In this, her fifth collection, Char March is searching for hidden nests of humanity within the cold, bare branches of politics, and giving a voice to the voiceless (both human and otherwise). She expertly immerses us in the landscapes and soundscapes of her twin homes of Scotland and Yorkshire – and, whether visiting the depths of Leeds’ sewers or tasting the Hebrides sea, never strays far from the sharp humour and eye for detail that her readers have come to expect. This is poetry at its very best, highly-involved writing that seems effortless; a feast of fantastic literature to warm your soul, whatever the season.
‘Wry, pithy and downright funny, Char March’s new collection unpacks into serial astonishment: each poem doorsteps you with its distinct voice and attitude.’ — Graham Mort
‘These are tender poems: tender about the repair-worker's touches to a church, the ex-soldier's feel in his lost hands, the hawk's descent on its prey. Nothing goes un-noticed and much goes celebrated, for all its pains and real weight of life, lovingly called to mind.’ — Atar J Hadari
‘To read the work of Char March is always a pleasure; a rare example of a poet who never forgets her reader.’ — Deborah Alma
'Char March gives individual, authentic voices to creatures and objects, tells the stories of the unheard, feeds us rich lexicons from lost times or ways of life. Her poetry is dark, earthy, salty and sometimes disturbing, with sardonic humour and exactly the right amount of compassion.’ — Valerie Laws
‘I look forward to any new publication from Char March, and this is well worth the wait.’— Rosie Garland
‘Char March has a keen eye for detail. Full Stops in Winter Branches is alive with poems that capture moments of life's imperfection and moments of rare beauty. March attends to the world fully, noticing how a dog finds that land 'glitters with smells', how 'white ground is hedge-squared' to a bird. She is equally adept at praise poems and lamentations. Like the Ardnamurchan dragonfly of one poem, her project is nothing less than capturing the impossible, netting the “colour of energy”.’ — Helen Mort