"Black Ice and Rain" by Michael Donaghy (read by Tom O'Bedlam)

Somebody asked me to read this poem. I hadn't come across Michael Donaghy before. It's a personal dramatic monologue in the style of the confessional poets. It seems to me an imaginary internal conversation rather than a real external one. I feel that it's intrusive to comment on such poems because they are complete in themselves. The poet himself was a great reciter of his own work (which is not true of every poet) and I'm following his manner, as best I can. You can hear him reciting other poems here: http://www.poetryarchive.com/poetryarchive/trackListing.do?poetId=145 In searching for a suitable illustration I discovered that he actually had a mexican skeleton. Auguste Rodin's late 19th century sculpture of hands about to clasp could be reproduced in chocolate, I suppose. Jesus/Elvis pictures are not at all rare - but I didn't see reason to cause offence to anyone by reproducing them. Bad taste and religious kitsch are superficial themes and not important. In the end I gave up trying to illustrate it - it's essentially aural.