John Glenday



Average rating: 4.11 · 81 ratings · 7 reviews · 10 distinct works
Grain

4.12 avg rating — 34 ratings — published 2009 — 4 editions
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The Golden Mean

4.20 avg rating — 15 ratings — published 2015
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Undark

4.21 avg rating — 14 ratings
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The Apple Ghost

it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 3 ratings
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Untitled Glenday 2

3.50 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 2015
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Swifts

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The Pity

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really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 6 ratings
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Circle Poems (Quait #2)

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3.67 avg rating — 3 ratings
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Gilgamesh's Snake and Other...

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3.50 avg rating — 4 ratings2 editions
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Vanishing Acts

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More books by John Glenday…

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“This is my formula for the fall of things:
we come to a river we always knew we'd have to cross.
It ferries the twilight down through fieldworks

of corn and half-blown sunflowers.
The only sounds, one lost cicada calling to itself
and the piping of a bird that will never have a name.

Now tell me there is a pause
where we know there should be an end;
then tell me you too imagined it this way

with our shadows never quite touching the river
and the river never quite reaching the sea.”
John Glenday

“Windfall"

What is love if it is not an unravelling

against the dark? In the moonless field
between house and river, remember

how you stood with your arms
wide to the night, under every tumid
star, waiting for one to drop.”
John Glenday, The Golden Mean

“and the word lost for a single breath, as I lie against you; I promise everything that ever was will grow alive again: the first man in his sudden ignorance spits a sour apple whole, turns to her, who will be no more than an ache in the bones of his heart, as you are for me; for this breath, in my arms, the rain falling through the moment's light; then let me rest for one day, for the strength to unmake myself; the beasts of the earth and the great whales, to shift continents into oceans, to take down the firmament and blink into the failing light, the failing darkness for a moment's breath, a moment's touch, brushing your heart like this, as all things fall back into themselves, leaving nothing in the beginning but the word.”
John Glenday, Grain



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