The latest issue of the online magazine The Lonely Crowd (Winter, Issue 3) contains a poem by Glyn F Edwards unequivocally Brontëish, Wuthering Heights. The author talks about it:‘Wuthering Heights’ was three sides of notes written about my wife’s impractical October clothing choices. We wound the sheep tracks above Haworth, stepping puddles and shunning the grey clouds until we reached Top Withens. My wife had recently shown me Sylvia Plath’s poem about the site, together with Ted Hughes’ reply. The latter poem studied a wife’s fascination with a writer and my notes took a similar form, trying to explain how adoration can ignore, neglect or, indeed, rejuvenate it. I found it fascinating how she refused to see the moors as anything but harsh and colourless, Top Withens as anything but desolate and funereal. It was perfect as a Christmas present.
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