Andrew Jamison

Exhibiting from 21^st October – 31^st October 2010

at Déda Café, Chapel Street, Derby DE1 3GU and

at QUAD, Market Place, Cathedral Quarter, Derby DE1 3AS

Performances:

22nd October at Déda, Chapel Street, Derby DE1 3GU

23rd October at The Studio, Derby Theatre, Theatre Walk, Eagle Centre, Derby DE1 2NF

Although influenced by Seamus Heaney, Derek Mahon, Louis MacNeice, Andrew cites the one major influence on his poetry being the place where he grew up: Northern Ireland. Not only do places like Belfast feature in his poetry (see: ‘The Bus to Belfast’ and ‘Listening to Ash’) but some of the poems are inspired by turns of phrase and the vernacular that has surrounded the poet all his life. This is particularly seen in the poem ‘Thinking about the Point of Things on a Spring Evening on the Killyleagh Road’ influenced by, or perhaps, under the influence of, something of a fascination for light and the seasons in our urbanised and urbanising world. ‘Death’s Door’ is a translation of a poem by the Spanish poet Jorge Guillen, highlighting Andrew's interest in European.

The Bus to Belfast

An unstubbed cigarette butt, I can picture it now,
will be smouldering at the door of Toal’s.
Between the Mace and the Carman’s Inn opposite
the chapel I’ll lean on the lamppost bus stop.
The Ulsterbus will slink down the hill
into Crossgar on the first Thursday after Christmas.
The hydraulic door will huff open. I’ll step in.

The tenner I tender will elicit an epic tut
from the part-time bodybuilder driver;
raising the plucked eyebrows on his sunbed seared mug.
There’ll be a hair gel smudge on the window by my seat.
The pane’s black rubber seal will be nicked to bits
by a compass. The backs of seats will be plastered
in permanent pen signatures, initialled hearts,

and patches singed by cigarette lighters  
and chewing gum and misspelt taunts in Tippex.
December sky will dazzle Carryduff. A flash of sun
will flare first then flicker for a while through my eyes
as we hurtle past Pizza Hut, Winemark then the Spar.
We’ll shuffle by Forestside. Nothing will have changed.
That house over the graveyard will still be up for sale.