Alison Lock writes poetry, short fiction and creative non-fiction. Her work focuses on the relationship of humans and the environment, connecting an inner world with an exploration of land and sea, a love of nature, through poetry and prose.
Books by this author:
A Slither of Air (2011), Beyond Wings (2015), Indigo Dreams Publishing; Revealing the Odour of Earth (2017), Calder Valley Poetry; Lure (2020), Calder Valley Poetry.
Fiction: Maysun and the Wingfish (2016) Mothers Milk Books.
Short Stories: Above the Parapet (2013) Indigo Dreams Publishing, A Witness of Waxwings (2017) Cultured Llama Press.
She has an MA in Literature Studies.
Here, a woman writes for her life. The resulting book is transformative, a liminal journey into the bones of a seemingly familiar landscape with the power to kill or save. Lure is unafraid, the work of a remarkable poet.
Out of physical trauma, Alison Lock creates a gorgeous lyric evocation of a unique part of Yorkshire, and therefore the world.
Stilled water holds our secrets in silt,
a language of sand, leaf, root,
words lost below the surface.
Tales of those who walked
along the ponds and lakes
are in the voices that echo
from bank to bank: lives of creatures, times
of change, tints of season, incidents, accidents
– all steeped in the earthy sides,
muddy banks, the depths of the reach.
In our dreams, time sleeps.
With words, I state my being in the world,
and however softly uttered, even whispered,
they are caught on the breeze, slight feathers
to bed the nests, plumage to vane the flight,
to fletch the arrows, fly the fishing lure.
These fresh and vivid poems are written from a combination of an acute observer’s eye and a reflective, often spiritual insight. Although meanings may emerge and interpretations are sometimes floated, the poet always remains mindful of the ineffable primacy of encounter and experience.
Alison Lock’s poems are landscape made language. With close attention to form and sound, rhythm and rhyme, she thoughtfully observes and interprets her environment, both its terrain and the birds and beasts, trees and wildflowers that share it. This collection is a testimony to the poetic skills of a sensitive watcher of the world.
Watching the Flames at the Village Bonfire
At the waxing of the Hunter’s Moon we are firefly dancing until brazed. We will retreat, faint shadows rejoicing in the final cry.
At the passing of months, our souls to fortify, we light the pyre of memories bittersweet; at the waxing of the Hunter’s Moon we are firefly.
At our backs the chill of the hoar frost is close by, ready to strike the land in a flash, a beat, faint shadows rejoicing in the final cry.
The cinders are stars, constellations drift by the peel of the moon, a crescent of sleet; at the waxing of the Hunter’s Moon we are firefly.
A silver birch bears witness under a leafless sky, emboldened before the flaming fleet, faint shadows rejoicing in the final cry.
As we carry the light into the new day, the winter’s curse we will unseat. At the waxing of the Hunter’s Moon we are firefly, faint shadows rejoicing in the final cry.