To rescue Kahlo from the clutches of the corporate art market, we need to acknowledge the overt and covert political dimensions of the work, demands GAVIN O’TOOLE
After work he liked to walk the muddy paths
around the lake and up the man-made hill.
Survey the scene. The sprawling warehouse
where he earned his pay squatting on land
where once the wheels had spun, conveyors
rolled and great buckets of black rock
were lifted from miles below the ground.
Where his dad and grandad, and his dad before,
had earned their pay. And he had too,
a flash of time before it was all cleared
away, cleansed and sanitized. The days
when he was married, when they worked
in heat and dust, watched each others’ backs.
Now he was just a robot with skin and flesh,
waiting to be replaced by one that didn’t
need to sleep. That wouldn’t feel the wind
at the top of this hill, that had no memories.
One that fulfilled orders
and never needed to be fulfilled.
ALAN MORRISON recommends a consummate, heart-warming collection about a working-class upbringing in the industrial north-east
ANDY CROFT welcomes the publication of an anthology of recent poems published by the Morning Star, and hopes it becomes an annual event
by Christopher Norris
MATT KERR charts his bike-riding odyssey in aid of the Royal Marsden charity and CWU Humanitarian Aid


