Meredith Davies Hadaway’s Comments
On a recent trip to Wales, I followed a narrow goat path of a road for over an hour looking for a neolithic burial site called Maen Y Bardd (trans. The Poets Stone). The hillside was steep and inhospitable, with low shrubs scraping the side of my rental car and no signs of human inhabitants, just some bored sheep. What I thought would be an affirmation of my journey as a poet ended with an ignominious revelation: I was running out of gas. So I turned around, retracing the same perilous switchbacks, this time with the added taint of failure. It was only later, when I thought about the experience as a metaphor for the poets struggle, that I realized the obvious: Its not about what you look for, its about what you find. These poems represent what I found while I was looking for something elsechasing a form, an image, a memory, a mythical place.
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