I should probably be a little more ashamed than I actually am to admit that, John Cooper Clarke aside, I've never really been very drawn to poetry. While this Little Black Classic was a bargain at just 80p, I can't say that it's succeeded in changing my mind.
I've been accused of being more than a little morbid in my time, but even I can't help but think that Christina Rosetti would have been a bit of a bummer to be around. Aside from the vague warnings on sex and sin that appear to make up the titular Goblin Market, most of this collection was preoccupied with death - whether it be the death of innocence, the death of seasons or death of the body. As well as making the collection feel a little repetitive, this made sure that while it was easy to fit one of these poems into a short lunch break, I also went back a little more depressed than I had been before.
I can understand how this might appeal to others, but it's not for me.
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