Lost And Found Av Robert Powell

<p><b>Fourth collection from the York-based poet.</b><br>Robert Powell’s fourth collection is full of wide-ranging surprise in tone, colour, and subject – from times gone by to the times we’re in, from England and Finland to the troubled Irish Border, from deeply personal recollection of children and childhood to a vision of death stalking arrogant political power. These poems mark him out as one of the finest and most consistent poets working today.<br><br>‘In Robert Powell’s <i>Lost and Found</i>, the world is often dreamlike and the ordinary consistently made strange, reflecting the often surreal events of contemporary living in a world saturated with technology. Meanwhile the past continually invades the present, in poems that are always arresting, full of simultaneously precise and surprising images. There is a beautiful music to Powell’s writing, each poem a “bright song sung.”’<br><b>– Hannah Lowe, author of </b><i><b>The Kids</b></i><b> and </b><i><b>Chan</b></i><br><br>‘In this latest collection Robert Powell is breaking new ground… Each poem becomes an unrepeatable event which, maybe paradoxically, echoes in the mind like a stone chucked into a deep well. Enjoy these poems and inhabit them, as Powell does.’<br><b>– Ian McMillan, host of BBC Radio 3’s </b><i><b>The Verb</b></i><br><br>Then the President asked: <i>Why won''t anyone </i><i>talk to me about Death?</i><br>There was a long silence. <i>I will,</i> I said stepping forward.<br>The gilded room drained of lackeys, bodyguards, hacks. <br>Then we sat alone and he leaned close, eyes wide,<br>like a child listening to a bedtime story.<br><br>When we last saw him silhouetted on the dawn sky,<br>the President was a seething pillar black with flies<br>from capital to base; and the bitter air all over our land<br>tasted something like hope<br>something like expiation<br>something like grief.</p>