Deirdre Foster, Iron Press

Local enterprise Iron Press continue to publish some of the most interesting and exciting poetry around as evidenced by this slim collection from Deirdre Foster, an Australian who now lives in the south west of the UK. Here she gives us little snap shots of her life in work that is deceptively simple. Her poems have a frictionless air but these words carry real weight, whether she is describing something as prosaic as a visit from her daughter or when she has crossed paths with drug dealers: “These people have the looks, / The expression, an air of guilty uncertainty. / I want to reach out, catch the fleeting figures, / But doubt our worlds will ever collide.” (from Drugs Den). There is wistfulness at work here, but also wisdom accrued from a life of trying to make sense of the world: “In the dark gentle gathering / Of ladies who lunch / We all heard the woman / No-one made eye contact / “It was a perfect marriage. / It was always such fun!” / For most of us / Fun was the occasional bonus / And perfection / Not even in the vocabulary (from The Match).