In print

Smudge

Dominic James

Littoral Press, Feb 2022 
ISBN 978-1-912412-37-2

£8.50 

Distribution falls to the poet. 
Contact Dom: Djamesdom7@gmail.com 
£10 incl p&pp, Paypal. 

SMUDGE Reviews 

Pulsar Poetry Aug 2022 

the High Window June 2022 

Write Out Loud April 2022

The London Grip Feb 2022

Each poem atmospheric, I can see why so many have appeared in magazines: much to savour here. In particular the 5 page poem, From La Fontaine’s Fables, Illustrated by Chagall.  Wherein James cleverly quotes Shakespeare, this pair sharing their pleasure in language. While the first 3 stanzas of Sigurd and the Nuthatch – from the disquieting myth of Fafnismal is a lesson in how one can write of birds.

Sam Smith, The Journal #66 

Dominic James... has much to say and the linguistic tact to express himself in ways that delight and stimulate. From the outset one is impressed by the clear-eyed focus of his images and his unfailing instinct for the sounds and rhythms of language. However, beyond his ability to set the scene in a few burnished details, there is a depth and plenitude here as he explores transience and, in a poem such as the magnificent  'Port of Call',  his own mortality.

David Cooke, Editor, The High Window

 


Pilgrim Station   Available direct from SPM Publications or contact me.

Reviews (online):
Write Out Loud April 2017 
The Lake April 2017
The High Window: Dec, 2017

Interview with Rosie Johnston in Sentinel Literary Quarterly, April - June 2017. Order here or read Online.

A poem on shoes, to theme in the first issue of the Northampton Poetry Review, July 2017.



Pamphlet
July 2015 and lucky to find now!

MC at Stroud out Loud in the Subscription Rooms at the end of June, where Kai tapped a two and half inch nail into his nose, JJ brought us up to speed on Gregorian Chants and Fiona lulled us with the Cherokee tale of First Man, First Woman, the first row and conclusion. Jim, Tim, Jeff and Kevan, among others, contributed to a good evening's entertainment and Chantelle sang beautifully to finish.  This summer, as Bard of Hawkwood, I get a tent and a sound system, to mount an hour's bardic show at the Seed Festival, The fur will fly.  

Meanwhile, this little wonder goes in to print. A local effort, cover by Stroud Letterpress, containing a dozen pages of poetry from the May Day bards, and one Anon. All prophets go to Hawkwood, but no monetary profits here, getting it off the ground has been a study.  Should be out next week, £1, cheap.



On RS Thomas, Collected Poems

Half way through the collection
and it is ample, ample,
almost excessive really R.S.
is more than generous
in handing out life’s coin
and still to learn he’d more to say
and better when younger
I see he has met God in the
grounds of the mind,
in the mind’s eye. Speaking
                              professionally,
Thomas knew Him and no doubt
the cup of love passed back
and forth between those two
and they have had their share
of moods, which is, of course,
the common thing but, if God
is also then isn’t everyone
a Welshman? And if there is
a machine, so to speak,
God is in that too.
Published in The Cannon's Mouth #54, December 2014.


Me, eh?
Many goats throng among the olive trees,
long-healed, branch sockets bled on milky eyes
inquisitive, every muzzle, kinked, belies
a native hungriness, well garlanded with leaves
upbrushed – clustering pale fruit soon seasoned,
rushed to winter tubs, sweetened in warm brine.
Cicadas buzz and rub Spain’s vacant skies,
save lightning stalks the bay’s unquiet seas.
My gaze stays mainly on one goat tonight
since - smoke and mirrors – darkness transfigures
spider geckos, pebble toads, and triggers
our kinships face to face. In this case, sight
of me, close up, browsing softly as I light,
in stark relief, the last of our cigars.
Salzburg Poetry Review #36, Winter 2020

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