The Time We Turned

Martyn Crucefix's new poems vividly evoke the landscapes of northern England and - in a sequence of sonnets inspired by the writing of Rosalia de Castro - the north west of Spain. But more than place, they explore the ways in which we inhabit time - how we are harmed and healed by it, how we deny, ignore, sublimate, repeat or reprise it. I'd want to say it was past seven o'clock or perhaps by then even seven-fifteen - I'm sure of it now - a quarter past the hour was the time we turned and part of what it meant ('The map house')