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Category: poetry

My Dark Places

Melancolia Durer

We’ve all got our dark places haven’t we? One of my current works in progress is aimed at publishing a new illustrated version of James Thomson’s The City of Dreadful Night, more of which below. While it will contain a brief biography of Thomson and some notes, the main part of my introduction will be a consideration of what draws us and artists and writers to the darkness, the darkness within and without.

I think by the time I was ten I’d read all of my older sister’s collection of Pan Horror Stories, and most of her Dennis Wheatley books. By the age of eleven I think I’d read her Encyclopaedia of Witchcraft and Demonology more than once.

Satan in Milton’s Paradise Lost still greatly appeals to me – certainly much more than the pale and ghostly God who banished him. I wouldn’t say Satan was a role model but I loved his way with words: “Evil, be thou my Good!”, “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heav’n” and his philosophising:

Farewel happy Fields 
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail  
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings 
A mind not to be chang’d by Place or Time. 
The mind is its own place, and in it self 
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n. 

Yes, I was a strange child. Older, in bedsitter land with Leonard Cohen, reading James Ellroy’s My Dark Places, I also took to frequenting an ancient graveyard alone. At night. Especially when it was misty…..

The City of Dreadful Night

James Thomson’s poem (not to be confused with a Rudyard Kipling work with the same title) is bleak indeed. Thomson himself had a bleak life. Intelligent, sensitive and forsaken, a depressive and alcoholic who died an agonising death. Parallels with Poe are clear (though there are not as far as I know any literary connections). You can delight in the poem online – it’s in the public domain. I’ll be publishing it as I said with the main part of the introduction being directed less to the poem itself than to the ‘culture of melancholy’ from the Romantic period onwards, with attention to such jolly folk as Baudelaire and to the urban spiritual dystopia of Eliot’s Wasteland

The book will be illustrated with images, some from artists, some from my own photographs taken in the city of Glasgow.

Here’s a little from near the start of Thomson’s poem to put you in the mood:

Surely I write not for the hopeful young,                  

Or those who deem their happiness of worth,

  Or such as pasture and grow fat among

    The shows of life and feel nor doubt nor dearth,

  Or pious spirits with a God above them

  To sanctify and glorify and love them,                     

    Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth.

  For none of these I write, and none of these

    Could read the writing if they deigned to try;

  So may they flourish in their due degrees,

    On our sweet earth and in their unplaced sky.            

  If any cares for the weak words here written,

  It must be some one desolate, Fate-smitten,

    Whose faith and hopes are dead, and who would die.

  Yes, here and there some weary wanderer

    In that same city of tremendous night,                   

  Will understand the speech and feel a stir

    Of fellowship in all-disastrous fight;

  “I suffer mute and lonely, yet another

  Uplifts his voice to let me know a brother

    Travels the same wild paths though out of sight.”        

  O sad Fraternity, do I unfold

    Your dolorous mysteries shrouded from of yore?

  Nay, be assured; no secret can be told

    To any who divined it not before:                        

  None uninitiate by many a presage

  Will comprehend the language of the message,

    Although proclaimed aloud for evermore.

Adam Laws Shows the Value of Indie-Published Poetry

Adam Laws shows the value of indie-published poetry in Morgue, a wonderful collection of beautifully crafted poems.

A slight shyness on the book’s ‘blurb’ seems to downplay the ‘morbid representation of life’ in the poems. Well, any representation of life that isn’t morbid is going to be pale and thin. Life is morbid. The pale and thin narratives we use individually and as cultures to provide delusional comforts, security and ‘meaning’ are evaporated when we explore the depths (even when our depth exploration is, as one poem reminds us, itself pretty thin).
This collection shows us what self-publishing does best. Poetry never did gain a wide readership, especially contemporary poetry. For Adam, like almost all poets, it will be the very narrow sector of reviews that may inspire someone else to read. Twenty serious readers of poetry who claim that a poet is worth reading may circulate and increase exposure. So this reviewer says, Adam Laws is a serious poet with the required combination of feeling and craft.
I’ve ‘read’ all of the poems several times. I say ‘read’ because I like to read (without inverted commas) one poem at a time, maybe half an hour of reading ‘poetically’. The anthology here has to join my (many) poets to whom I return time and again.


The poems are short, often involving a momentarily glimpsed ‘real’ image such as a high-rise, the interior of a living room, a balloon deflating. They blur what the ‘real’ world takes a fixed, sharp-contoured relationships and forms. I/You/We/They; surface and depth; simplicity and complexity; coherence and fragmentation; darkness and light; shadow (-play) and bodies; livng bodies and corpses; desire and mind. And verb and noun: one formal trope Laws uses to dissolve the ‘thinginess’ of things is to use a noun as a verb: ‘An ill observe’.
The poet’s ‘darkness’ is interlaced with stock situations (including affairs of the heart) and stock, quotidian phrases. A fine sense of bathos deflates the portentous digging in the depths. Laws is confident and accomplished with regard to his craft. Cadence resonates with imagery. A few examples of the latter: ‘desire becoming derelict’; ‘buried blunders’; ‘hoarse and haggard boaters’ (on the) ‘brain canal’…’greet in grim salute’; ‘some/empty department of death’.

I’ve many more thoughts about ‘Morgue’ (including some possible minor criticisms) but overall, this is by far the most nourishing contribution to the quality of life you could hope to come across for the price of a cup of coffee