About the poet
"Poetry now, every bit as much as in the Romantic age, is a utopian demonstration, by aesthetic...
Against a photograph of the two of them in their eighties
Into the bottom righthand corner of the frame
When he was dead and she was beginning her absence
She set a photograph of herself at eighteen
Black and white, she cut it out
From somewhere, she cut round
Herself so she was nowhere and alone
Laughing. Nobody commented
But there it is and see,
It says, how I looked when you fell in love with me
And I with you and didn’t we bear it out
To the edge and over the edge of doom?
Her montage in the dying living room.
from Nine Fathom Deep (Bloodaxe, 2009), © David Constantine 2009, used by permission of the author and the publisher
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