INDIGO DREAMS PUBLISHING LTD

 

Deborah Harvey is co-director of The Leaping Word poetry consultancy.

 

Her poems have been widely published in journals and anthologies, broadcast on Radio 4’s Poetry Please, and awarded several major prizes, most recently the 2018 Plough Prize Short Poem Competition.

 

'The Shadow Factory' is her fourth poetry collection, following 'Breadcrumbs' (2016), 'Map Reading for Beginners' (2014), and 'Communio'n (2011), all published by Indigo Dreams.

 

Her historical novel, 'Dart', appeared under their Tamar Books imprint in 2013.

 

Poetry

 

138 x 216mm

 

68 pages

 

£9.99 + P&P UK

 

ISBN 978-1-912876-20-4

 

PUB: 29/11/2019

 

 

ORDER HERE

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Shadow Factory

 

Deborah Harvey

 

 

Praise for Oystercatchers:

 

'Every word is weighted. Although nothing

is explicit, something important is being enacted, and the epigraph by Camus adds an anchor, so that we guess his are the words being taken to the sea and released from the heart. I kept coming back to this and getting more from it.’  

Pascale Petit

 

‘Deborah Harvey’s … poems are raw

and true. She is the real thing.’

Hugo Williams

 

 

 

 

The Good Dogs of Chernobyl

 

‘Don’t kill our Zhulka. She’s a good dog.’

 

So they stayed where they were told,

they never lost their faith

not even when the buses left

and the fallen star hissed flame and cracked

the air was thick with ash, the rain burned black,

and no one told them what they were

no one stroked their crackling fur

or scratched their ears.

 

Now they come through underbrush

on paths of wormwood, cinder, dust,

their paw prints brand the bitter earth

and none of them will sit or stay,

these dogs that know no human touch

that do not answer to a name.

 

 

The Shadow Factory

 

Was it nightfall or the sun eloping with a cloud?

No one knew for sure but whatever the cause

the shadow factory vanished.

 

Workers peered vainly at rollsigns on buses

traipsed to the gates where they’d seen it last;

on encountering rubble and broken glass

shrugged their shoulders, sighed,

applied for redeployment.

 

Perhaps it retired to a sunlit meadow,

sat itself down by a puttering stream

far from the whine of lathes, the scream of Harrier jump jets

 

perfecting hand shapes from watching wild rabbits,

learning how bats navigate by sound shadow

on moonless nights.

 

 

Oystercatchers

 

‘Aujourd’hui, maman est morte’

                          ‘L’étranger’, Albert Camus        

 

 

One day

the day she’s been waiting for will come

 

and she’ll take these words with her to the sea

unzip her coat, pull open her ribcage

 

let them fly as purposely

as oystercatchers

 

pulling the strings of the sky

and tide

 

lifting the weight from each blood cell

giving her permission      

 

 

 

Cover photograph of Herons Green Bay ©Deborah Harvey

 

9781912876204 Dartmoor Deborah Harvey amend