Goyle, Chert, Mire by Jean Sprackland (Jonathan Cape, £13)
Jean Sprackland’s sixth poetry collection features 45 unrhymed sonnets that intertwine into three captivating sequences. Set against the backdrop of the Blackdown Hills, a secluded area situated between Somerset and Devon, the poems delve into the tension between artistic expression and the essence of the landscape. The natural setting serves not merely as a scenery but as an integral part of the language itself: “a drop swells on the lip of a leaf and falls / like a word being said.” By eschewing the use of the first-person perspective, Sprackland invites readers to engage with the environment on a personal level. The experience is not filtered through a narrator’s thoughts but is presented through elements like “mossy silence,” “the rumble of the combine harvester,” and “the noise / of meltwater hurtling over stones,” or even “the shattered pieces of yourself.” The poems, marked by an unnamed ailment, reflect wounds without overtly displaying suffering; this subtlety allows for a heightened awareness of details such as “pilgrim gnats attending the water” and the mire’s “long translation from gley to peat.” Sprackland’s skill in shifting focus—from the minute details of insects to expansive geological time—demonstrates how consciousness navigates different scales. In contrast to many nature poems that tend to embellish or sentimentalize, this collection acknowledges the limitations of human influence, recognizing that “language itself is prone to collapse.” Yet within that collapse, meaning can still emerge; the work follows the “spiky logic” of nature as, for instance, “the sparrow enters / and follows” the “sprawling holly.” The steadfast sonnet form exemplifies a brave and structured response to illness and disintegration, instilling a sense of order where language might falter. This is a remarkably profound and lasting collection.
The House of Broken Things by Kim Moore (Corsair, £14.99)
In her latest collection, Kim Moore constructs a thoughtful framework to examine themes of intergenerational trauma and motherhood. At its most impactful, her signature confessional style shines through, as seen in works like “The Black Notices,” which lists unidentified murdered women, and “Giving Birth With Anne Sexton,” where literary lineage intersects with corporeal dread. However, at times, this dedication to honesty can lead to poems that feel like instructional pieces; for instance, “Damaged Cento” outlines the “eight stages” of domestic homicide, while “The Trimesters” chronicles the tumult of pregnancy. While the poems exploring motherhood are rich in emotion, they risk predictability as they navigate familiar subjects such as breastfeeding, bedtime rituals, and the fear of losing a child (“I imagine someone taking her away, / or a car ploughing into the pram”). It is a technical challenge to present these themes in a fresh light. Moore portrays the “I” as a site of raw, shared vulnerability, favoring emotional transparency over innovative lyricism.
The Tree Is Missing by Shannon Kuta Kelly (Faber, £12.99)
Shannon Kuta Kelly’s debut collection grapples with themes of geography and intimacy, marked by a sense of uncertainty. The poems navigate between Polish border towns and shifting seasons, emphasizing feelings of disconnection and dissociation as they linger around spaces described as “the place that is nowhere” (train stations, mirrors, missing trees). This minimalist approach, characterized by unrhymed couplets and end-stopped lines, creates an atmosphere of stillness: “Time always goes and everyone is waiting.” While this restraint may verge on prose-like, it is offset by vivid details such as “a mummified frog” and “the smell of frying lardons.” These atmospheric snapshots maintain a sense of detachment, keeping the reader at a distance rather than fully engaging with the haunting elements.
Dog Star by Michael Symmons Roberts (Cape, £13)
The theme of existential struggle between body and soul is a hallmark of Michael Symmons Roberts’ work, and in his ninth collection, this tension gains renewed energy through themes of grief and species extinction. He articulates, “But these words contain their negation. / For every goldfinch put into a poem, / one will vanish from the world outside.” The collection highlights humanity’s destructive tendencies, pulsating with a “wild voltage” as it illustrates the collision between natural and urban environments, resulting in “a brief coalescence of matter.” A perceptive observer of nature, Symmons Roberts adeptly draws parallels between unexpected phenomena: “Only the mountain hare has guile and sorcery / to stand tall like a heron in a river.” While some pieces might benefit from more concise crafting, “Dog Star” showcases the poet’s “ungovernable electricity,” revealing the force of “a primeval singer with a modern / repertoire” as he confidently expands his poetic range.
Horses by Jake Skeets (Akoya, £14.99)
In “Horses,” Jake Skeets reflects on the tragic loss of 191 wild horses during a severe drought in the Navajo Nation in 2018, channeling the voices of these haunted animals amid rapidly shifting “mineral strata.” The imagery evokes a desert landscape permeated by ghostly thunder, reminiscent of Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” but Skeets’ lines possess a unique breath, juxtaposing indigenous cosmology with the realities of consumer modernity. “We become lightning sometimes and there / only then become song, carry our ache, its kick pull haul hull”: each syllable conveys a separate exhalation and loss. The collection’s most poignant grief is captured in lines that confront discomfort: “there is microplastic in my name / there is a drought in his,” yet it transitions into moments of wonder: “there is a meteorite in my hand / a sparrow in yours.”
Kit Fan’s latest poetry compilation is titled The Ink Cloud Reader. His second novel, Goodbye Chinatown, is set to be released in June.
