Helen Ivory is reading at The Camden Centre on Tuesday February 17th 2004, at 8pm.

Here are two of her poems to whet your appetite, taken with permission from her book The Double Life of Clocks published by Bloodaxe, 2002.
 

SPIN CYCLE

I have been suspicious for some time
about the washing-machine.
At first it was the odd sock or handkerchief
that went missing.
Everyday occurrences
nothing to be concerned about.
 
But then there was the Aran sweater
put in on gentle spin, never to be seen again.
It was washed on its own
so at the end of the cycle
the drum was entirely empty.
This was a concern.
 
And this evening I came home to discover
that the curtains had vanished
from the kitchen window.
There was a trail
of soapy suds across the floor
stained with burgundy dye.
 
I tried to open the washing-machine door
but it was locked tight.
There was a weird gooey gurgle
from deep inside its belly,
causing me to jump,
and back away.
 
I ran upstairs to find that the duvet
and pillows were also gone
and the floor was awash.
There was a pervasive smell
of Spring Fresh
hanging cloyingly in the air.

MEOW

I have always suspected but now
I know for a fact that I am not a human being.
As children, my sister and I were cats.
We would slink about the house,
pause, scratch at fleas and demand our mother
feed us saucers of milk on the kitchen floor.
 
Now, my sister was only playing.
Her movements were not fluid,
and her meows were unconvincing.
Dolly, the family cat and I would laugh
at her as we washed our faces together.
My Mother was unaware of our rapport.
 
I was ten years old when my Mother took Dolly
away in a cardboard box. I never saw her again.
Every night, I scratched at the back door
to be let out so I could be with Dolly.
From then on, I only spoke in cat language.
My Mother was at first angry and then upset.
 
When I was fifteen my Mother took me
away in a cardboard box. I never saw her again.
Every day I am bought food on a plastic plate.
They no longer leave a knife a fork.
At night I call to Dolly in our language and sometimes
she comes to me. We wash our faces together.

Click here to find out more about Helen Ivory.