The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkeness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tounge on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses
Saturday 20 February 2010
'Everyone Sang' - Siegfried Sassoon
Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on; on; and out of sight.
Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted,
And beauty came like the setting sun.
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O but every one
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing
will never be done.
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on; on; and out of sight.
Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted,
And beauty came like the setting sun.
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O but every one
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing
will never be done.
'Not Waving But Drowning' - Stevie Smith
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning;
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
But still he lay moaning;
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
'A Bowl of Warm Air' - Moniza Alvi
Someone is falling towards you
as an apple falls from a branch,
moving slowly, imperceptibly as if
into a new political epoch,
or excitedly like a dog towards a bone.
He is holding in both hands
everything he knows he has -
a bowl of warm air.
He has sighted you from afar
as if you were a dramatic crooked tree
on the horizon and he has seen you close up
like the underside of a mushroom.
But he cannot open you like a newspaper
or put you down like a newspaper.
And you are satisfied that he is veering towards you
and that he is adjusting his speed
and that the sun and the wind and rain are in front of him
and the sun and the wind and the rain are behind him.
as an apple falls from a branch,
moving slowly, imperceptibly as if
into a new political epoch,
or excitedly like a dog towards a bone.
He is holding in both hands
everything he knows he has -
a bowl of warm air.
He has sighted you from afar
as if you were a dramatic crooked tree
on the horizon and he has seen you close up
like the underside of a mushroom.
But he cannot open you like a newspaper
or put you down like a newspaper.
And you are satisfied that he is veering towards you
and that he is adjusting his speed
and that the sun and the wind and rain are in front of him
and the sun and the wind and the rain are behind him.
'New Year Snow' - Frances Horovitz
For three days we waited,
a bowl of dull quartz for sky.
At night the valley dreamed of snow,
lost Christmas angels with dark-white wings
flailing the hills.
I dreamed a poem, perfect
as the first five-pointed flake,
that melted at dawn:
a Janus-time
to peer back at the guttering dark days,
trajectories of the spent year.
And then snow fell.
Within an hour, a world immaculate
as January's new-hung page.
We breathe the radiant air like men new-born.
The children rush before us.
As in a dream of snow
we track through crystal fields
to the green horizon
and the sun's reflected rose.
a bowl of dull quartz for sky.
At night the valley dreamed of snow,
lost Christmas angels with dark-white wings
flailing the hills.
I dreamed a poem, perfect
as the first five-pointed flake,
that melted at dawn:
a Janus-time
to peer back at the guttering dark days,
trajectories of the spent year.
And then snow fell.
Within an hour, a world immaculate
as January's new-hung page.
We breathe the radiant air like men new-born.
The children rush before us.
As in a dream of snow
we track through crystal fields
to the green horizon
and the sun's reflected rose.
February 2010
1. New Year Snow - Frances Horovitz. Juliette
2. Ambulances - Philip Larkin. Phill
3. Not Waving But Drowning - Stevie Smith. Hannah
4. A Bowl of Warm Air - Moniza Alvi. Juliette
5. An Arundel Tomb - Philip Larkin. Phill
6. Everyone Sang - Siegfried Sassoon. Hannah
7. Reading Poetry - Lemm Sissay. Juliette NB This was not a poem, but an article on how to read poetry, wirtten by the resident poet at the Southbank Centre. The link to the article will be posted on the blog.
8. As Bad As A Mile - Philip Larkin. Phill
9. Snow - Louis Macneice. Hannah
10. Winter - Suzuki Masajo. Juliette NB This was a Haiku poem, which is a 3 lined poem that follows the structure 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables.
2. Ambulances - Philip Larkin. Phill
3. Not Waving But Drowning - Stevie Smith. Hannah
4. A Bowl of Warm Air - Moniza Alvi. Juliette
5. An Arundel Tomb - Philip Larkin. Phill
6. Everyone Sang - Siegfried Sassoon. Hannah
7. Reading Poetry - Lemm Sissay. Juliette NB This was not a poem, but an article on how to read poetry, wirtten by the resident poet at the Southbank Centre. The link to the article will be posted on the blog.
8. As Bad As A Mile - Philip Larkin. Phill
9. Snow - Louis Macneice. Hannah
10. Winter - Suzuki Masajo. Juliette NB This was a Haiku poem, which is a 3 lined poem that follows the structure 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables.
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