Julith Jedamus writes with an intensity that is at once passionate and precise. The poems in The Swerve create unforgettable landscapes: the whorls and spires of juniper in falling snow, Dutch skies of iridescent grey and lilac, the fire-scorched mountains of the American West. They are peopled by dancers and prisoners, sacrificial children and murderous wives; they reshape the imagination. We see the Netherlands in Van Gogh';s colours as he walks and works, breathing the twilight, and the Thames in Whistler';s; Lorca and Euripides are living presences. The timeless dramas of sacrifice and mourning, rescue and betrayal are re-enacted, meanings dissolved and remade. Long-vanished children walk home through the dark, 'ghosting a path of sparks';. Like the scull she rows on the Thames, Julith Jedamus';s poems skim 'the fine line / between flying and drowning';, 'unstable as air';, dangerous, alive.
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