Hide Me Under The Blood And I Shall Be Satisfied

God as two swords at right angles, in the sinister corners of our midnight imagination; God as the news presenter’s tongue, how its thrice denial bends around the living room; God as disappearing song; dancing hand of God; gun-finger God; God who swipes right/smites the unrighteous; God of contaminated seas, land and the legacy of plagued crops; God as accompanying headwear in these wilderness years: doily, scarf, beret, fascinator, satellite dish, ever-expanding universes… and then nothing

Keith Jarrett’s dazzlingly lyrical new collection asks how we process violence when it’s lionised in our language, on city street signs, in the edicts of a vengeful god. Its title borrowed from an unknown songwriter, this book is a palimpsest, layering known and unknown verses: those sung in Pentecostal churches or whispered in silent worship, texted to a 3am suitor or redacted from a eulogy. These poems are requiem and carnival: for the dead, the buried, the erased, the forgotten. They are magnetic, musical, scorched in glitter, skanking on the offbeat. With courage, insight and mischief, Jarrett invites the reader to look sideways, to consider the absurd, messy and problematic with a playfulness that feels, in itself, slyly revolutionary.