Brink is a map of Jill Jones’s limbic system. Operating near the edge of instinct, it commutes back to a pre-dawn as it siphons out prehistoric attraction into the network of her poetic formula. Jones electrifies our neurological subways and encourages us to get lost in her epic desire. We alight Brink as better lovers. It’s that good.
Jill Jones’s poems combine alert self-questioning intelligence with springy openness. Who else can give line breaks and caesurae such electric charge? Self-creating things, thing-creating selves, her poems keep at the brink of themselves, now and now and now, shaking off commodities and fixed ideas, improvising with élan.
Brink gives us poetry of extremity and interface, composed from the complex matter of the world in language grown subtle and strong by experience. This is Jill Jones’s ‘dreamy epic’ of lapses and clues, her ‘book of consummations’, in which thought is harder, address more powerful, and existence more beguiling than ever before.
Autumn Royal in Overland
Geoff Page in Cordite Poetry Review
Publication date: July 2017