By Anita Foxall.
Colin McGuire’s new collection, Ultraviolet, is so beautifully moving that I had to stop myself from writing a full poem-by-poem analysis. I managed to hold back to allow you to dive in and experience these poems fresh for yourself. Nevertheless, for the purpose of this review, I will obviously share a few highlights to entice you to read this collection and enjoy it in full detail.
Colin McGuire is a Scottish poet, performer, and I was lucky enough to see him perform live here in Southampton a few years ago. His performances are always highly dynamic, incredibly engaging and approachable (because his words are so relatable). His poetry has deep observational humour as well as explorations of mental health, vulnerability, urban isolation, and inner peace. His writing is grounded, reaching out to listeners/readers easily, as he examines modern anxieties through direct, honest language.
As a whole, Ultraviolet is a deeply striking collection, taking us to the depths of heavy subjects such as grief, family, illness, and memory. At its core, the collection explores the raw shock and lingering impact of loss, with a constant parallel focused on the unseen, subtle, and often overlooked moments that fundamentally transform us. There are moments of dark humour, but also flashes of joy, celebrating what was shared rather than the ever-present absence.
The opening poem, ‘Book of Dermis’ illustrates the human body as a deeply vulnerable vessel of life. Verses like ‘I want my skin read the way my brothers should have been read’ expose the raw distress of physical fragility, reinforced by the chilling metaphor ‘A mole is a landmine. A submarine hatch with the enemy inside’. The dermis, the layer underneath the epidermis, is where cellular mutations occur unseen unless exposed by ultraviolet light, the title of the collection. It is where all this is occurring, while we remain oblivious.
Where ‘Book of Dermis’ turns the body inward through intense medical anxiety, ‘A Small Thing’ expands outward to the existential powerlessness. It is a quiet, but devastating poem about the scale of human suffering in a universe that is completely indifferent, because we are mere small creatures: ‘our prayers in the tiniest helium-pitched voices, shouting help to the sky?’
Moving from physical vulnerability to domestic intrusion, ‘Ode to a Burglar’ uses a darkly ironic title to examine a home invaded. The trauma of the burglary alters the speaker’s perception of time ’the clock is ‘slow’, while highlighting the theft of intimate family memories ‘mum’s engagement ring gone’. The ending verse leaves the anxiety exposed and unresolved: ‘Are the coming back? Have they even left?’ But this memory, though one filled with anxiety, it also carries a family shared memory, one they all experienced and went thought together, when they were all still a complete unit.
‘Dad calls me to tell me Craig is terminal and I go climbing’ returns heavily to the loss theme, and how in the face of unbearable news, it is easier to turn to an activity of controlled danger. Craig’s illness becomes an extreme alpine environment where the mountain top is not a triumph, but an inescapable trap where the body environment itself turns lethal.
After the darker period of grief, warm comforting memories eventually start becoming more present. ‘Communication styles for brothers’ is a beautiful poem celebrating the complicity of two brothers who have their own private language. It is a coded noise, affection disguised as insults, and effortless rhythm.
‘Sleepover’ provides a heartbreaking culmination to the collection. It strips away the mountain-climbing metaphors and childhood whistling codes, placing the reader directly inside the hospital room during Craig’s final hours.
Ultraviolet is a very emotionally resonant poetry pamphlet. It captures the intolerable shock of terminal illness whilst offering a warm, lingering tribute to sibling love. It is an intense, rewarding read for anyone drawn to contemporary poetry. explores grief, resilience, and the enduring bonds of family.
You can purchase the book online here: Ultraviolet / Colin McGuire – Bad Betty Press
There are also a few opportunities to see Colin McGuire perform live if you have the chance (if you do, make sure you don’t miss him):
Loud Poets Edinburgh 12th of Oct
South Bank Centre Poetry London 4th Nov
Stanza Poetry Festival St Andrews 13th March
28th of Nov Typewrongers Edinburgh for Caleb Nichols – Lithic: A Hyperballad launch
- In Common is not for profit. We rely on donations from readers to keep the site running. Could you help to support us for as little as 25p a week? Please help us to carry on offering independent grass roots media. Visit: https://www.patreon.com/incommonsoton