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instead of arranging them chronologically
of “open water”
it’s as if I were going back many years to the icy and inhospitable winter of the Albanian dictatorship where I began my journey as a poet
There is vulnerability here as a son mourns for his father
voice-over and compendium of notes-to-the-self
In the Quaker Hotel by Helen Tookey David Borrot instead of arranging them chronologicallyIn the title poem, the speaker sits at the window of a small hotel room. The room is a holding zone, a temporary stopping place between memory and possibility. In the Quaker Hotel is full of questions about the world. Rooted in nature, the poems are fearful for it. They move out through identifiable landscapes (Merseyside, north Wales, Nova Scotia, southern France) to off kilter, tilted places beyond our immediate reality. We are temporary guests in
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