I suppose cliché might suggest the
invocation of terms such as “veteran” or “prolific” when approaching Sheenagh
Pugh’s new book, Afternoons Go Nowhere
(Seren Books, 2019) in the light of her nine previous collections and two
Selecteds, but that would do her poetry
a grave disservice. In fact, her recent work displays a freshness and curiosity
that reach far beyond the scope of many far younger poets.
First off, Pugh’s use of language is
well worth highlighting. Her sentence construction possesses a lucid fluidity
that’s outstanding, as in the first three stanzas of The View:
For as long as he could remember,
the view
from his window had led across a
street
to some house the mirror of his own,
and what he could hear through the
double-glazing
mainly traffic, heels clacking on asphalt,
late at night, a little drunken
happiness.
Now he looks out on a bay, cuts his
hedge
hard back, ruthless with the white
roses
that would come between him and the
ocean…
The layering of these lines is seemingly
effortless, as is the natural flow. Of course, the poet’s ear, craft and skill
all underpin their gorgeous clarity.
Moreover, the above-mentioned poem
reflects one of Pugh’s main thematic concerns: the relationship between people
and the natural world. At pivotal moments in her work, humans and nature rub
against each other, sometimes chafing, sometimes caressing, sometimes managing
to do both simultaneously.
Meanwhile, this same deft touch is
also apparent in the poems that deal with history. Pugh’s achievement lies in
the way she turns historical figures into individuals by homing in on specific
personal and emotional moments within a wider context, thus creating empathy
for them as people. The Glass King of France provides one such example in its
opening lines:
When he looks in the glass, he sees
himself: every organ, every vein.
His most inward thoughts shine
through his crystal skin; the
secrets
of his heart parade the streets…
Whether portraying a king or a neighbour,
Sheenagh Pugh is acutely aware of the transience of life. Afternoons Go Nowhere is an unflinching celebration of the human
condition, written in lucid language that reveals aching complexities. I very
much recommend it.
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