Bronte Country
I swear I saw Branwell, young again,
in a pub in Haworth through the karaoke crowd.
I remembered Doris Leadbetter's story of the village drunk
who sat in the corner "an' Branwell were the village drunk before me
an' this were 'is chair." This dark-curled American tourist, all Pre-Raphaelite
and solitary with his bitter, not playing the pokies and definitely not
looking at the historical prints of railway scenes as monochrome as the skyline,
TV antennae and all, on a day no brighter than the parsonage,
sat, still as the couch on which Emily died but better preserved,
his eyes the colour of the tumbling gravestones up on the hill
or the shadows that hide, waiting for the sunlight
when they will skid like fictitious siblings,
a source of visible delight
but unnecessary.
Poems from 'The Unspeak Poems and other verses
Pentecostal Chillout
Advice to an Emerging Poet
Clancy of the Cultural Studies Department
Other poems by Tim Thorne
Jonathan Burke McHugo Comes to Town
Tourism
Alabama
When in California
Normality
Reviews of Tim Thorne's poetry
Taking Queen Victoria to Inveresk (1997)
Best Bitter (2003)
I Con (2009)
An interview with Tim Thorne
A conversation with Tim Thorne (2007)
Book launch by Tim Thorne
TULLY, John: Robbed of Every Blessing
Reviews by Tim Thorne
ALVAREZ, Ivy (edited): A Slice of Cherry Pie
ALVAREZ, Ivy (edited): We Don't Stop Here
BENNETT, Stefanie: Symphony for Heart and Stone
KNIGHT, Karen, MATHISON, Robyn, KNIGHT, Norma, REEVES, Lyn, WINFIELD, Liz: Republican Dreaming
LOMER, Kathryn. Extraction of Arrows
LUCAS, John. The Long and the Short of it
MANSELL, Chris: Mortification & Lies
MINTER, Peter: Blue Grass
RIETH, Homer: The Dinng Car Scene
SIMPSON, Matt: In Deep
WEARNE, Alan: Kicking in Danger