    ‘So you know Bradford on Avon?’ I say, walking slowly up the

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