Concordance

This concordance provides an index to every word in the poems, excluding a list of common "stopwords". It may be useful in finding a half-remembered poem, and perhaps in looking at the usage of words in the poems as a whole. It will be readable only on a large screen.

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

B

tax form?? // // Check L’s dob—70 next

b /day? // // Dentist appointment—week of 10th // // Write poem for W

Notes to a life

B .L // // london clay, blackened, arsenic // // railings, pointing,

r satin, worsted // // dimity, blazer,

babouche // // borrowed light, dimpse, mizzle, skylight // // ammoni

Babylon by candlelight // // How many miles to Barnard Castle? // //

Babylon by candlelight

finds itself // // rich rediscovering

Bach’s counterpoint— // // frescos are fragile, but Piero’s perspecti

een leaves showing // // their lighter

backs , a few edging // // towards the brown. // // Autumn fruit is g

over and under // // as we skip on the

backs of the older ones. // // The wind grows steady and purposeful.

Random walk // // Looking

backwards , I can see // // mistily, the shape of things: // // the s

ound me? // // Or was it just a hedge,

backwards ? // // Yesterday I was told: it looks clear. // // So lif

Capricorn suite

bits // // way out here in the remoter

backwaters // // of the western spiral arm (which will never be fashi

// No balance here. The bad // // is

bad in absolute, while the good // // is good only in relation to the

Capricorn suite

’t spread. // // No balance here. The

bad // // is bad in absolute, while the good // // is good only in r

Capricorn suite

e missing. // // It’s getting beyond a

bad joke. // // Destroying our comfort’s as rotten // // as stealing

One of our cushions

d. // // Polarity // // // First the

bad news, then the good: // // it's cancer; but it hasn’t spread. //

Capricorn suite

t in its own best interests. // // Too

bad . // // Polarity // // // First the bad news, then the good: //

Capricorn suite

// // is good only in relation to the

bad . // // The chances are said // // to be good. That’s good // /

Capricorn suite

y and long ago. // // A fairy, good or

bad , will know // // exactly when to show her face, // // the world

The world just so

million: Middle East // // Bam Posht;

Badiyat ash Sham; Bisharin // // railways; borders; deserts // // On

// But when my support // // is caught

badly short // // I’ll just have to ask ‘Where d’you pee?’ // //

This may be the end

ets to Glasgow 6th-7th // // Camera in

bag for Mon // // Did I submit tax form?? // // Check L’s dob—70 nex

Notes to a life

// sitting, lying all around // // in

bags or scattered on the ground // // waiting to be found. // // Wai

cancer; but it hasn’t spread. // // No

balance here. The bad // // is bad in absolute, while the good // /

Capricorn suite

// // Note: Fifty colours of Farrow &

hard to know. // // We have no crystal

ball , no glass. // // The light has all gone, now. // //

the inside? // // See that blue-green

ball of stuff? // // —spinning around one of the hot yellow bits //

// // It’s Jan, not June. // // A red

balloon , // // way up high, // // with crescent moon // // from col

The moon in June

it. Send a letter. // // Pad of paper,

ballpoint pen. // // Find a stamp, street-corner box. // // I love y

shington, close to a version of Rodin’s

Balzac , and called “Post-Balzac”. It is a full-length bronze cape, up

Fragments of a life

ion of Rodin’s Balzac, and called “Post-

Balzac ”. It is a full-length bronze cape, upright and rounded as if o

Fragments of a life

One to ten million: Middle East // //

Bam Posht; Badiyat ash Sham; Bisharin // // railways; borders; desert

/ // between the end of the Chatterley

ban // // and the Beatles’ first LP; // // strangely, though, not se

hop-committed crime, // // the muzakal

banality which stings. // // Even I, atheist, find some of them subli

s protects // // a calmer green oasis,

band of salt-marsh // // where barn-owls hunt their prey. But not fo

mboyant adventure—to // // jump on the

bandwagon he’ll be glad.” // // The Boris is happy. “We need a desig

Troubled waters

/ // This one started with an almighty

bang // // —thought it was going to be a disaster // // but then it

slopes up from the creek. On the other

bank // // a mud cliff, undercut and crumbling in places, // // cres

oss // // a flood plain, excavates one

bank // // as it lays down the other, // // switching favours at eac

turn. // // (Stay close to the carved

bank // // for the deeper channel.) // // In the tidal creeks that s

the marsh // // carve out sections of

bank // // leaving sharp cliffs of compacted mud. // // Evening. A

tcher // // busily foraging across the

bank // // lets me get much closer // // before giving me an earful.

my left, the foraging ground: a smooth

bank of mud // // slopes up from the creek. On the other bank // //

// to the encroaching mud. On the far

bank // // of the next bend, another sandy beach // // to reach by b

/ // inside) mark out the sandy/grassy

bank that is // // the cliff. A narrow sandy beach past which // //

own reach up the foreshore, // // the

banked sand and shingle, perhaps // // (when the tide is high enough)

Covehithe, Suffolk

artello tower, // // we walk along the

banked -up track // // behind the wall, level with the top, // // run

Walking in winter

ng sparks. // // Grass on the lineside

banks is marked // // with smears of fires, burnt and black. // // T

e tides run strong. // // Channels and

banks of shingle shift and melt, // // form and reform each ebb and f

g glacier. // // On the next bend, the

banks // // will exchange character. // // A flowing river, meanderi

er look at this one here, // // with a

bar across. Not quite the biggest // // of its group, but very beaut

to face the town, runs headlong for the

bar , // // Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // becomes a tri

// // The Chimney; Cranmer Room; Café

Bar // // courts; staircases; playing fields // // One to five hundr

rapeseed and the corn. // // The five-

bar gate, the muddy track on the tarmac road. // // The walled paddoc

The rain and the air

r the marsh-birds calling // // at the

bar the waves are washing over. // // Breath the scents the sea-winds

/ chrome coffee machines. // // At the

bar three people sit // // all six eyes lowered // // in silent cont

// // The latest growths are long and

barbed , // // reaching out to colonise the heath, // // at war with

ftness, // // but with sharp claws and

barbs , // // fastens itself inside. // // Movement is faster, edgier

// of celebration—every line // // the

Bard created for the stage // // by the best actors of the age. // /

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

second period or layer, // // like the

bard from Japan whose verses never would scan, adds an extra list. //

Abbey, and the Strid beyond, // // and

Barden Bridge—and now I flick my wand // // some miles of dale and mo

Daydream Dale Journey

// that would be sharp if our toes were

bare . // // Behind us, in the wood, // // tall straight pines reach

ath leads on, // // a gentler walk, to

bare bleak Malham Tarn. // // Then back to skirt the edge of Malham C

Daydream Dale Journey

your coat, // // and sometimes at the

bare flesh of // // the back of your hand as you reach past to pilfer

sheep- and rabbit-droppings, // // the

bare rocks and the ridge, knife-edge against the sky. // // What do t

The rain and the air

// the Suffolk countryside, each tall

bare trunk // // gnarled and twisted by the wind, supports // // a w

storms // // or long since stripped of

bark , criss-cross // // the forest floor, streams and all. // // A s

oasis, band of salt-marsh // // where

barn -owls hunt their prey. But not for long // // —impermanence’s pe

by candlelight // // How many miles to

Barnard Castle? // // Three score, out/return // // Can I go there,

Babylon by candlelight

ded time. // // From the bottom of the

barrel // // the sound of scraping has ceased. // // This drain germ

ill me. // // Like the asteroid // //

barrelling onwards, to wipe us out in // // ten or a thousand or mayb

Capricorn suite

wn the computer // // tearing down the

barriers // // cutting down the roses // // floating down the river

Locking down too

of fumbling, // // building the clumsy

barriers just in time // // to keep the carriers of plague at bay. //

ws // // across the pavement. // // A

bartender bent to work; // // chrome coffee machines. // // At the b

// ninety-nine years long.) // // Béla

Bartók and Frank Bridge // // are still at college // // Sergei Prok

January Nineteen Hundred and One

Place the kettle on the cordless

base making sure it is positioned correctly. // // Plug in

Using your Kettle

Kettle // // Place the cordless

base on a level firm surface. // // Where ever possible fi

Using your Kettle

ved sloping rails, // // a tray at the

base . // // You put the marble in at the top; // // it runs down the

ser, already ancient in // // the damp

basement of the Peckham house // // that we bought some forty years a

/ Afterwards Colin and I go down to the

basement // // —the real crematorium— // // and see her consigned to

Xmas // // Ring Tony D about works in

basement // // Tickets for Once Sat night—check time // // Tickets t

Notes to a life

, // // are droning back towards their

bases , // // and fighters too. The siren call // // is in reverse,

Capricorn suite

e coast // // for the requisite square-

bashing . And then when he ships out, // // back to mother, in a two-

Ninety-six and counting

// // path with spectacular views over

Bassenthwaite . // // Walking down quickly, not paying attention, I //

// One to ten: Tiles // // Ormeaux on

Bastille ; Ormeaux on Rioja; Ormeaux on Lagoon // // taps; pipes // /

o fifty: Ground floor // // Bedroom 2;

Bathroom ; Bicycle shed // // walls; doors; drains // // One to ten:

/ // throwing down the gauntlet // //

battening down the hatches // // closing down the argument // // shu

Locking down too

ooden board on which are mounted // //

battery box, switches, lights, buzzers, plugs // // and connecting le

et // // and clash — and I’m to be the

battle ground. // // The field is ready now, the lines are drawn. //

Capricorn suite

s good // // enough, I suppose. // //

Battle lines // // // // // // // // Somewhere deep down in my

Capricorn suite

rbosely quite enough to float or sink a

battle -ship. // // But perhaps instead I will go the whole hog, the f

rranean, // // empires rise and fall.

Battles are fought, // // wars are lost and won. Did they rage aroun

// their winter sustenance. Out in the

bay // // a seal watches us, then flips away, // // dives deep, leav

// but grander far, a corniced window

bay // // in darker wood. Clear morning sunlight fills // // the ro

Cape Cod Morning

ng the inky darkness, keeping // // at

bay the frights night has in store. // // Whether I’m lying awake or

lat // // in face, no sign of the deep

bay windows that // // adorn most later London terraced fronts. // /

Peckham 1969—1991

/ // to keep the carriers of plague at

bay . // // Yet someone here is staggering and stumbling— // // how i

ns; Shippegan Island; Cape Sable // //

bays ; harbours // // One to one million two hundred and fifty thousan

r // // as it did a month gone, // //

BC (Before Capricorn). // // But of course that is not so. // // See

Capricorn suite

torm demolished // // the dunes on the

beach across the creek // // and had a go at East Hills. // // A onc

m has passed // // lie back on the wet

beach // // and watch the stars emerge. // // Sharp dots; but watch

// Nearer, the lapwings forage up the

beach . // // At water’s edge the oyster-catchers, gulls // // compet

ome at an angle, sweep // // along the

beach . Each // // finds its own reach up the foreshore, // // the b

Covehithe, Suffolk

e met again // // on a Suffolk shingle

beach . // // In November the days were short, // // and dark night f

astwards we turn, // // along the open

beach , in rich sea air. // // Look up, look up, my love—the sky is ca

Wells in winter

// // compete for surface scraps. The

beach is good // // for all. The redshanks, godwits, curlews search

in on the flow: // // time to mark the

beach . // // Now I start to trickle back // // over wet ground, unde

ould climb // // onto her stand on the

beach // // of Suffolk shingle // // or watch her slide down the ram

at is // // the cliff. A narrow sandy

beach past which // // the falling tide reveals the deep black mud //

s // // on piles all along the shingle

beach . // // The mile south to the Martello tower, // // we walk alo

Walking in winter

// // of the next bend, another sandy

beach // // to reach by boat. That place we call Japan: // // again

clear. // // Across the wood, onto the

beach . We hear // // the gulls, and faintly, far away, the churn //

Wells in winter

s waving under the sky. // // Islands,

beaches , clifftops, creeks and inlets, // // rocky shorelines tumblin

more. // // More hills, dales, crags,

beaches // // more boat or cycle rides // // more walks, more bluebe

// to pick up soldiers // // from the

beaches of Dunkirk // // and ferry them to safety // // at ten I wou

mmon course, // // or bend or hitch or

bead ? // // Some earlier occasion when // // our life-lines must hav

search // // for hidden treasure, long

beaks buried full // // to probe deep down beneath the shining mud. /

hank, // // godwit, curlew—long // //

beaks probing deep // // beneath the // // shining // // mud. // /

sun behind us, low, // // yellow light-

beams almost horizontal; // // East Hills aglow. // // Winds moaning

Recorded syllables

e small bowl of wedding reception stews

bean bubble, // // The taro rolls up an incense. // // The impregnab

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

eafood in monolith // // Do the crispy

bean curd of boiler, // // Blow up a little croaker with no result. /

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ake train // // it’s plain // // grow

beard // // brave again // // forsake train // //

came up and blew them in again. // //

Beards are good for finger-fiddling // // stroking, tickling, searchi

came up and blew them in again. // //

Beards are great when gales are threatening // // keep drafts out and

nd came up and blew it in again. // //

Beards may need some clipping, shortening // // left alone they easil

// Now I rush on down the creek // //

bearing loose things left afloat. // // Behind each moored boat runs

way // // Just feel the breathless sun

beat down // // Way-hay, blow us away // // And seek out any shade w

feet // // [make up an eight-syllable]

beat . // // Selec- // // tions will do // // for five, three and tw

Fibonacci series

Camelot. // // But what is this small

beaten path // // Between two beds of clean-raked earth // // Where

The Lady’s Maid

nd of the Chatterley ban // // and the

Beatles ’ first LP; // // strangely, though, not sex but fire). // //

es on the rooftiles overhead // // and

beats against the window with the wind. // // Whipped wide awake by w

e biggest // // of its group, but very

beautiful . // // What does it look like from the inside? // // See t

id he render // // for all of us, such

beauty brought he forth; // // and at the end, almost with dying brea

peaceful earth, // // the mill-girl’s

beauty or the maiden’s death, // // the trout that dart and pause and

Becalmed // // Run all the sails up the mast // // Way-hay, blow us

? Eventually // // the Sheffield ties

become more tenuous, // // legs weaken, and isolation palls. // // O

Ninety-six and counting

he village shop to seek supplies // //

becomes a daily ritual. // // Suffolk, circa 1958 // // After the fl

Walking in winter

ck, makes some small additions. And it

becomes a scene, a group of people in evening dress, top hats and the

Fragments of a life

h the scents the sea-winds bring // //

becomes a trickle. On the soft, receding // // Hear the marsh-birds

s, // // resonates on though the print

becomes faint; // // just as each new generation soon finds itself //

lprit must now be unmasked. // // It’s

becoming quite clear that the hour // // for soft pussy-footing is pa

One of our cushions

ne window, rather high— // // from the

bed all I could see was sky. // // But rising gave me sight // // of

Beds and trees and windows

spiral hardness rests // // on the sea-

bed . Forever? // // Another, rougher softness, // // but with sharp

cross to a busy road // // but from my

bed I looked out on // // a corner of a tree-bordered square. // //

Beds and trees and windows

head // // insufficient to send me to

bed . // // Just imagine the grief // // and the consequence if // /

Newton’s counterfactuals

more, // // voices from the curtained

bed next door. // // Responses muted, though the sense is raw, // //

care. // // Voices from the curtained

bed next door: // // someone else’s fragile life is there. // //

spital // // Voices from the curtained

bed next door: // // someone else’s fragile life is there. // // Eac

seed, // // Planting out this cabbage-

bed — // // She was once a lady’s maid // // In gracious, towered Cam

The Lady’s Maid

a triangle of streets. // // From the

bed the window was hidden // // but from the table we could see // /

Beds and trees and windows

t // // with a large window. From our

bed // // we could see the tops of // // the trees in the front gard

Beds and trees and windows

// Turn the place upside down. // //

Bedroom again, more drawers and cupboards. // // Chair with pile of c

Another senior moment

/ // One to fifty: Ground floor // //

Bedroom 2; Bathroom; Bicycle shed // // walls; doors; drains // // O

ts patterns of light on the // // high

bedroom ceiling. // //

Light and shadow

oad into the distance. // // The first

bedroom I had to myself // // had windows on two sides. // // One lo

Beds and trees and windows

In our first house together // // the

bedroom was again first floor front. // // Across the tiny front gard

Beds and trees and windows

Beds and trees and windows // // A corner of a tree-bordered square /

Beds and trees and windows

is small beaten path // // Between two

beds of clean-raked earth // // Where tender shoots may venture forth

The Lady’s Maid

// No. // // Desk? // // No. // //

Bedside table? // // No. // // Kitchen again? // // No. No. No.

Another senior moment

tamp. // // I love you. // // Papered

bedsit . Send a letter. // // Pad of paper, ballpoint pen. // // Find

ges of a field. // // Our first double

bedsitter // // was on the first floor front // // with a large wind

Beds and trees and windows

icious.) // // Another tree, perhaps a

beech , but green // // (I think that I can see the nuts it sheds) //

// identify across the years. A copper

beech // // stands out, a clump of pears whose fruit // // is hard a

iously // // // The garlic slices the

beef granule. // // The first boilers of iron plate glue east // //

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

: canals and cobbled streets // // and

beer and chocolate shops // // and churches, churches, churches // /

A poem for free

ptations, welcome in // // the roaming

bees . // // Feel the fire. Spread out a green canopy // // in the wa

e Judith has chosen the music, // // a

Beethoven string quartet. // // Afterwards Colin and I go down to the

n going (despite it’s his wake)— // //

Beethoven’s music is just bloody marvellous, // // resonates on thoug

ing to be a disaster // // but then it

began rolling out its own // // finite but unbounded space-time conti

door open // // breathe in. // // Now

begin . // //

t goes // // How and where does it all

begin ? // // From a spring. // // Tell me, if you will, how it goes.

I. // // We // // As for us, the bits

begin to fall off. // // We are not so far behind. // // Old age ain

// // The rule: we should not // //

begin unwrapping till it’s // // light enough to see. // // Below th

Light and shadow

Beginagain // // There was an old man called Michael Finnegan. // //

// One more great change, one more new

beginning : // // a different kind of home // // here on the north No

Ninety-six and counting

ng is the end and // // the end is the

beginning and // // the bit in the middle is // // as long as a piec

A short treatise on string theory

somewhere. // // Start again, from the

beginning , by the door. // // Tables, shelves, cupboards, hooks, draw

Another senior moment

Destination(and

beginning —for G) // // From random junctures in primeval winds // //

borne on the blue ocean. // // In the

beginning I am small and playful, like the wind. // // It changes dir

rt treatise on string theory // // The

beginning is the end and // // the end is the beginning and // // th

A short treatise on string theory

at the edges of the air // // and the

beginning of space // // the sky is dark, but the raging fire // //

Tide // // each new

beginning // // reiterates a pattern // // as old as the hills // /

gularity is quite absurd. // // In the

beginning there were many words: // // sitting, lying all around //

You are here // // // // In the

beginning was the third. // // (The first two were duds; the bits //

ed ranks of Christmas pine // // which

begins a mile down the road // // and into whose dense interior // /

ng // // makes another lingering turn,

begins // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // retreating back the

nts the sea-winds bring // // The tide

begins its steady, slow accretion // // Hear the marsh-birds calling

r: nights are drawing in // // the day

begins to go // // the clouds are low and spitting rain. // // The l

// will burn for ever. The fire once

begun // // would last for days and days. Each morning I came down,

flips away, // // dives deep, leaving

behind a swirling wake. // // Nearer, the lapwings forage up the beac

earing loose things left afloat. // //

Behind each moored boat runs a wake: // // time to gush full spate. /

reach the valley floor— // // to leave

behind , for now, the wilder moor. // // The treasures to be found alo

Daydream Dale Journey

dying breath, // // a swan-song, left

behind for us to ponder, // // in any season. // //

lost, // // we let each thread unroll

behind , // // laying down the past— // // until the day, just nine m

te from the valley, with // // Derwent

behind me and scrambles ahead of me. // // Out of the pastures and on

n to fall off. // // We are not so far

behind . // // Old age ain’t no place for sissies. // // —Bette Davis

hem. // // Move anything they might be

behind or under. // // Look inside anything they might be in. // //

Another senior moment

// // That scratching? A poltergeist

behind the skirting? // // Don’t be silly, that’s just a branch of th

but carefully composed: // // the sky

behind the trees beyond the meadow, // // tall grasses glowing in the

Cape Cod Morning

e walk along the banked-up track // //

behind the wall, level with the top, // // running the gauntlet of th

Walking in winter

hpaste // // that the saxophonist left

behind . // // This is the heat-death of the universe; // // the rest

ly vanish? // // It hasn’t just fallen

behind . // // Two of our cushions are missing // // from the sofa ju

One of our cushions

be sharp if our toes were bare. // //

Behind us, in the wood, // // tall straight pines reach for the sky,

he ramparts // // looking seaward, sun

behind us, low, // // yellow light-beams almost horizontal; // // Ea

Recorded syllables

adder, which // // we can then haul up

behind us, ready // // to defend against the next attack. // // Towa

/ But we shall leave such counterpoints

behind us: // // time will tell. // // Those are not the moments to

Recorded syllables

g, breaking. // // I am lost. The one

behind // // will finish me completely // // and for ever. // //

// // ninety-nine years long.) // //

Béla Bartók and Frank Bridge // // are still at college // // Sergei

January Nineteen Hundred and One

der the channel and then from France to

Belgium . // // But we don’t notice them at all: the journey is seamle

A poem for free

/ // Though with only one ship and one

bell .) // // we there did espy a fair pretty maid // // with a comb

All done with mirrors

/ // Wonderful mechanisms in the civic

belltower — // // a giant musical box. // // There once was a poet in

A poem for free

ushroom // // Do the black boiler hair

belly . // // The day boiler duck is miscellaneous. // //

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

nates here. // // Please take all your

belongings with you, // // and could the last person to alight please

hreads // // In far-off times, my best-

beloved , // // when we were young and all, // // the woven patterns

pale, under my guard, // // below the

belt and over the line. // // What’s in a name? // // It’s been too

Capricorn suite

around their necks or attached to their

belts . // //

Ode to the yeast wind

g disorder along the back // // of the

bench , as far as the window. // // Some of the contents and all of th

bench // // At one end of the bench in the garage sits // // a minia

The bench // // At one end of the

bench in the garage sits // // a miniature wooden eight-drawered ches

e clutter covering the remainder of the

bench // // is piled uncontained and unconstrained. // // Unused par

iddle-aged New York woman, sitting on a

bench seat, observes the situation, and promptly, busily, without risi

Fragments of a life

// elsewhere in the garage). // // The

bench was once // // a kitchen dresser, already ancient in // // the

ud. On the far bank // // of the next

bend , another sandy beach // // to reach by boat. That place we call

arrow side road curves to join // // a

bend on a bigger road. The pavements // // curl around, leaving two

South London standoff

ave found some common course, // // or

bend or hitch or bead? // // Some earlier occasion when // // our li

rom a dying glacier. // // On the next

bend , the banks // // will exchange character. // // A flowing river

I drift on mirror water, following the

bend , // // the curlew rises suddenly, // // screeching at my invasi

Sunburn // // Sonnet // //

Bend the light // // just so // // above, below, // // left and rig

ot // // and burn. // // Tanka // //

Bend the light just so // // above, below, left and right, // // foc

// (well, really, just around the final

bend ) // // this craven kraken creeps, and slumbers not: // // a ste

Capricorn suite

tumn fruit is growing fat, // // trees

bending , boughs reaching // // for the ground, creaking // // under

Autumn wind is bowling on, // // trees

bending , dark green leaves showing // // their lighter backs, a few e

Good vibrations // // The

Bendix washing machine was already elderly // // when my mother, acqu

Good vibrations

memory and desire, fertile earth // //

beneath , a place where something would unfold, // // something hard w

t cold, but every day // // the embers

beneath the ash were darkly glowing, asking only // // a slight encou

to twist into one, // // right there,

beneath the bridge. // // If we could trace them in reverse, // // e

louds across the sky, // // lying abed

beneath the cobwebbed rafters, // // warm and dry. // // On waters o

Recorded syllables

crafty sea is also digging down // //

beneath the piles. Then one stormy night // // it pulls the final pr

Walking in winter

s buried full // // to probe deep down

beneath the shining mud. // //

w—long // // beaks probing deep // //

beneath the // // shining // // mud. // // Sonnet // // Cold and c

what’s needed. The // // real public

benefit’s not even there.” // // Sadiq says “The Boris’s vanity proje

Troubled waters

through trees // // fruit-laden boughs

bent to earth // // apples in the grass // //

across the pavement. // // A bartender

bent to work; // // chrome coffee machines. // // At the bar three p

Walking in winter // // // //

Berkshire , 1962-3 // // This year it snows on Boxing Day. // // The

Walking in winter

// // Dining table? // // No. // //

Beside easy chair? // // No. // // On television? // // No. // //

Another senior moment

s: small, size 6, size 8, large. // //

Beside it stands another of much later age: // // a plastic chest wit

stones // // set into wet turf. // //

Beside the path, every so often, // // a wet standing stone. // // T

Wells in winter // // We take the path

beside the wood—the fir // // and silver birch along the dunes that r

Wells in winter

// // the drying sand with muddy spots

bespeckled . // // Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // The tr

// // just three alliterative lines—at

best // // a semi-stanza—and then to cease? It seems // // perverse

ard created for the stage // // by the

best actors of the age. // // Thank you for calling Shakespeareline.

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

Two threads // // In far-off times, my

best -beloved, // // when we were young and all, // // the woven patt

prop. A hundred yards // // of man’s

best effort at defence // // drops thirty feet into a hole. // // Ca

Walking in winter

dden, but evident in the number, // //

best expressed Roman fashion: // // CII. // // We // // As for us,

eems to be acting // // not in its own

best interests. // // Too bad. // // Polarity // // // First the b

Capricorn suite

et in Ghent // // Who set out with the

best of intent // // In rollicking verse // // On a galloping horse—

A poem for free

ce. We left the room unpainted for the

best part of the 22 years we lived there, and it wasn’t just because w

Fragments of a life

r cups. Thomas certainly did his level

best // // to drink himself to death. But for these falls, // // no

// just have to check on my map for the

best way back. // // Reading a map now, I have to use spectacles. //

recover the net. // // You’d scarcely

bet he’d swallow a net. // // He swallowed the net to trap the hat. /

ds some zeta factor // // and my clear

beta , gamma, delta connection // // is screwed up by a zeta factor //

llow that suggestion // // to make the

beta , gamma, delta link. // // 1 back: frustration // // Damn—I had

/ 2 forward: inspiration // // Alpha,

beta , gamma, delta. // // The way is clear. This formulation // //

an approximate relation // // by tying

beta up with mu and lambda. // // I can’t see clearly: I’ll need to

o do is make connection // // alpha to

beta using this equation, // // then follow that suggestion // // to

age ain’t no place for sissies. // // —

Bette Davis // //

ng the branches by the trunk // // or (

better ) by the real rope-ladder, which // // we can then haul up behi

ings for the ones you seldom use // //

Better , I can even tell you when // // the sun will rise, and if the

and in the small, // // to learn (for

better or for worse) // // what moves us all. // // From me you’ll l

ntle // // way to wander into // // a

better place, a future that // // revives, replenishes, makes good //

shions are missing. // // It’s getting

beyond a bad joke. // // Destroying our comfort’s as rotten // // as

One of our cushions

each past to pilfer // // the clusters

beyond , adding scratches // // to the stains already covering your fi

, // // to Bolton Abbey, and the Strid

beyond , // // and Barden Bridge—and now I flick my wand // // some m

Daydream Dale Journey

red hills, created by some force // //

beyond imagination; and of course // // extracted from my fickle memo

Daydream Dale Journey

ior // // we sometimes venture. // //

Beyond the fir-trees lies // // a bracken-covered heath. The summer

nted fireworks // // in the dark edges

beyond the flickering light. // // Nearly-five-year-old Colin // //

mposed: // // the sky behind the trees

beyond the meadow, // // tall grasses glowing in the morning sun //

Cape Cod Morning

t // // charges towards me // // from

beyond the pale, under my guard, // // below the belt and over the li

Capricorn suite

he some more the cool clear air. // //

Beyond the scree the open path leads on, // // a gentler walk, to bar

Daydream Dale Journey

round floor // // Bedroom 2; Bathroom;

Bicycle shed // // walls; doors; drains // // One to ten: Tiles //

el link. // // A monstrous hole, quite

big enough to eat // // the park and all the houses down the street.

Peckham 1969—1991

nnot grow. // // Rough softness is too

big , // // leaves for another home. // // Another rough softness. //

, wheels bigger than me— // // a great

big monster, steaming, black. // // The bogeys go: click-clack click

y house // // that is my mother’s next

big venture after // // producing six of us. // // L-shaped the hous

road curves to join // // a bend on a

bigger road. The pavements // // curl around, leaving two small rais

South London standoff

front to see // // the engine, wheels

bigger than me— // // a great big monster, steaming, black. // // Th

/ // with a bar across. Not quite the

biggest // // of its group, but very beautiful. // // What does it l

flesh reviewed // // in magazines, on

billboards high displayed, // // each model posed in languid attitude

For Robert Graves

s must compete for life. // // Another

billion random changes: all // // —or almost all—are duds. Neverthele

om junctures in primeval winds // // a

billion random patterns form—until // // an accidental spiral sequenc

ke grows // // eyes smart // // smoke

billows // // move apart // // eyes smart // // flames creep // //

e grows // // smoke curls // // smoke

billows // // smoke grows // // eyes smart // // smoke billows //

// // Don’t be silly, that’s just the

bin —needs emptying. // // That knocking? Footsteps in the next room?

side the wood—the fir // // and silver

birch along the dunes that run // // between the marshes and the sea.

Wells in winter

of part and whole, netsuke-like. // //

Bird and fish are two, and now are one: // // no perfectability excep

Sculpting the vortex

// dream deep // // faint light // //

bird sings // // growing bright // // gadget pings // // go away //

-birds calling // // water’s edge, the

birds are searching, finding. // // Breath the scents the sea-winds b

bows face seaward // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // against the current pushing strongly townward. //

s in the harbour; // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // at the bar the waves are washing over. // // Bre

ndbanks. Listing // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // boats are stranded at their stations, waiting //

ach and lift them // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // echoes of the distant sea-swell rock them // //

y, slow accretion // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // in places it has lost, reoccupation // // Breath

ring turn, begins // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // retreating back the way it came, regains // // B

a gentle trickle // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // the drying sand with muddy spots bespeckled. //

around once more // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // to face the town, runs headlong for the bar, //

nnels water rises // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // to the edges of the sea-grass—pauses, // // Brea

he soft, receding // // Hear the marsh-

birds calling // // water’s edge, the birds are searching, finding. /

g under the sky. // // Sea-birds, pond-

birds , dippers, warblers, song-birds, // // waders, hunters hovering

ines tumbling under the sky. // // Sea-

birds , pond-birds, dippers, warblers, song-birds, // // waders, hunte

ds, pond-birds, dippers, warblers, song-

birds , // // waders, hunters hovering under the sky. // // People, p

Pushing 60 // // My sixtieth

birthday is nearing— // // brings a thought that is far from cheering

el posed in languid attitude, // // in

birthday suit and little else arrayed? // // I think he’d add a note

For Robert Graves

ast // // Bam Posht; Badiyat ash Sham;

Bisharin // // railways; borders; deserts // // One to five million:

the end is the beginning and // // the

bit in the middle is // // as long as a piece of string. // //

A short treatise on string theory

signs accumulated over a century and a

bit . There is an area about 2ft square of brush marks in a darker pai

Fragments of a life

table?— // // test for it thus: // //

bite it—the seeds on your // // tuckerbib show that it’s // // proto

d. // // (The first two were duds; the

bits // // are somewhere back there, along with // // all the other

// CII. // // We // // As for us, the

bits begin to fall off. // // We are not so far behind. // // Old ag

once grew on the hill above, // // and

bits of buildings, human artifacts. // // Geological time // // is f

Covehithe, Suffolk

into the night // // I fed it all the

bits that it had missed: // // fragments around the edges of the blaz

—spinning around one of the hot yellow

bits // // way out here in the remoter backwaters // // of the weste

// There was a war. // // There was a

bitter , civil // // war in Jordan. // // There was a gun. // // The

Black September

wo months // // are clear and fine and

bitter cold. // // Every step, // // your foot upon the crust, you t

Walking in winter

I cannot say. // // Rainbow-bright, or

black and white, // // or autumn hues, or shades of grey— // // the

The dream I dreamt

of incense taste mushroom // // Do the

black boiler hair belly. // // The day boiler duck is miscellaneous.

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

the wire brush // // of David’s thick

black hair, // // staying in place until at home // // the small gas

Walking in winter

/ // the falling tide reveals the deep

black mud // // which oozes softly up between our toes. Across the r

, // // the ocean, the blue-green-grey-

black ocean, // // the bottomless, endless ocean. // // Where are we

Black September // // // There was a war. // // There was a bitter,

Black September

// // with smears of fires, burnt and

black . // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // On holid

— // // a great big monster, steaming,

black . // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // Telephon

Suffolk heath, // // the wild Suffolk

blackberries // // of my childhood remain forever perfect, // // for

you will deliver // // for tomorrow’s

blackberry -and-apple pie // // —the ones you ate straight off the bus

F.B.L // // london clay,

blackened , arsenic // // railings, pointing, down pipe, clunch, setti

lee // // of the sea-wall, around the

bladder -wrack, // // long-legged waders scutter, scavenge, seek // /

e train // // rough grain // // sharp

blade // // shave again // // shine or rain // // wind or cloud //

// that was off by a mile. // // Tony

Blair // // floated on air // // when Maggie’s encomium // // came

// // ral son and heir // // was Tony

Blair . // // Nigel Farrage // // has a mouth like a garage— // // h

enied. // // Anyway, the cancer can be

blamed // // for many things. Hard to tell, now, // // which failin

glass. // // We jump at a sudden sound-

blast — // // another train on the next track. // // The bogeys go:

er. A line of ancient oaks // // (one

blasted trunk is hollow through, and can be climbed // // inside) mar

/ // fragments around the edges of the

blaze . // // Even now, // // I feel the heat upon my face. // // Tw

ties of fuel // // and built a roaring

blaze . Then late into the night // // I fed it all the bits that it

, slipper satin, worsted // // dimity,

blazer , babouche // // borrowed light, dimpse, mizzle, skylight // /

th, // // and send signal fires // //

blazing into the air. // // Our space is the earth, // // time lives

eads on, // // a gentler walk, to bare

bleak Malham Tarn. // // Then back to skirt the edge of Malham Cove,

Daydream Dale Journey

nights, more dreams // // more seasons

bleeding into seasons. // // Just not so many more. // //

l Finnegan. // // The wind came up and

blew him in again. // //

hy grin—but // // the wind came up and

blew it in again. // // Beards may need some clipping, shortening //

is chin—but // // the wind came up and

blew them in again. // // Beards are good for finger-fiddling // //

and kin—but // // the wind came up and

blew them in again. // // Beards are great when gales are threatening

lashes silhouette the trees against the

blind . // // A storm is raging as I lie abed, // // whipped wide awa

lashes silhouette the trees against the

blind . // // Under canvas // // Night-time noises permeate the air /

// // Sharp dots; but watch and do not

blink . // // In time, an instant dash: // // a shooting star. // //

clouds amass: // // watch now: if you

blink you will miss // // the instant jagged challenge passing betwee

at the height of the Luftwaffe’s // //

blitz on Sheffield. // // In north Africa, D is killed. // // Later,

Ninety-six and counting

ove it. // // The all-clear // // //

Blitz . The heavy bombers, lighter now, // // are droning back toward

Capricorn suite

ake a join // // with the neighbouring

block , leaving a row of nine. // // In nineteen sixty nine the house

Peckham 1969—1991

London terraced fronts. // // One of a

block of four, it had been once— // // but they had filled the gap to

Peckham 1969—1991

ying fields // // One to five hundred:

Block plan // // Sherlock Road; Sherlock Court; Sherlock Close // //

ey raised the ramparts: giant concrete

blocks // // on piles all along the shingle beach. // // The mile so

Walking in winter

a cause. // // A // // The fall drew

blood . // // No such obvious culprit here, // // except for age, pur

wake)— // // Beethoven’s music is just

bloody marvellous, // // resonates on though the print becomes faint;

the flowers bloom and wither // // and

bloom again. They’ve been there // // for a decade now. // //

South London standoff

g, too. // // Around them, the flowers

bloom and wither // // and bloom again. They’ve been there // // fo

South London standoff

urrents criss-cross, revolutions // //

blossom and fade, movements // // are born, copulate and die. // //

January Nineteen Hundred and One

A great dark cloud // // fire-edged,

blots out the setting sun. // // Later, the clouds amass: // // watc

melot. // // Then, as winds of fortune

blow , // // It was arranged that she should go // // And take her pl

The Lady’s Maid

r. // // From across the waters // //

blow the evanescent airs // // moistening the many-coloured earths. /

the crispy bean curd of boiler, // //

Blow up a little croaker with no result. // // Fragile crab of incens

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ection find // // Give me some wind to

blow us away // //

g up a wind // // Give me some wind to

blow us away // // Adrift the middle of the sea // // Way-hay, blow

decks to cool the wood // // Way-hay,

blow us away // // And pour a bucket on my head // // Give me some w

reathless sun beat down // // Way-hay,

blow us away // // And seek out any shade we can // // Give me some

t the middle of the sea // // Way-hay,

blow us away // // And there is nothing here for me // // Give me so

morrow there’ll be wind // // Way-hay,

blow us away // // And we can some direction find // // Give me some

l the sails up the mast // // Way-hay,

blow us away // // But we are bound for nowhere fast // // Give me s

as we roll // // Give me some wind to

blow us away // // Horizon’s clear from end to end // // Way-hay, bl

here for me // // Give me some wind to

blow us away // // Just feel the breathless sun beat down // // Way-

s clear from end to end // // Way-hay,

blow us away // // No hope of whistling up a wind // // Give me some

owhere fast // // Give me some wind to

blow us away // // No wind! we wallow in the swell // // Way-hay, b

hade we can // // Give me some wind to

blow us away // // Now sluice the decks to cool the wood // // Way-h

on my head // // Give me some wind to

blow us away // // Perhaps tomorrow there’ll be wind // // Way-hay,

we wallow in the swell // // Way-hay,

blow us away // // The sails clatter as we roll // // Give me some w

l away // // as time flies // // wind

blows and dies // // clouds pass or stay // // in changing skies //

n: we clamber down. // // The whistle

blows , the train moves on, // // the guard’s van trundles at the back

rarely, // // carriages decked in the

blue and gold livery // // of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons

Peckham 1969—1991

on the glowing map, the glowing // //

blue dot reveals the now, and traces // // of past and future both. /

ll it catches fire, // // pour out the

blue flame. // // After lunch, a walk // // through the summer’s bro

Light and shadow

k like from the inside? // // See that

blue -green ball of stuff? // // —spinning around one of the hot yello

arkness by night, // // the ocean, the

blue -green-grey-black ocean, // // the bottomless, endless ocean. //

ie, // // it’s Jan, not June. // // A

blue lagoon, // // the deep blue sky. // // The crescent moon // //

The moon in June

s over sand and rock // // in filtered

blue light, // // carrying hardness with it. // // Sometimes softnes

, the wild wind // // and borne on the

blue ocean. // // In the beginning I am small and playful, like the w

n’t wear jackets // // Shapeless, navy

blue or fawn, // // three-quarter length, or maybe short, // // patc

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

ambling moor // // changing sea // //

blue sea // // silver lake // // purple moor // // green forest //

the sky, // // dark trunks against the

blue , // // shed long thin needles. // // In the distance, // // gn

rub eyes // // yawn and stretch // //

blue skies // // legs itch // // must get on // // first scratch //

. // // A blue lagoon, // // the deep

blue sky. // // The crescent moon // // some cryptic rune. // // Th

The moon in June

lls, knife-edge against // // the deep

blue sky. We take our boots off, // // dip our feet into water clear

or cycle rides // // more walks, more

bluebell woods // // more curlews, more ragged, slanting lines of gee

blues // // November: nights are drawing in // // the day begins to

om the // // edge of the path, not yet

blunted or bowdlerized. // // Broken? It must be, if agony’s evidenc

th fuel to burn. // // If the lines be

blurred just right, // // You may go there with your eyesight. // //

Babylon by candlelight

// peignoir, charlotte’s locks, nancy’s

blushes // // drop cloth, slipper satin, worsted // // dimity, blaze

Circle line // //

Board anywhere // //

lectricity to children: // // a wooden

board on which are mounted // // battery box, switches, lights, buzze

k. // // Don’t waste your time on wild

boar’s head. // // If Aristotle makes you choke // // eat me instead

left by the ebb-tide. // // The moored

boat listing on the mudflat. // // The salt-marsh, the sedge and the

The rain and the air

ills, dales, crags, beaches // // more

boat or cycle rides // // more walks, more bluebell woods // // more

left afloat. // // Behind each moored

boat runs a wake: // // time to gush full spate. // // Now my headlo

another sandy beach // // to reach by

boat . That place we call Japan: // // against the sky, a line of tho

// Hear the marsh-birds calling // //

boats are stranded at their stations, waiting // // Breath the scents

nds bring // // the channel, turns the

boats around once more // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // to f

’s van trundles at the back. // // The

bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // //

ches follow along the track: // // the

bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // At night, the glow and fly

her train on the next track. // // The

bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // Country station: we clamb

ople rushing there and back. // // The

bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // First we go to the front t

s of fires, burnt and black. // // The

bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // On holiday by train! Vast

ch pole like a jumping jack. // // The

bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // Raindrops slanting across

ig monster, steaming, black. // // The

bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // Telephone wires through th

‘OFF’ position. // // To re-

boil the kettle, switch it on again. If the appliance has just switch

Using your Kettle

. // // When the kettle has

boiled the water may be poured out through the spout. // //

Using your Kettle

olith // // Do the crispy bean curd of

boiler , // // Blow up a little croaker with no result. // // Fragile

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

lourishing bowl bowl shrimp // // Do a

boiler burn the duck head. // // The prefecture of river drives meal

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

black boiler hair belly. // // The day

boiler duck is miscellaneous. // //

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ense taste mushroom // // Do the black

boiler hair belly. // // The day boiler duck is miscellaneous. // //

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ices the beef granule. // // The first

boilers of iron plate glue east // // Grow face fa-cai thick soup. //

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

inate. // // When the water

boils the kettle will switch off automatically. The kettle can be swi

Using your Kettle

slave again // // pull chain // // be

bold // // brake train // // it’s plain // // grow beard // // bra

nd gaily singing on his way // // Rode

bold Sir Lancelot. // // Years have passed. The winter’s chill // /

The Lady’s Maid

long ago. // // A handsome prince will

boldly go // // and dangers great will bravely face, // // the world

The world just so

happy. “We need a designer with // //

boldness and vision—I know just the man. // // He has built me some b

Troubled waters

/ to the south-west: // // marked by a

bolt embedded in // // the Newlyn harbour wall. // // One day, a sto

ple of reasons. One, that it had to be

bolted // // down to the floor, to prevent it going walkabout, // //

Good vibrations

am, back up the river Wharfe, // // to

Bolton Abbey, and the Strid beyond, // // and Barden Bridge—and now I

Daydream Dale Journey

boxes, jars and tins: // // the larger

bolts and nuts and washers, // // flooring nails, staples, cuphooks,

d pickles. Washers // // and nuts and

bolts and screws and hooks // // were saved from all sorts of deconst

rs // // —unlabelled, but the nuts and

bolts and washers // // are visible within. // // Gathered round abo

es // // more storms, gales, lightning

bolts // // more days of sun or rain or passing cloud // // more mee

all-clear // // // Blitz. The heavy

bombers , lighter now, // // are droning back towards their bases, //

Capricorn suite

my London childhood // // we’d call a

bombsite —desolate but rife // // with memory and desire, fertile eart

// // I received a slight knock on the

bonce . // // For sure my laws must // // have forever been lost //

Newton’s counterfactuals

vage ground // // smoked trout, wevet,

bone , calamine // // lichen, brinjal, radicchio, citron, calluna //

/ XO sauce explodes to grow the fragile

bone . // // The peasant family stir-fries four // // Butterfish cook

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

Bonfire // // Dark night // // strike match // // tiny light // //

// // Some fruit // // Present for C—

book ? // // Coat to cleaners // // Pay newsagent // // Bulbs for ki

Notes to a life

l. // // From me you’ll learn before a

book . // // Don’t waste your time on wild boar’s head. // // If Aris

the words to make it plain. // // Two

book -ends bracket our shared domain: // // the start, the lobby of a

as rotten // // as stealing a library

book . // // Five of our cushions are missing. // // How can we count

One of our cushions

g into every word-filled well; // // a

book should suck you into its embrace. // // Fall, fall into the writ

Jump willing in

s well-cast spell. // // And now, this

book , the here and now dispel // // and conjure me to quite a differe

Jump willing in

atch the hook. // // That’s not in the

book , to swallow a hook. // // He swallowed the hook to recover the n

nto every word-filled well. // // That

book will hold against your ear a shell // // whose music makes your

Jump willing in

e writer’s well-cast spell. // // That

book will set you puzzles which propel // // your thoughts, destroy o

Jump willing in

e writer’s well-cast spell. // // That

book will take you o’er a stormy fell // // with her who to her lover

Jump willing in

nto every word-filled well. // // That

book will tales of distant countries tell // // or take you on a voya

Jump willing in

rneys, voyages, expeditions // // more

books , more coffee cups // // more tragedies, comedies, histories //

themselves // // will find in all the

books that line the shelves, // // and close to home as well: they to

// // He has built me some buses which

boosted my ego—the // // Heatherwick’s sure to produce a fine plan. /

Troubled waters

// // the deep blue sky. We take our

boots off, // // dip our feet into water clear and achingly cold, //

As Judith had broken in a new pair of

boots , we buried the old pair somewhere on one of the passes high abov

Fragments of a life

// The night mail rattles north to the

border // // (bringing the cheque and the postal order). // // Rhyth

A poem for free

looked out on // // a corner of a tree-

bordered square. // // The second had one window, rather high— // //

Beds and trees and windows

s and windows // // A corner of a tree-

bordered square // // trees around the edges of a field // // the tr

Beds and trees and windows

cannot now recall. // // On the lands

bordering the Mediterranean, // // empires rise and fall. Battles ar

yat ash Sham; Bisharin // // railways;

borders ; deserts // // One to five million: Gulf of St Lawrence //

// is continuous and high-pitched. The

borders we cross are eastward: // // under the channel and then from

A poem for free

enty-minute hiatus. // // But the fire

bore us no grudge, // // and welcomed us back into its glow. // // A

ave again // // it’s insane // // i’m

bored // // take train // // what a pain // // and absurd // // sl

/ —but Sadiq the Most Evil deposes poor

Boris , and // // gets the Red Margaret to look at the case. // // “I

Troubled waters

he bandwagon he’ll be glad.” // // The

Boris is happy. “We need a designer with // // boldness and vision—I

Troubled waters

London, he // // goes by the rubrik of

Boris the Mad. // // He’d adore such a grand and flamboyant adventure

Troubled waters

not even there.” // // Sadiq says “The

Boris’s vanity project has // // gone off the rails. I’m not such a

Troubled waters

/ full of family and lodgers. Daughter

born // // at the height of the Luftwaffe’s // // blitz on Sheffield

Ninety-six and counting

heir cots // // William Walton not yet

born . // // But Maurice Ravel has just joined // // the Société des

January Nineteen Hundred and One

blossom and fade, movements // // are

born , copulate and die. // // But for the real turn, the cataclysm //

January Nineteen Hundred and One

ck the way we came. // // All verse is

born free. // //

A poem for free

hing that resembles a narrative. // //

Born nineteen-seventeen (dark days of the first world war) // // in S

Ninety-six and counting

the occasion, // // we read the flower-

borne messages // // and talked to relatives not seen for years. //

d by the wind, the wild wind // // and

borne on the blue ocean. // // In the beginning I am small and playfu

mewhere on one of the passes high above

Borrowdale in what was then still Westmorland. It wasn’t very environ

Fragments of a life

// // dimity, blazer, babouche // //

borrowed light, dimpse, mizzle, skylight // // ammonite, mahogany, ar

// Fin de siècle. // // Ethel Sargant,

botanist // // (Girton student 1880s) // // builds a lab in her gard

There must be moonshine

. // // Subjective // // Discomfort.

Bother . // // Irritation. Nuisance. // // Pain? no, not really. //

Capricorn suite

tion to conquer the mountaintop. // //

Bottle of water and lunch in my haversack. // // Climb by the obvious

en the stream-floor ridges // // Now a

bottom -feeder dredges // // Through the silt of Camelot. // // But w

The Lady’s Maid

labub of recorded time. // // From the

bottom of the barrel // // the sound of scraping has ceased. // // T

rn back and traverse the table from the

bottom to the top // // so that the same period games // // allow th

roove, finally // // dropping into the

bottom tray. // // Of course you try // // many marbles at a time. /

blue-green-grey-black ocean, // // the

bottomless , endless ocean. // // Where are we going? // // Something

ething is changing: the ocean // // is

bottomless no longer. // // I feel something // // never felt before

owling through trees // // fruit-laden

boughs bent to earth // // apples in the grass // //

t is growing fat, // // trees bending,

boughs reaching // // for the ground, creaking // // under the weigh

ent of the Peckham house // // that we

bought some forty years ago. // // One of the legs had rotted half aw

Way-hay, blow us away // // But we are

bound for nowhere fast // // Give me some wind to blow us away // //

populations press // // against their

boundaries . The vital stress // // expresses change. Some variant has

// edge of the path, not yet blunted or

bowdlerized . // // Broken? It must be, if agony’s evidence. // // L

d to no sauce. // // Young flourishing

bowl bowl shrimp // // Do a boiler burn the duck head. // // The pre

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

fries a leaf mustard. // // The small

bowl of wedding reception stews bean bubble, // // The taro rolls up

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

no sauce. // // Young flourishing bowl

bowl shrimp // // Do a boiler burn the duck head. // // The prefectu

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

// // West wind // // Autumn wind is

bowling on, // // trees bending, dark green leaves showing // // the

dy grass. // // East wind // // Winds

bowling through trees // // fruit-laden boughs bent to earth // // a

g // // straining at their lines. The

bows face seaward // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // against t

rom the glazed back door // // through

box and holly grown to full maturity // // to an iron-gated pointed a

of weathered Cotswold stone. // // The

box and holly // // were magnificent, but could not be allowed // //

pen. // // Find a stamp, street-corner

box . // // I love you. // // Wi-fi café. Send a letter. // // Lapto

// Perhaps I should plant // // some

box or holly. // //

// the produce of our labours. // // A

box or holly root, smouldering slowly, // // will burn for ever. The

ard on which are mounted // // battery

box , switches, lights, buzzers, plugs // // and connecting leads. An

civic belltower— // // a giant musical

box . // // There once was a poet in Ghent // // Who set out with the

A poem for free

nailed to // // the shelf above. The

boxes and tins are stacked // // in increasing disorder along the bac

Mabe Burnthouse // // footpaths; phone

boxes ; inns // // One to twenty five thousand: The Broads // // West

, a motley crew // // of categories in

boxes , jars and tins: // // the larger bolts and nuts and washers, //

/ // once had other uses. The plastic

boxes // // were made for slides or toothpowder, tins // // for coco

re, 1962-3 // // This year it snows on

Boxing Day. // // The country road not cleared for days // // —and t

Walking in winter

// Beyond the fir-trees lies // // a

bracken -covered heath. The summer fronds // // rise far above our he

ntal. // // Since then, of course, the

bracken // // has been ploughed, the edges fenced, the house // // d

onise the heath, // // at war with the

bracken . // // No fruit here—the thorns will catch // // at your sle

// until inside the house.) // // The

bracken spreads across a gentle slope // // towards the river. A lin

walk // // through the summer’s brown

bracken // // that covers the heath. // // On magic carpet // // th

Light and shadow

ss the moor, // // the heather and the

bracken , the moss, the lichen, // // the cropped grass, the sheep- an

The rain and the air

as we can see, // // wet heather, wet

bracken , wet moss, wet // // hardy grasses, and sometimes, dimly in t

to make it plain. // // Two book-ends

bracket our shared domain: // // the start, the lobby of a Greek hote

nnecting leads. Another pair // // of

brackets , this time for a wooden curtain pole, // // two and a half i

Jacob’s Rock Drill pierces through the

brain // // and splits apart Edwardian disdain. // // Man and drill

Sculpting the vortex

// // pull chain // // be bold // //

brake train // // it’s plain // // grow beard // // brave again //

s with perfect sculpted edges. // // A

bramble sends great arcing shoots, // // strong curves lined with jag

of Camelot. // // Few people walk the

brambled way // // And fewer still will pause or stay // // To gaze

The Lady’s Maid

g? // // Don’t be silly, that’s just a

branch of the tree outside, scraping the window. // // That waft of s

// Scented paper, dip-pen, ink. // //

Branch post office, penny stamp. // // I love you. // // Papered bed

nches, reached // // by clambering the

branches by the trunk // // or (better) by the real rope-ladder, whic

planks, // // nailed across two angled

branches , reached // // by clambering the branches by the trunk // /

managed by Jim Ede (he would pick up a

Brancusi stone head, or a small cut brass piece by Gaudier-Brzeska, an

Fragments of a life

erable, // // orange and penny. // //

Brandy , a candle: // // heat till it catches fire, // // pour out th

Light and shadow

She- // // // nanigan

brannigan — // // is the Tomato a // // fruit or a vegetable?— // //

p a Brancusi stone head, or a small cut

brass piece by Gaudier-Brzeska, and put it into our hands). She intro

Fragments of a life

njal, radicchio, citron, calluna // //

brassica , hay, pelt, dove tale, pigeon // // mouse’s back, mole’s or

// it’s plain // // grow beard // //

brave again // // forsake train // //

boldly go // // and dangers great will

bravely face, // // the world just so. // // True love will germinat

The world just so

gh, and every wave tries hard // // to

breach the wall. And when it hits just right // // the spray rises a

Walking in winter

, in order to make proper San Francisco

bread , prospectors would carry with them their sourdough starters, car

Ode to the yeast wind

s. // // Sometimes more damage— // //

break and repair, break and repair— // // occasional work for a handy

s more damage— // // break and repair,

break and repair— // // occasional work for a handyman. // // That i

p // // I hear the ground-swell gently

break and sift, // // pushing the shingle back and forth and to and f

// go away // // sleep clings // //

break of day // // brighter now // // here to stay // // morning gl

uffolk // // South wind today. So the

breakers // // come at an angle, sweep // // along the beach. Each

Covehithe, Suffolk

ght. // // Slanting lines are forming,

breaking , forming // // ordered chaos with a raucous song: // // A t

Wells in winter

ng over him // // crashing, splitting,

breaking . // // I am lost. The one behind // // will finish me comp

/ // and at the end, almost with dying

breath , // // a swan-song, left behind for us to ponder, // // in an

/ climbing the contours and catching my

breath again. // // Skirting the back of the Little Man precipice, //

We turn tail and flee // // as fast as

breath allows us, not to feel safe // // until inside the house.) //

plumbing—a pipe heating up. // // That

breath of air? A passing presence? // // Don’t be silly, that’s just

// mouse’s back, mole’s or elephant’s

breath // // peignoir, charlotte’s locks, nancy’s blushes // // drop

he birds are searching, finding. // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // //

anded at their stations, waiting // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // as the rising waters reac

town, runs headlong for the bar, // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // becomes a trickle. On th

rrent pushing strongly townward. // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // In the saltmarsh channels

e edges of the sea-grass—pauses, // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // makes another lingering t

places it has lost, reoccupation // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // of the mudflats and the s

the distant sea-swell rock them // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // straining at their lines.

ng back the way it came, regains // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // the channel, turns the bo

bar the waves are washing over. // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // The tide begins its stead

and with muddy spots bespeckled. // //

Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // The trickle slackens, cha

// sun on skin // // door open // //

breathe in. // // Now begin. // //

amber Gordale Scar // // and rest, and

breathe some more the cool clear air. // // Beyond the scree the open

Daydream Dale Journey

/ // I do feel the cold— // // and my

breathing is rather uncertain.” // //

nd to blow us away // // Just feel the

breathless sun beat down // // Way-hay, blow us away // // And seek

ng. Yet it will // // occasionally not

breed true. Now strife: // // the different dittoes must compete for

ke-waves and volcanic dust, // // soft

breezes and winter gales. // // Was I shipwrecked? Or cast overboard

// reaching the meeting point under the

bridge // // and finding you, my lover and my friend. // //

and the Strid beyond, // // and Barden

Bridge —and now I flick my wand // // some miles of dale and moor to s

Daydream Dale Journey

ars long.) // // Béla Bartók and Frank

Bridge // // are still at college // // Sergei Prokofiev and Carl Or

January Nineteen Hundred and One

h, I have a whim // // to build a fine

bridge clear across a great river, where // // trees, grass and flowe

Troubled waters

re will I pay for—and // // now on the

bridge I am pulling the plug.” // //

Troubled waters

Journey // // From Ilkley’s old stone

bridge I trace a path // // against the stream, back up the river Wha

Daydream Dale Journey

to one, // // right there, beneath the

bridge . // // If we could trace them in reverse, // // each our own

ld pine forest // // always provides a

bridge . The trunks // // of fallen trees, fresh from the winter’s st

f the street and right, // // the line

bridges over the road.) Sometimes at night, // // a heavy goods trai

Peckham 1969—1991

s can stretch shore to shore. // // Of

bridges traversing the Thames here in London, we’ve // // just thirty

Troubled waters

ows again. // // One afternoon for one

brief hour // // the air is warm enough to melt // // the topmost la

Walking in winter

The siren call // // is in reverse, a

brief release— // // until the following night at least. // // Odyss

Capricorn suite

y should such a mundane scene // // so

briefly glimpsed, make my muse suggest // // just three alliterative

leap // // flames creep // // growing

bright // // flames leap // // sparks take flight // // growing bri

light // // bird sings // // growing

bright // // gadget pings // // go away // // sleep clings // // b

// rise far above our heads. In this

bright green // // we wander, hacking out our paths, or creeping thro

ant // // I cannot say. // // Rainbow-

bright , or black and white, // // or autumn hues, or shades of grey—

The dream I dreamt

rk forest // // flashing stream // //

bright sea // // rugged moor // // sharp mountain // // still lake

as. Just past the London Eye, // // a

bright September day, the river’s edge, // // with crowds of people m

on its way // // from the sun. // //

Bright // // spot // // turn // // white // // hot // // and burn

Trapped on its way from the sun, // //

bright spot, turn white hot and burn. // //

/ // sparks take flight // // growing

bright // // throw on timber // // sparks take flight // // glowing

sleep clings // // break of day // //

brighter now // // here to stay // // morning glow // // time to ri

// // into the maelstrom, the fire and

brimstone // // that will be the twentieth century— // // for this w

January Nineteen Hundred and One

their surface combinations. // // Now

Brin and Page build index tabulations // // of all the words their sp

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // //

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // as the rising waters reach and lift them // // Hear the

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // becomes a trickle. On the soft, receding // // Hear the

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // In the saltmarsh channels water rises // // Hear the mar

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // makes another lingering turn, begins // // Hear the mars

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // of the mudflats and the sandbanks. Listing // // Hear t

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // straining at their lines. The bows face seaward // // H

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // the channel, turns the boats around once more // // Hear

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // The tide begins its steady, slow accretion // // Hear th

// // Breath the scents the sea-winds

bring // // The trickle slackens, changes in the harbour; // // Hear

ail rattles north to the border // // (

bringing the cheque and the postal order). // // Rhythmic verses with

A poem for free

My sixtieth birthday is nearing— // //

brings a thought that is far from cheering: // // that while the past

d all. // // A seven-mile climb // //

brings us to a hidden jewel lake, // // soup-spoon-shaped, still half

a flat calm air. A winter storm // //

brings wild mountains of water crashing down // // to redefine the co

t, wevet, bone, calamine // // lichen,

brinjal , radicchio, citron, calluna // // brassica, hay, pelt, dove t

to start out on a voyage, a full round-

Britain trip. // // I’ll need a ton of words to fill each line from s

contrived to send us on our way. // //

British Rail announced that it would sink // // a hole to build the C

Peckham 1969—1991

to Camberwell. // // (Two weeks later,

British Rail’s plans // // were scrapped and redesigned. The house s

Peckham 1969—1991

eist, find some of them sublime— // //

Britten’s Ceremony or the ones from Kings. // // If I can filter out

eist, find some of them sublime, // //

Britten’s Ceremony or the ones from Kings. // // What the thunder sai

/ Feel the air. Turn in the four winds.

Broadcast the secret // // to earth, as far away as it will go. Let t

egan— // // thought his profile needed

broadening // // thought he’d flaunt a bushy grin—but // // the wind

pushes us harder, // // makes us grow

broader and taller, // // sweeps spray from our tops, // // drives u

// // In the distance, // // gnarled

broadleaf trees with twisted limbs // // shed leaves with perfect scu

// // One to twenty five thousand: The

Broads // // Westwick; Woodbastwick; Winterton // // fences; marshes

ilk // // Sausages or chops // // Veg—

broccoli ? // // Some fruit // // Present for C—book? // // Coat to

Notes to a life

in is subsiding, the // // leg was not

broken , and after a while I can // // think of resuming my journey un

ects: defunct household gadgets, // //

broken furniture, shelves no longer // // serving any useful purpose.

side of your face only. As Judith had

broken in a new pair of boots, we buried the old pair somewhere on one

Fragments of a life

not yet blunted or bowdlerized. // //

Broken ? It must be, if agony’s evidence. // // Lying there wondering

scratch // // clothes on // // spell

broken // // sleep gone // // in motion // // sun on skin // // do

ity except our own. // // In hard cast

bronze all hardness now replaced, // // the soft and sensuous flesh j

Sculpting the vortex

led “Post-Balzac”. It is a full-length

bronze cape, upright and rounded as if on the shoulders of its owner,

Fragments of a life

e and flicker under // // the bubbling

brooks , that chatter and meander; // // of Ellen, Norna, or of Rosamu

ender // // for all of us, such beauty

brought he forth; // // and at the end, almost with dying breath, //

s far as I can reach // // the flotsam

brought in on the flow: // // time to mark the beach. // // Now I st

backs, a few edging // // towards the

brown . // // Autumn fruit is growing fat, // // trees bending, bough

nch, a walk // // through the summer’s

brown bracken // // that covers the heath. // // On magic carpet //

Light and shadow

Type right // // The quick

brown fox jumps over the lazy dog // //

take the hottest Currie. // // Gordon

Brown // // replaced his frown // // with a one-sided smile // // t

rth, as far away as it will go. Let the

browns // // and reds and golds replace the greens. Now throw the can

of people in a city street, shop-window-

browsing . // // A group, gathered around and gazing into // // one w

e. // // // // There remains a small

bruise on my head // // insufficient to send me to bed. // // Just i

Newton’s counterfactuals

t, made by a house-painter cleaning his

brush after painting some woodwork. Judith sees something in the shap

Fragments of a life

ile. Send a letter. // // New papyrus,

brush and ink. // // Command a messenger. // // I love you. // // D

. There is an area about 2ft square of

brush marks in a darker paint, made by a house-painter cleaning his br

Fragments of a life

// A snowdrift forms against the wire

brush // // of David’s thick black hair, // // staying in place unti

Walking in winter

d, in truth, a little dull. // // From

Brussels by local train to Ghent: canals and cobbled streets // // an

A poem for free

, or a small cut brass piece by Gaudier-

Brzeska , and put it into our hands). She introduced me to so many art

Fragments of a life

// // into cloud. We walk // // in a

bubble , a damp and fuzzy // // igloo-tent-cocoon, both future and pas

ll bowl of wedding reception stews bean

bubble , // // The taro rolls up an incense. // // The impregnable fo

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

and pause and flicker under // // the

bubbling brooks, that chatter and meander; // // of Ellen, Norna, or

Way-hay, blow us away // // And pour a

bucket on my head // // Give me some wind to blow us away // // Perh

ight-drawered chest // // given to me (

budding carpenter) as a child // // for nails and screws. At some mo

rk and damp. Now push out above, // //

buds into the waxing light, the spring rain. Throw open // // the fir

final destination. // // These are the

buffers , this is the end of the line. // // The last post has been so

n hell did he evade the line? // // Oh

bugger ! Now we have to get away. // //

jective // // Tap left open. // // Oh

bugger ! // // The other side // // // What was it, then, from which

Capricorn suite

ting their needs. // // This time, the

bug’s not spread by rats and fleas // // but by their piss and snot a

h my halo. Ah, I have a whim // // to

build a fine bridge clear across a great river, where // // trees, gr

Troubled waters

combinations. // // Now Brin and Page

build index tabulations // // of all the words their spiders’ crawls

ush forward. // // Build speed. // //

Build power. // // Forge ahead. // // Spread. // // Reach. // // S

/ Drop back. // // Build speed. // //

Build power. // // Pull in. // // Merge. // // Retract. // // Slac

/ // Grow. // // Push forward. // //

Build speed. // // Build power. // // Forge ahead. // // Spread. //

// // Shrink. // // Drop back. // //

Build speed. // // Build power. // // Pull in. // // Merge. // //

ced that it would sink // // a hole to

build the Channel Tunnel link. // // A monstrous hole, quite big enou

Peckham 1969—1991

k, guys, an ecstasy of fumbling, // //

building the clumsy barriers just in time // // to keep the carriers

w on the hill above, // // and bits of

buildings , human artifacts. // // Geological time // // is foreshort

Covehithe, Suffolk

churches, churches, churches // // and

buildings that turn out not to be churches. // // Wonderful mechanism

A poem for free

st // // (Girton student 1880s) // //

builds a lab in her garden // // in Reigate, on her way to // // rec

There must be moonshine

to reduce the amount of limescale that

builds up on the filter. // // The amount of water can be

Using your Kettle

generated quantities of fuel // // and

built a roaring blaze. Then late into the night // // I fed it all t

short, // // and dark night fell as we

built and lit the fire // // on the dark stones, and planted firework

pointed arch // // piercing the wall,

built like the house // // of weathered Cotswold stone. // // The bo

sion—I know just the man. // // He has

built me some buses which boosted my ego—the // // Heatherwick’s sure

Troubled waters

he cliff // // is of course ephemeral,

built // // not only on, but of, // // sand. All along the foreshor

Covehithe, Suffolk

he last lives there. // // An inflated

bulb to hold // // the other two in place. // // Subjective // // D

Capricorn suite

n city clag // // —a handful of trees,

bulbs // // and other plants. // // On one // // a stately ram, gre

South London standoff

to cleaners // // Pay newsagent // //

Bulbs for kitchen lights—CS 60W screw???—check first // // Cash m/c /

Notes to a life

/ light enough to see. // // Below the

bulges , // // not yet decipherable, // // orange and penny. // // B

Light and shadow

// There was a gun. // // There was a

bullet , stray. // // There was a young man writhing in the splinters

Black September

// the Société des Apaches // // (or

Bunch of Hooligans) // // later to enrol, when they come to Paris //

January Nineteen Hundred and One

// // and each season (the navigation

buoys must needs // // be relocated every spring, the charts // // r

ly one possible answer: // // this cat-

burglar’s Buster the cat. // //

One of our cushions

// // for hidden treasure, long beaks

buried full // // to probe deep down beneath the shining mud. // //

ree hours after his arrival, // // was

buried in an unmarked grave. // // There were no victors: only victim

Black September

h had broken in a new pair of boots, we

buried the old pair somewhere on one of the passes high above Borrowda

Fragments of a life

// // bright spot, turn white hot and

burn . // //

y root, smouldering slowly, // // will

burn for ever. The fire once begun // // would last for days and day

rs // // throw on timber // // let it

burn // // glowing embers // // smoulder down // // let it burn //

h my eyesight? // // Yes, with fuel to

burn . // // If the lines be blurred just right, // // You may go the

Babylon by candlelight

turn // // white // // hot // // and

burn . // // Tanka // // Bend the light just so // // above, below,

ing bowl bowl shrimp // // Do a boiler

burn the duck head. // // The prefecture of river drives meal chicken

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

g fire. // // He swallowed the fire to

burn the string. // // What a strange thing, to swallow some string!

bers // // smoulder down // // let it

burn // // warm as toast // // smoulder down // // potatoes roast /

should // // we salvage from it, what

burn , // // what reconstruct and // // what re-imagine? Not to rave

are happy—some shiny erection to // //

burnish my halo. Ah, I have a whim // // to build a fine bridge clea

Troubled waters

is marked // // with smears of fires,

burnt and black. // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // /

mouth // // Mevagissey; Mingoose; Mabe

Burnthouse // // footpaths; phone boxes; inns // // One to twenty fi

t no. Once in a while // // a perfect

burst still catches at my tastebuds // // and drags me back again. //

t such a mug. // // I’ve cancelled his

buses , no more will I pay for—and // // now on the bridge I am pullin

Troubled waters

st the man. // // He has built me some

buses which boosted my ego—the // // Heatherwick’s sure to produce a

Troubled waters

// —the ones you ate straight off the

bush are saved forever). // // At the end of summer, and in the first

reconnoitre // // another part of the

bush . Take care not to spill // // your precious hoard (I mean the o

lowing, under the sky. // // Trees and

bushes , shrubs and flowers, mosses, // // ferns and grasses waving un

broadening // // thought he’d flaunt a

bushy grin—but // // the wind came up and blew it in again. // // Be

follow suit; the oystercatcher // //

busily foraging across the bank // // lets me get much closer // //

, observes the situation, and promptly,

busily , without rising from her seat, makes everyone shuffle up in ord

Fragments of a life

ot at all fair. // // The pledges from

business are far from what’s needed. The // // real public benefit’s

Troubled waters

le more priming (the // // buy-in from

business is not keeping pace) // // —but Sadiq the Most Evil deposes

Troubled waters

sible answer: // // this cat-burglar’s

Buster the cat. // //

One of our cushions

wo sides. // // One looked across to a

busy road // // but from my bed I looked out on // // a corner of a

Beds and trees and windows

continental flow // // seem more like

butchers working rough. // // The light is going now. // // How will

e peasant family stir-fries four // //

Butterfish cooked to no sauce. // // Young flourishing bowl bowl shri

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

with a little more priming (the // //

buy -in from business is not keeping pace) // // —but Sadiq the Most E

Troubled waters

iver lie // // Are rough and unkempt.

Buzzards fly // // Above the weedy hedgerows, by // // The once-prou

The Lady’s Maid

d // // battery box, switches, lights,

buzzers , plugs // // and connecting leads. Another pair // // of br

young man will wander // // along the

byways , thoughts tragic or tender— // // of love unfinished or of pea