Everything Is Now

By Christopher Dadson

Everything Is Now is a new poetry collection by the British poet Christopher Dadson.

In this collection Christopher explores old poetic forms through a contemporary lens, presenting the reader with odes, sonnets and dramatic monologues that tackle the grind, the suffering, and the joys of daily life.

The ‘Odes’ touch on classic themes of mortality, work, friendship, memory, loss, and art, as relevant today as they were to Horace, and through a variety of metre and rhyme recall poems by the Romantics, even if the modern-day settings of a beach holiday or a drive at night place it firmly in the present.

‘The Gypsy Moth Sonnets’ are a short cycle of erotic and neurotic episodes about how those enduring a sad middle age can throw away everything for fresh love, and the effects of that on the psyche. These poems are pathetically comedic yet still remain infused with passion and feeling.

Finally, the ‘Laments’ are composed of dramatic monologues from historic, mythical, and invented characters. Some of these poems are comical and some are about loss, but throughout they are permeated with death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035837915

Christopher Dadson

Christopher Dadson is a British poet and playwright. He was born in 1982 in Belfast and received degrees in English and Latin American Studies from Cambridge and London universities respectively. He currently lives with his wife and son in London, where he works full time in the charity sector and writes poetry and plays in his spare time.

Book preview

About the Author

Christopher Dadson is a British poet and playwright. He was born in 1982 in Belfast and received degrees in English and Latin American Studies from Cambridge and London universities respectively. He currently lives with his wife and son in London, where he works full time in the charity sector and writes poetry and plays in his spare time.

Dedication

In memory of my father, Professor Trevor John Dadson,

1947–2020

Copyright Information ©

Christopher Dadson 2024

The right of Christopher Dadson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035837892 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035837908 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781035837915 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Part 1

Odes

The Long Drive Home

The atmosphere mellows with tints of mauve,

A whisky sigh of welcome wraps me round

Exiling the blue, cloudless summer sky

And settling in Steely Dan at my side.

Darkness leans upon the deserted earth,

The mount ahead holds up the silhouette

Of a silent-giant purple-fringed bull.

I journey alone and leave behind me

A waste of burnished bodies bronzing like

Manikins displayed for the apocalypse,

Shrivelling like tomatoes in the sun.

Stars twink ope as navy deepens to black,

And the sky’s like a child’s bedroom ceiling,

Fretted in fluorescent conflagration.

I used to look out from a bus window

So long ago before I had a car,

The cold glass pressing my face, cradling it

Along the interminable trips

Across nations, over borders and all

For a pittance of a price, even then.

Now, I just press my foot on the pedal

Like I have control, like I’m an agent.

Sometimes, when it was fine, I slept outside

In my hammock, by a waterfall,

Or at a still lake, my fire for friendship.

Now I’m alone, surrounded by my friends;

In the bosom of family linger.

From further back in my geology

There’s a child slumbering on a sunned seat,

Nodding like the sunflowers speeding past,

T-shirt and shorts sellotaped to with sweat

In the days before air conditioning,

In the easy days when others drove

Before the centre of gravity dropped,

Before we were left alone to lead our own

The eldest segment in this