V. Press is delighted to launch Bolt Down This Earth by Gram Joel Davies.
“Linguistically bold and alive to the thisness of its moments, Bolt Down This Earth is a debut collection of lyric energy and inventiveness, full-throated and confident in its own power to convince. An arrival to be celebrated.” Martin Malone
“Gram Joel Davies’s first collection slips deftly between a West Country past and the present. The poems are full of taut observation and meticulous attention to detail. And though there is an urban feel to many of them, the collection is brimful of nature. The poems are often peopled with the troubled or misunderstood, and the worlds they move in are shadowy and uncomfortable versions of those we know – almost dystopian at times. There is often a sense of the narrator or central character being the outsider (a boy almost drowning, two teenagers exploring a derelict hospital, a father too fond of his drink) and there is a disquieting and almost violent sensuality too. The complexity of the worlds these people move in is echoed by the complexity of the way Davies puts words together – sometimes joining two words together to create new words; weaving something rich and new that casts its melancholy spell over the reader, but never excludes them. In these poems the uncomfortable tinnitus of the past encroaches on the very real tinnitus of the present. This is compounded in the powerful Tinnitus sequence that is dotted throughout the collection − like a central column that the other poems hang on. The cumulative effect of the layering of numerous and various language is both troubling and stunning. These are poems whose subtle inventiveness works its way into your subconsciousness, poems that you will want to revisit time and again.” Julia Webb
A sample poem from the collection can be found below.
Buy Bolt Down This Earth now using the paypal link below.
Coming Up For Air
She makes him taste of tarragon,
olive oil, black pepper.
He does not rinse his beard.
He wants to wear it
into the warm street like a lit flume.
People gull around his wake,
scenting his beard
comb the line of hers.
A man with rolled sleeves
sniffs and wants to plunge
but, through a window, a cab driver
draws breath, tasting
how he waited on
In the foyer, a clerk’s hand
floats over keys,
kiss up her ribs, back down.
The lift fills with pepper
and tarragon. He parts the way,
his beard glowing like her olive
glow, he licks spiced lips