“Our age has grown unaccustomed to poetry inhabiting anything but past or present. Exiled largely to the now, the visionary poet must watch on as novelist and film-maker stride confidently, if not authoritatively, into our possible futures. This poetic wariness serves us ill, especially when someone like Kingsnorth arrives with snow on his shoulders and embers in his gut. There’s a plainness of speech here, a seriousness, a raw first-handedness in intent, that insists on the conclusion that this particular gazer had to grind his crystal ball himself.”
“I am blown away by Kidland. It is extraordinary.”
From the moors of northern England to the cities of Western Europe, the poplars of the Thames to the sands of the Nevada desert, the poems in Kidland rise from ancient landscapes to confront a society in denial about its relationship with nature, memory and destiny. On barrows and mountains, in yellow fields and green woods, Kidland offers up a radical, uncompromising vision of broken connections and darkening futures. Images, dreams and prophecies, human and inhuman, dominate the pages of Paul Kingsnorth's first poetry collection, finding their fullest expression in the narrative title poem, in which reason meets wildness among the dark pines of the north, and certainties are broken like empty promises.