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THERE’S a great poem in Neil Fulwood’s new collection which addresses the difficulty of saying what sometimes needs to be said in poetry:
“I give you a poem about the state of things/You say it’s cynical and pessimistic/You ask for something positive/You ask for a nice poem/I show you a newspaper headline/You say you don’t follow current affairs/You say politics is boring/You ask for a nostalgic poem.”
Can’t Take Me Anywhere (Shoestring Press, £10) is a wonderfully gruff collection of minimalist urban landscapes — witty and scathing about work, politics, traffic, weather and the inanities of contemporary life. It’s a book of strong individual poems too, notably All Day Long, Peril, 20 Zone, Lizard and the splendidly bleak England:

ANDY CROFT rallies poets to the impossible task of speaking truth to a tin-eared politician


