In her second, spine-cracking collection, Jane Arthur wants ‘ to get morbid' . Moving with ease between the cerebral and the ethereal she measures her anxieties against a cosmic canvas – taking in everything from meteorites and distant planets to pomanders and cat' s ears. Whether contemplating time, regret, or the end of the world, these poems don' t flinch. But in writing against hope, Arthur also writes against hopelessness, and finds, at the heart of it all, a bear, sleeping soundly – or perhaps dead.
