In The Poetry

This is a poem called ‘Wulf’, which is in fact a loose translation of an Anglo-Saxon poem, and the speaker in it is a woman

Wulf

1
They take it from me:
in the manner
of a gift

if danger moves in the earth
is the life given
is it love between us

2
Wulf: on that island
- I on this other

shut into fens, a [...]

I had the good fortune to visit Antarctica some years ago, and I wrote one or two poems down there. I imagined, for example, a polar explorer dying of hypothermia, and then it occurred to me that ‘hypothermia’ sounded like the name of a Greek goddess, so I wrote this poem.

The Polar Explorer’s Love Song

The [...]

In 2004 I stayed in a hotel in Copenhagen for a weekend, and the emergency sign on the wall – in almost-perfect English – went, “The fire alarm sound – colon – is given as a howling sound. Do not use the lifts.” and I wrote this down thinking it was faintly amusing, and [...]

This is the first poem in my very first book, and it’s called ‘Love Poem’.

There is no question
of choice, but it takes
a long time.

Love’s vacancies, the eye
& cavity, track
back to embraces

where the spine bends
& quietens
like smoke in the earth.

Your tongue, touching on song,
darkens all songs. Your touch
is almost a signature.

This is a poem called ‘Wulf’, which is in fact a loose translation of an Anglo-Saxon poem, and the speaker in it is a woman

Wulf

1
They take it from me:
in the manner
of a gift

if danger moves in the earth
is the life given
is it love between us

2
Wulf: on that island
- I on this other

shut into fens, a [...]

I had the good fortune to visit Antarctica some years ago, and I wrote one or two poems down there. I imagined, for example, a polar explorer dying of hypothermia, and then it occurred to me that ‘hypothermia’ sounded like the name of a Greek goddess, so I wrote this poem.

The Polar Explorer’s Love Song

The [...]

In 2004 I stayed in a hotel in Copenhagen for a weekend, and the emergency sign on the wall – in almost-perfect English – went, “The fire alarm sound – colon – is given as a howling sound. Do not use the lifts.” and I wrote this down thinking it was faintly amusing, and [...]

‘Manhire’ is originally a Cornish name, and I knew the Cornish poet Charles Causley quite well, and when he died I wrote this little poem in his memory. He lived on a street called Cyprus Well in Launceston.

Death of a Poet

Between the Tamar and the tarmac,
Beneath a tangled sky
I saw the Cornish poet
Walking by.

He [...]

This is the first poem in my very first book, and it’s called ‘Love Poem’.

There is no question
of choice, but it takes
a long time.

Love’s vacancies, the eye
& cavity, track
back to embraces

where the spine bends
& quietens
like smoke in the earth.

Your tongue, touching on song,
darkens all songs. Your touch
is almost a signature.