The Body in the Well

‘a magical and poignant debut’ ~ Kirsten Irving, The Round Table Review

‘very distinguished – so deft in language and imagery, so unique and constantly surprising’ ~ Keith Sagar, author of The Laughter of Foxes: A Study of Ted Hughes

‘Every once in a long while, a poet climbs from the deep well of “otherness” where Alice fell and offers us a glimpse of that rarely seen shimmering upside-down world, so necessary if we are to understand – and love – our more mundane stumbling lives. Gregory Leadbetter is one such poet. The language in the poems collected together in The Body in the Well – often lyrical  and deeply felt, sometimes wry and whimsical – keeps us floating inches from solid ground but intensely aware of the proximity of the sharp edges of the real world. Leadbetter has taken basic concepts of physics – resonance, oscillation, and tuning –and translated them to lyric…Leadbetter’s poems are often marked by such small graceful intimacies that trigger harmonics capable of opening the heart while revealing the delicate instability of our 21st century world. The resonance of the familiar with the unknown reminds us of the joy of feeling alive in a human world where science is buoyed by art.’ ~ Tia Ballantine, Sphinx

‘...he writes so freshly, so well, I greatly enjoyed this first book’ ~ Roddy Lumsden, Books from Scotland

'These poems insist on being heard. They are strange, haunting and beautifully complete...They communicate through words but also beyond words' ~ Helena Nelson, editor of HappenStance


The Body in the Well is, Helena tells me, now sold out - but copies are still circulating in the aether.

The Body in the Well

Even here, where the aquifers are spoken of

with a reverence strangers save for cathedrals,

it’s rare to find a house like this, three stories

of gleaming limestone raised like a lantern

out of the rock, lit like a match when struck

by the stone of the clear moon, a pale flame.

The locals say the house was a dream of his,

climbing like a pyramid month on month:

building it was a way to forget. Make

this dream your own, the auction-catalogue

tells the buying public. The property

includes a well follows in a quieter font.

He would listen at the mouth in the floor

of the cellar, patient for the voice of the dark

in the sound of the stalagmites rising.

When he fell into its echoing heart

the waters gathered him with their song

and here, he remembered everything.

The Chase

I bought him a drink for all the old times

and prepared for an evening over his shoulder.

From a distance I saw his life as a comedy,

laughed at the anguish that ran through his face

as he caught himself at it again: chasing

the hare through the eyes of strangers, exhausting

himself on a scent that led him a dance.

I felt the air shift when she came towards him.

As if marked by a sign, they were a pair

before they knew it. I gave them my blessing.

He followed her as she slipped into him.

I watched them talk and saw it running

between them, its eyes there in a glance

then gone, its ears alert to the hunt.

They felt its heartbeat flutter in theirs,

sure they had it caught, though I knew better.

He kissed her, as if for the first time

feeling for proof in her lips and her skin,

innocent of the hare cocked for the leap

back to the wild: when he looked in her eyes

I saw my reflection double and run.

The School of Resonance

You might see them almost hovering

at a point of utmost clarity,

heads tilted to the pitch, hung

like candles attending the dark,

each a flame sucking the air:

men and women, sometimes a child,

balancing over the gulf

of entropy, the loss of that feedback

from the earth and its suspension

they make it their calling to find.

They live for the sudden

flood of wakefulness

entering the base of the skull

that tells them they have tapped

another blossoming seam

or limitless well, and here they tune

to the brain feeding, the flint

of each connecting fire.

They say that reality gathers

where it falls open; that this event

is resonance. They do not try

to predict co-ordinates for its disclosure

but cultivate a weather-sense

for when and where the waves might

rise in a bore along the spine.

And any place may do. Even

the stillness of this room.