Three years ago, after the shootings in Newtown and whilst preparing my first collection for publication, I was angry and frustrated with that event and its handling, particularly, by the media. I vowed that with each such subsequent shooting in America I would issue a new revision. At the point that my book went to press there had already been several more shootings.
When the book was published I stopped doing revisions as it gave me no satisfaction to do so. In fact, its sole effect was like a tolling of a bell, a resounding and penetrating sonic gash that brought more anger, more frustration.
A couple of days ago I read an article by Caroline Mortimer in “The Independent” newspaper stating that since Sandy Hook,
I am moved to revisit this poem once again, no revision, just a melancholic regard once more.