An Island Treasury of Verse

Lynn New is an artist living on the Isle of Wight. I picked up a copy of her first book of poetry, ‘An Island Treasury of Verse’, inspired by her life experiences, and flipped through it in a charity shop over the summer. I was immediately captivated by the beautiful illustrations and calligraphy that accompanied the text. Simple but lovely, the page on the left would be a picture relating to the poem, and then the poem itself on the right, outlined in intricate, eye-catching borders. It was a modern day version of what I imagined medieval texts would have been like. It was apparent that the writer had spent hours slaving over this labour of love. Even if the words were gibberish, the beauty of the book itself attracted me, and I took it home (along with some other ten books. Terrible places, charity shops. They make one feel far too justified in spending money.)

Alas, the portents were correct. As pretty as the pictures are, the poems themselves are fairly basic. They’re very personal and heart-felt, but the form for every single poem throughout is a rather unstructured ABAB verse pattern. It never wavers – not a one of the thirty-odd poems deviates from this pattern. The themes throughout are obviously personal ones – dedicated to a daughter, a son, Jersey (which she illustrates particularly beautifully), and these are more an exploratory self-discovery than anything else. I’d have to say that her artistic skills far outstrip her poetic.

I checked the publisher’s name, West Island Printers Ltd, confirming my suspicions. It’s a vanity piece (vanity in the self-publishing sense, not in the narcissistic), and thus was probably not meant to be a best-selling new post-modern piece, but something to distribute amongst family and friends. Picking it up gave me a sweet, if shallow, glimpse into that life. I bought it for the cute images. I got what I bought, nothing more. I wouldn’t really recommend this, although I feel awful for saying so. They’d make great cards, but apart from that, the literary value is rather low. But – um, pretty colours?