Gold is just that. Jo Heather’s poetry takes the precious metal of love, grief and remembrance and works it into shapes and songs that will endure, be admired and offer consolation.
A difficult journey through love and loss, made in poems all the more moving for their restraint.
Reading these poems in one sitting – which I recommend – is like being driven fast and skilfully around mountain roads. You have to sit back and admire the view. These poems, in memory of the poet’s lover, are deeply felt, never sentimental. While the facts of death are ever-present, life keeps on breaking through in Jo Heather’s sensual and pin-sharp observations.
A brave study in grief and loss, of the cold rituals with which we seek to make sense of bereavement and of the unspeakable language of death. Good to see it back in print.
About Jo Heather
Jo Heather was born in South Africa, coming to England when still too young to have any exotic memories. Her parents, both from the West Country, returned to their roots and she grew up in Devon. She graduated from Leeds, where she read English, in 1966.
After several years in London, where she worked in the East End and qualified in psychiatric social work, she came back north to Middlesbrough where she worked, for the most part, as an ASW attached to St. Luke’s Hospital. Since early retirement she has lived on the edge of the North York Moors with her husband, with whom she shares three children. They sometimes read her poetry, hoping it’s not about them.