Poetry Month: Nick Laird

Two poems today by Nick Laird, one of my favorite of the younger Northern Irish crowd. Actually, he’s a favorite in any crowd. I aspire to be Nick Laird. He writes novels and poems, both very well. It is a rare thing for a writer to bounce back and forth between the two disciplines and do admirable jobs with both. His first book, To a Fault, is a fine collection of poetry, too fine for a first book (bastard); his second novel, Glover’s Mistake, was one of the finest books about bad friendships I’ve read. The hero (?) is a real bastard. I loved it. Real frienemy stuff, to emply that goofy term.

The second poem in this link is one of my favorites from his last collection. I love the idea of a stressed couple, pre-wedding, contemplating running off and eloping. He makes it sound so private, beautiful, perfect, but the last line, “We could” pretty much suggests that they won’t.