Sophia Wellbeloved

48 Trojan Herrings & Tripidium (2009)


The single voiced utterance, not unlike Ella Fitzgerald at her finest, deft and effortless. Metaphysical metaphor: the chanter of beads, recurring enlightenments filled by seeing. ‘I am making events my mother.’ Condensed darkness – turning over slowly and without comfort – and mighty display: ‘My worlds swing out from me like spider babies.’ This is the poem as snowflake but tinted, running with hues; perception as interactive force fields. Maybe memory, too. Tripidium has people with names (Sal and may, Paul and Ted) and stories but they’re all kept in a dark larder of jars. Whole orchards rather than solitary fruit.

I, too, have come across degenerate, violating Zeus’s (but kept my distance). ‘Soon they were whirling together bound by their own emanations.’ Ah, yes. Yet the clear, cool distillation is still there: ‘Watching her attempt to become the Martin Luther King of the laundry room, though giving out an atmosphere of an unpredictable Caligula was a wonder for me.’ I love the stream god and his toll system. ‘Only the children go toll-free.’ The short poems are like diving into soft pools and there’s nothing round about except sky and the close bushes and the cry of unseen birds. ‘Tripidium’ is a river journey with all the widening out and narrowing down that destiny brings.

Andrew Rawlinson, (from the Foreword), France, 2008

ISBN: ISBN 978-1-906742-01-0 Category:

Praise and Poems

There is seriousness and mysteriousness as she yearns to read “languages / I have no dictionary for.” Then there is her elusive and evocative side: “I call upon the most high and the most / high comes into being.”
John Robert Colombo

Sometimes the images are skimmed from the everyday; hats, motes of dust, grains of salt or sand, sometimes they rise the arcane, esoteric and disturbing. But either way the images in this poetry are neither random, nor explained but seem to be pressing themselves towards something interior in us.
Malcolm Guite

The poems have a sense of transcendence and of Fall, of the Fall within the language of flight.
John Stezaker, from the Foreword 

The single voiced utterance, not unlike Ella Fitzgerald at her finest, deft and effortless.
Andrew Rawlinson from the Introduction

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