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Ghostlight - New & Selected Poems /

Ghostlight - New & Selected Poems

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Mark Granier is a meditative observer, offering us moments of suffused, painterly stillness. In his work there is no undue clamour to be heard, no flashy flailing about in order to be noticed. This might seem to be diffidence, but I perceive it as integritas. He is resolutely detached, has wit, is visually acute, verbally precise, finely tuned and formally in control. Yet you can feel his keen mind at work.  ...
ISBN 978-1-910669-91-4
Pub Date Thursday, May 18, 2017
Cover Image Mark Granier
Page Count 134
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Mark Granier is a meditative observer, offering us moments of suffused, painterly stillness. In his work there is no undue clamour to be heard, no flashy flailing about in order to be noticed. This might seem to be diffidence, but I perceive it as integritas. He is resolutely detached, has wit, is visually acute, verbally precise, finely tuned and formally in control. Yet you can feel his keen mind at work. 
Liam Ó Muirthile 
from the introduction to Ghostlight: New & Selected Poems


…these poems really carve out a landscape before our eyes, from the city to the seashores of Dartland and off up into the hills. […] This is a real body of work, and not just any old random assembly of poems. I’m very glad to have read it. 
David Wheatley on Haunt


Haunt is a frequently beautiful, often moving, tender collection of poems.
Richard Hayes, Trumpet


The words are made to work hard on a Granier page, his command of the word, the line is beautifully controlled. Every poem in this new book is an artistic construct. And it seems effortless – the ‘stitching and unstitching’ never evident, the result never seems laboured.
Niall MacMonagle on Fade Street


As in his previous collection, Airborne, these poems demonstrate an unfailing capacity for surprise, wonder and delight at the various world we move about in… 
Seán Lysaght on The Sky Road

Vulture Bone Flute
— 38,000 BC

Fitting to see the oldest airs 
salvaged from a raptor — the air
of its wing — and there is music 

in our bodies, drums and strings,
wind instruments fulfilling themselves
so blood and sweat sings

to surfaces, half-blinding those eyes
lost in the swing of a scythe,
a notched sword, the haulage

of hominid arms through foliage —
music that runs like sap 
back to the root

of our species jogging on the spot
wired to an iPhone — chants, field hollers,
deafening wars, silences — the body

bearing the mind away 
with riffs, keys, tones, variations 
on what’s in us and what will come

to blow through our bones.



The Next Best Thing 

is the aroma-therapy candle in the bathroom at the end
of a car-burning estate,
the instinct to breathe in, suspend
judgement and keep the (above all lowercase) faith —

metaphysics of streetlights coming on
gradually, each flicker like an echoey cough,
pink at first as the rosy winter dawn
that will see them off —

finding we are each other’s 
strangers who stop in their tracks in the night 
to stoop and kneel and murmur 
to another: ‘It’s alright love, it’s alright’ —  



Copyright © Mark Granier 2017



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