Fleur Adcock now 89 years old has eighteen collections of poetry behind her and her collected poems were published in 2019. Born in New Zealand she has lived in England during her later years. This selection of her poems was published in 1983 and so is missing all ten subsequent books of poetry. There are 146 poems crammed into 124 pages. I started reading the poems over three years ago and have read them all now, mostly in short bursts. I do think that you need to spend more time with a book of poetry than when reading a novel, but three years is perhaps a bit too long, especially when there are more than 150 poetry books in your TBR.

It was not the difficulty of reading the poems, nor was it a lack of enjoyment that kept me from finishing the selection. The book just kept getting buried under piles of other books. Fleur Adcock's poems will not cause much difficulty for most readers, but some are complex enough to make the reader unsure of an interpretation, a meaning or the tenor of the piece. I found the poems strong on description with frugal use of exotic imagery. Much of her later poetry is in free verse, but some of her earlier work does use rhyming schemes; she uses different stanza forms, choosing them to fit the subject of the poem. She is a poet very aware of the world around her, the natural world in particular, she is inspired by places that she visits and some of the poems are small travelogues: This is from her book [Below Loughrigg] the lake district in England.

Paths
I am the dotted lines on the map
Footpaths exist only when they are walked on.
I am gravel tracks through the woodland; I am
field paths, the muddy ledge by the stream,
the stepping stones. I am the grassy lane
open between waist-high bracken where sheep
fidget. I am the track to the top
Skirting and scaling rocks. I am the cairn

here on the brow of the world I stop,
set my stone face to the wind and turn
to each wide quarter. I am that I am.

She writes about human relationships her own love affairs and about sex. She is pithy about her partners and very aware of her self as a woman. In her poem Against Coupling which vaunts the joys of masterbation; she ends with:

I advise you, then to embrace it without
encumbrance. No need to set the scene,
dress up (or undress), make speeches.
Five minutes of solitude are
enough - in the bath, or to fill
that gap between the Sunday papers and lunch.

She writes about children, she writes about grandparents, she writes about other women, keenly observing people in isolation, her subjects are far and wide, but usually make reference to the natural world. She is skilled in the use of irony and it is this skill that sometimes makes the reader wonder as to how he should read some of the poems. She writes in the first person and much of the poetry makes the reader feel that he is there with her when she is describing what she sees and what she feels, however her strength is as an observer, she is not always concerned with 'the meaning of life'. She can be funny and she can be witty and most of her poems work well. I never felt out of my depth when reading, her poems have a point to them that can readily be understood.

My only criticism is that these 146 poems seem a little cramped in their 124 pages. I think many of the poems would benefit from a little more space around them. I will keep this book handily within reach for a while longer and dip back into its pleasures 4 stars. ( )