Biography of Martin TURNER
Raised in Post-War plenty, I could hear the chains of concentration camps rattling somewhere close by; but we children of the earnest fifties were soon etched by the permissions of 1965-1975; when these unwelcome hallucinations faded, so did many other false values; but patiently, like grass growing under a still-burning city, a Christian Taoist existentialism came to redeem an otherwise trite life.
After a psychology degree at Exeter University, I trained as a teacher and, in Scotland, as an educational psychologist. In psychology I have edited, authored and co-authored four books, including Psychological Assessment of Dyslexia (Whurr,1997) and Dyslexia Guidance (with Philippa Bodien: nferNelson,2007) , as well as numerous chapters and articles.
As regards poetry – always a longer purpose - in 1992 I published Trespasses with Faber and Faber and in 2006 The Deer of Tamniès with PublishAmerica. My wife, a friend and I published translations from the modern Persian during the 1980s. Both poetry and translations have won prizes.
Martin TURNER's Works:
The Deer of Tamnies (PublishAmerica,3rd April 2006)
See also: www.mvlturner.wordpress.com
Martin TURNER Poems
Night comes and the clenching of teeth.
A Kick Of Light
I am Supergirl. I throw back my cape so that you may view the bathing suit within.
It’s all very well for you, straight as a canoe or arrow,
This Daughterless Night
This daughterless night is deepening. The tinkle of laughter awaits and unlistened-to interruptions for someone who is always thinking.
Here comes the moment of the shimmering hour When praise like incense trembles from each leaf. The evening air is redolent with grief And waltzes gush with melancholic power.
Dreaming Of The Dead
From time to time the dead come for their allotted meeting like prisoners, jostling, and sit on the bench to wait. The hands of the carver
1. No beginning, this, but an end. For the calendar the birds gather, harrow or net space,
Tankas For The Memory
1. Pathetic fallacy Tanka Late October. A feast of sun.
Lines For Alexander Blok
Bushels of light from the electric maples float in the underpass. Night enters the cemetery like a spade.
In memoriam Tom Ravenette In old age I comfort myself with bits and pieces of food
Phoenix Museum Of History
The Salt River valley was green enough then
Fragments From Before The Gaze Of Alphab...
a. A speckle of rain. Wasp weather. The river popples between the reeds.
Hickling Broad. Among the reeds the wind pipes Für Elise, Für Elise, crossing the water by the boat's prow. Ruddy and gregarious the pubs glow
Teide, at three thousand metres, a honeycomb of rock and air, cold weightless pumice. Lizards who've seen rocks rise
Dreaming Of The Dead
From time to time the dead come
for their allotted meeting like prisoners,
jostling, and sit on the bench to wait.
The hands of the carver
recognise each face.
My father is among them.
To him I go first, assuring him
that he is always first for me,
as if he needed