The website of writer and poet Daniel Bennett
My review of Jenny Mitchell's debut collection, Her Lost Language, has been published by The High Window. 'In the age of social media, we’re accustomed to communicating when, perhaps, we don’t have much to say. Everyone does it; it’s the currency of our time. Probably, this has influenced the way we think of poetry, where … Continue reading Her Lost Language by Jenny Mitchell
My review of Nichola Deane's poetry collection, Cuckoo, is online at London Grip. 'The main thing you notice about Cuckoo, Nichola Deane’s debut collection from V Press, is the names. The work teems with characters, from poets (Auden, Lorca, Ahkmatova, Edward Thomas), to artists (Klee, Cornell, Hockney) to politicians (Thatcher and Pinochet, somewhat gruesomely), to members … Continue reading Cuckoo by Nichola Deane
'The main thing now for success was to get away from the coast and gain the middle of the gulf before day broke. The Isabels were somewhere at hand. “On your left as you look forward, senor,” said Nostromo, suddenly. When his voice ceased, the enormous stillness, without light or sound, seemed to affect Decoud’s … Continue reading Circumambient Darkness
I think of those days often, when I seemed to spend my life on trains. In some ways, I've never left that journey, and the landmarks along the way have assumed the importance of personal ciphers. The dead tree at the centre of a marsh, pale as bone. The clearing at the edge of a … Continue reading Clean
A nice, perceptive review by Charles Lauder, of my poetry collection West South North, North South East, published in Under The Radar magazine. 'The continual motion of [Acton (The Solstice)] epitomizes the journey of Bennett’s work. Wisely, the exploration doesn’t limit itself to London nor to the walled city of Carcassone that finishes the book’s … Continue reading Under The Radar Review: West South North, North South East
Later that evening, Mitchell returned to his apartment. He'd brought a bag of tools from the cabin, to drill a fitting on the wall for the painting he'd found in the Old Room. He stood by the window, examining it carefully in the final light of the sunset. He imagined that the artist had based … Continue reading Incomplete
'Here's what I dream most about now. The dogs. Trying to get my numb fingers around the tricky latches of their chains. Cracking open the ice in their bowls so they can have a drink. In my dreams, I do it with a stick, or the business end of an ax, or the heel of … Continue reading The Last Bend Of The Lake
My review of Fran Lock's recent collection, Contains Mild Peril, has been published on London Grip. 'Here come the dogs. Sooner or later in a collection by Fran Lock, you’ll encounter the dogs. They leap out at us from the pages of Contains Mild Peril in such titles as ‘Citizen Pitbull’, ‘And I will consider the yellow … Continue reading Contains Mild Peril by Fran Lock
