Kate Wakeling – The Rainbow Faults
Everything comes together in Kate Wakeling poems. Idea, sound and a kind of crispness of vision. By crispness I mean partly detail and partly that every line drawn is just so, and fits into its space perfectly. You don’t realise till you read it that most of what you read elsewhere is a bit soft or blurry, perhaps because it can’t be bothered to quite the same extent. It’s as though you went out for a walk on a particularly clear day. The kind of very rare day when you can see for miles and miles and the detail seems to go all the way back into the distance. The perfect kind of day to go for a walk.
These poems are a joy: wonderrooms of miniature skeletons, relics, bronze bells and controlled explosions. Curated, I think, by someone who moonlights as a maenad. In step with the delirium, though, is cool-headed control – Kate Wakeling can make a line sing, and sustain the trick, so that a live current runs through the poems – they’re nervy spells, lightning conductors, pure mischief. In other words, excellent sorcery.