My first novel, Dancing Priest, begins at the University of Edinburgh with a conversation between a theology student, Michael Kent, and his roommate and best friend, Tommy McFarland. Michael will earn his theology degree and move to San Francisco. More adventures await in the next four books in the series. But if I was writing that novel today, I’d have to do something different – the University of Edinburgh, after 440 years,is dropping its divinity program.
If you wander around Poet’s Corner in London’s Westminster Abbey, you’ll find an amazing array of tombs and memorial stones – Charles dickens, Geoffrey Chaucer, the World War I poets, Samuel Johnson, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Rudyard Kipling, Lewis Carroll, C.S. Lewis, W.H. Auden, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Robert Browning, and so many more. And now joining them with a memorial plaque will be J.R.R. Tolkien.
I’m a sucker for a good love poem. Apparently, I’m not the only one. Poetry about the subject of love is as old as poetry itself. Some of the most famous poems in literature are about love.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” Shakespeare’s “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Lord Byron’s “She walks in beauty.” “Endymion” by John Keats. Robert Burns’ red, red rose. William Butler Yeats’ “When You Are Old.” Virtually every poet has written about love. And it’s no wonder. Love may be the emotion, the feeling, the condition, and the presence we experience across languages, culture, histories, and geographies.
As poet James Tweedie demonstrates in his new collection, Love: Found, Yearned For, and Lost, love is a big topic, not only covering a range of conditions and realities but also poetic forms.
You don’t understand the title of the chapbook To Sing You. and to Shout until you finish reading all its 17 poems. Poet Jessica Covil-Manset packs powerful emotion, reflections on a family, and eventual resolution into those few poems in a way that leaves you impressed with the impact and reflecting on your own family dynamics. Much of the focus is on the mother of the family, the one who leaves length voicemails, sings out of tune (and knows it), whose messages are sometimes, but not always spiteful, the one who is “my heartache / My biggest fan.” It’s not a flattering portrait, but it is also not entirely critical.