In The Poetry

The Carrion Crow

A carrion crow sat on an oak
And watched where the line of battle broke.

A carrion crow sat on an ash -
He hears the spears’ and shields’ clash.

A carrion crow sat on a pine:
The long-bows are bent, the swift arrows whine.

A carrion crow sat on an elm:
The broad sword batters the bright-plumed helm.

A carrion [...]

Fear

I fear the vast dimensions of eternity.
I fear the gap between the platform and the train.
I fear the onset of a murderous campaign.
I fear the palpitations caused by too much tea.

I fear the drawn pistol of a rapparee.
I fear the books will not survive the acid rain.
I fear the ruler and the blackboard and the [...]

I discovered a little cul-de-sac of literature which is devoted to the art of peeing. Most of it’s written by men and most of it celebrates that marvellous golden arc that they can perform in the sky which of course I can’t – so I felt a bit left out and if you like this [...]

Old Tongue

When I was eight, I was forced south.
Not long after, when I opened
my mouth, a strange thing happened.
I lost my Scottish accent.
Words fell off my tongue:
eedyit, dreich, wabbit, crabbit
stummer, teuchter, heidbanger,
so you are, so am ur, see you, see ma ma,
shut yer geggie or I’ll gie you the malkie!

My own vowels started to stretch [...]

I was born and brought up in Burton-on-Trent, a brewing town in the English Midlands. It’s the hardness of the water, its particular mix of dissolved minerals, that makes it suitable for brewing beer. This poem makes use of a couple of Burton expressions, the traditional greeting “Hey up me duck” and the [...]

I think I’ve said already that I feel myself that I’m an archaeologist manque – certainly I’m terribly keen on picking things up off the ground, particularly interested in pottery, and the next poem is about picking up a piece of pottery, but it’s also I think about the past and ones fascination with the [...]

‘The Poet of Bray’ – I should like to point out that this parody is not autobiographical. It was written round about 1950.

The Poet of Bray

Back in the dear old thirties’ days
When politics was passion
A harmless left-wing bard was I
And so I grew in fashion:
Although I never really joined
The Party of the Masses
I was most [...]

Ceasefire

I
Put in mind of his own father and moved to tears
Achilles took him by the hand and pushed the old king
Gently away, but Priam curled up at his feet and
Wept with him until their sadness filled the building.

II
Taking Hector’s corpse into his own hands Achilles
Made sure it was washed and, for the old king’s sake,
Laid [...]

But look, the moon has risen!

Drawing down the Moon

I place on the sill a saucer
that I fill with water:
it rocks with a tidal motion,
as if that porcelain round
contained a small sea:
this threshold ocean
throws into confusion
the image that it seizes
out of the sky – the moon
just risen, and now in pieces
beneath the window: the [...]

A Repertoire

‘Play us one we’ve never heard before’
we’d ask this old guy in our neighbourhood.
He’d rosin up a good three or four
seconds, stalling, but he always could.
This was the Bronx in 1971,
when every night the sky was pink with arson.
He ran a bar beneath the el, the Blarney Stone,
and there one Easter day he sat [...]