Chrissy Derbyshire Profile

 

Chrissy Derbyshire is a graduate in English Literature from UWales Cardiff, 2005.

 

She recently studied for her PGCE (post-compulsory). Her adopted city is Cardiff.

 

Mysteries (Awen 2008) is her first collection.

 

 

Mysteries review

 

This slim but delightful little volume is Chrissy Derbyshire's first volume of short stories and poems, and very good it is too.

 

The stories are presented as a means of exploring the Eleusinian Mysteries - the ancient initiation into the rites of Demeter, and yet they are far from the sort of arcane fantasy dirges that flow from the pens of some occult and Pagan writers.

 

Each one is rooted firmly in the here-and-now, which makes their brief forays into the magical otherworlds even more effective. Some are quite tragic, such as Absinthe, which charts the self-destructive path of a bohemian poet to an end that is futile, and yet still somehow romantic. Tramps and Thieves is a weirdly sexual tale of the surrender of the soul with strong sexual undertones, yet it still manages to raise a few chuckles with its dark humour. Others, such as Bridey show the author's personal delight in her own magical quest, a delight which the reader cannot fail to share.

 

The stories are beautifully written, rather better than the poems, I felt, though their brevity left me wanting more. Strangely the introduction contains a precis of each story, which is best avoided if you want to enjoy the freshness and originality of each one for the first time.

 

Highly recommended.

 

Merry Meet #40, Spring 2010

 

Read an interview with her here .

 

Chrissy performing at the Raconteur launch, Cardiff Stadium, April 2009

HARP

 

 

Old shapeshifting thing,

 

You still stand there singing my words,

 

Shaped rather like

 

This poem that describes you.

 

Now old as the dust floor,

 

Creaking from within – sounds of an ancient wood –

 

With thick strings loose and curled

 

Like spirals to the centre

 

That is, in the end, a tomb.

 

All flesh there has turned to dust

 

Many years beyond memory.

 

The stone has faded, fallen,

 

Been covered with earth and forgotten,

 

But pluck the timeworn strings

 

And some echoes remain.

 

Now she is pale as a green youth,

 

Trembling with the flowers of first poetry,

 

Tied with merry ribbons

 

And singing out birdsong in gardens.

 

Then I like to dip her in the well

 

And pull her out laughing

 

As the rivulets run down her may-scented body.

 

It harms her not –

 

Just means that she can play water music.

 

More often than not, she does.

 

She is a conch shell strung with the hair of sirens.

 

She sounds with the sound of otherworldly cries,

 

Of fishes leaping into pools

 

And of the mighty storm.

 

O storm-tossed singer!

 

I hold her like a sailor shipwrecked

 

When after months on a barren island

 

This harp washes onto my shore.

 

Though she makes no sound,

 

This driftwood skeleton,

 

Her voice swallowed by the sea,

 

Still I will weep with joy,

 

Run my hand over no strings

 

And play emptiness music to the stars.

 

 

copyright Chrissy Derbyshire 2009