Two Lagoons, Trevor Hayes, Seraph Press, 2017
‘I have invented
myself this morning.
I have not imagined.’
from ‘Ash Song’
Trevor Haye’s Two Lagoons offers various resonant pools to sink into—forgive the pun, I rather like the idea of a poem as lagoon—and then establishes myriad links between. There is a here to there shimmer; from the South Island’s West Coast to South America; from a lived world, physically detailed and sensually lifted, to abstract movements, imaginings, sidesteps. The poems – there are 12 – are like surprise pockets: luminous with fizzing alchemy, grace, agility and rich layerings. The placement of this next to that, of the 19 letters in the mailbox alongside the milkman’s history, of the ‘trickery of phrasal verbs’ next to ‘the benefits of good manners’ is akin to sparks on the line. It’s a delight to read and I look forward to the next book.
I pack my suitcase lightly.
I have a toothbrush and floss,
as even nowhere is better
with healthy gums. I have some
reading material: a guide
to the extinct flora and fauna
and a book that translates silence.
I intend to visit the empty museums
and the vacant parking lots.
I’ll be able to take photos of nothing
but the wind. It seems unlikely
I will meet anybody there, as recent
political developments and negative
coverage by news media have discouraged
the travelling public.
©Trevor Hayes from Two Lagoons