Carole Barley is an artist and not just in “word-pictures,” but in oil, pastel, the full range of painting. Her poetry echoes her talent. This from the first poem in her volume of poems, After the Jukebox Dies, “On Garrowby Hill, in the Cold”
There are only a few variations of sage,
a couple of half-hearts siennas and slates.
And the last, “Wishes”
Watch cobalt midnight for signs of owls
How we might envy her sense of color, her use of hue and shade. But there is more to Carole’s poetry than a touch of her art. It is sensual, ripe with the byplay of lovers best illustrated by this stanza from “Cini-projections for Romantics”
She would call him to her bed, magick king fishers
from the blue of his intense eyes, teach him rhythms
only the enchanted and moonstruck know
Add a sense of place, not only her native England, but the many locales she has traveled to, such as “Corralejo”
The sun dies so beautifully here.
Sand dragons crumble
before being devoured.
After the Jukebox Dies is rich and well worth your attention. You may find this volume and her other collection, A Dream of Isis, at www.lulu.com/vienna.
You will be as pleased as if you were beside her on a Canary Island beach.
Reviewed by Gary Blankenship.