Launching Mingled Space

V. Press is very very pleased to announce the publication of Mingled Space by Margaret Adkins - WINNER OF THE INAUGURAL V. PRESS PRIZE FOR POETRY.

“These poems are controlled, beautiful and strange, always with a woman’s way of seeing; ‘a hungry vixen barked and waltzed/ with shadows’. Here is music and witchcraft and sometimes things moving backwards. Here is the marvellous musical relationship of one word to another, as Adkins’ gaze shines a light into dark corners, noticing the small, the left behind and the lovely.”
Deborah Alma

“These musical poems bristle with tenderness and beauty. Folklore and myth mysteriously evoked in the sumptuous sweep of language, domestic spaces inhabited by vivid characters leap out at you alive with a kind of gentle danger. Beneath this vivid tapestry of poems there is an echo of poignancy, threaded and pure, delivering a wonderful and haunting debut collection.”
Roz Goddard

“In Mingled Space, Margaret Adkins articulates the concerns of intimacy and how relationships are played out in set spaces, both interior and exterior, and the negotiations people make in those spaces. There is always a keen focus on the capacity to be creative in everyday places; Adkins gives attention to tender details others might miss.” V. Press Guest Editor Ruth Stacey

Mingled Space is very redolent and very melodic.

ISBN: 978-1-9998444-8-6

R.R.P. £6.50


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Mingled Space (including P&P/delivery options)

Mingled Space (including P&P for the U.K. only) £7.50 GBP Mingled Space (including P&P for Rest of the World) £12.99 GBP

The Dividing Line

Born and raised along the hypotenuse
of the estate, his house faced the track.

Mind you don’t go off with anyone, Sid
his mother used to shout. He didn’t.

They lived on the other side of the bridge
in houses with the television switched off

in the daytime. And where candled air
drifted when her leadlight-door opened

and shut after her mother said:
she isn’t playing out today.

*

Not until he was fifteen
did a vanilla-scented girl come knocking

with her bowl of salt.
And just like a bowl made of salt

bones in his head sunk clarets and corals
released on her tongue. He

didn’t understand when one day
she whispered: Sid, nothing stays the same.

*

He knew that it did. It does. The rails hum
where he stands – chalked and whet in oily-oranged puddles.

LAUNCH EVENT

Thursday, May 2, 2019 - The Hive , Worcester, 7pm

Event page here.