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

E

iamond form, // // Shining direct into

eachother’s face, // // Beaming an endless web around my field, // /

[What have we done]

. // // To some other wide-eyed labour-

eager chosen one // // I shall leave this garden instructionless. //

Aubade to Girton

first, secure firmly to large rock, add

eagle and serve hot liver with vengeance // // second, store in cool

t speak now of etherised spread- // //

eagle evenings fading skin histories // // from violent to -et to ros

Aubade to Girton

h wheeling thump. // // Icarus, spread-

eagled in the cycling lane. // // With borrowed wings a hedgehog //

Urban bird watching

dog, like Shaitan or Kafir soft in your

ear , and I can change. if it will make you fall in love easier I can c

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

so hard to open. // // Hold it to your

ear , do you hear someone crying? Is this the poem? // // On Valentine

rom there to here, // // Ringing in my

ear . // // // // This is my home. // // This is where I am. // //

[She points to the sky]

r lip. // // You’ve handed me back the

earbuds we were sharing, // // And our new-born argument is furrowing

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

of their own oceans. But drinking warm

earl grey // // tea with you, all I could taste was pure happiness an

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

// // borrowed eyes seeing // // some

earlier draft of things, // // lost in a cold, particulate light. //

’d feet scuffling back on the dirt they

earlier trod. // // His eyes are deep dark centre stones, // // Buri

’Tis pity he’s a bore

alone to empty thoughts, // // In the

early evening now, day dead, // // And there’s no song on or cold cof

s it were. // // But yesterday, waking

early , I observed // // open-a-fraction doors, down the corridors, se

er Bridge, January 3, 2002 // //

Early in the evening, we left the school. Wandering out along the dark

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

ed world. // // Have you forgotten the

early months of silence? // // Or does that silence sit with you at e

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

/ // Those who did manage to solve the

early parts of the question were generally quite successful with the r

of two wheels // // To end this trip

early . // // “Sorry” // // Your absence, far more valuable // // T

The Notes You Have Left

king eggs. // // Oh! must you leave so

early ? We had hoped // // You’d stay and see the fireworks when they

mpted the first part and were unable to

earn any of the marks. Of the rest many did not progress beyond the se

rozen winches and stays– // // I never

earnestly looked at you // // (only out of you // // (Like a window)

How and Why I Should Have Looked You in the Eyes:

and make her proud; and four wax-white

earplugs // // in case one snored too loud. Two bashed half-hearts,

yes. // // Even the plane tree’s drop-

earrings // // Have almost reached their seventy-percent // // Of ne

y a yoga class until my knees are at my

ears , // // and I feel like if I rock back and inch, I’ll tumble and

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

re with my crown pulled tightly over my

ears , and I was happy, really happy. I was stood in a forest of pink t

[So the moon was there]

e new shade of wet. // // My Frost-bit

ears resound with words I know. // // (How many miles to go till I ca

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

/ I hate doing it, but I // // Shut my

ears to Antigone, blot out my dear’s words. // // They can’t be talki

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

old with waiting for the feel // // Of

earth against their sides instead of flesh, // // That time when all

[My face is old now]

n damp grass // // And wonders when on

earth all this will end. // //

understand each other? // // Stars and

earth and fire between them: // // these dazzling coloured images of

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

// // Of scum. For us, lost Space and

Earth and form. // // Within our bubble, Hubble shows the forms // /

th // // are elemental: water, sky and

earth // // and rock and air; no fire and no gold, // // no gems nor

Daydream Dale Journey

to cross the waters, // // explore the

earth , // // and send signal fires // // blazing into the air. // /

r winds. Broadcast the secret // // to

earth , as far away as it will go. Let the browns // // and reds and g

tatus // // but saying // // that the

earth beneath // // is completely // // indifferent // // and that

mits // // And covering the hard brown

earth . // // Blurry, out of focus and unfeeling // // Times, when th

// that was not // // of this // //

earth . // // But now // // a new form of reverence // // is practis

) // // for old, chaotic // // Mother

Earth . // // But they came // // nonetheless // // the feeble // /

o the encroaching dark. // // Feel the

earth . Feel the water return // // to the dry ground. Let the cooling

themselves // // To bless the fruitful

earth from whence they spring. // // These colours seem to fall from

The Magic Apple Tree

n // // who came forth // // from the

earth // // had something to say // // that was not // // of this /

Like a seed listening to echoes through

earth , I long for water and a sky of blue. // // Like a seed I want t

[I often think of that January morning]

earthed. // // On the dark side of the

earth , // // in the light of a fire, // // and faint starlight from

orn of halves and fulls, // // Born of

earth into stalled world. // // Have you forgotten the early months o

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

e by-pass if the Vogons know // // The

earth is mostly harmless, with a past // // Of telephonic hygiene? It

assing time. // // Far down below, the

earth // // is mostly water. // // From across the waters // // blo

about the girl on the stool // // the

earth is not silent // // and the riddles // // not // // untrue. /

// // are just riddles // // and the

Earth // // just the earth. // // Later, of course, // // another p

es // // and the Earth // // just the

earth . // // Later, of course, // // another priest came // // who

derfoot // // And the smell of the raw

earth // // like a jolt // // in the clockwork // // of memory. //

[The sash rattles up]

p in hands // // That tilled the salty

earth // // No less than home. // // The burden of Egypt, // // The

made. // // Call nothing common in the

earth or air, // // Accept it all and let it be for good. // // Star

to struggle, streams gas against // //

Earth 's arrogance, its invitation to descend. // // A face has been f

[A spinning spider]

// Now is the time // // to lie on the

earth , // // smell the air, // // feel the warmth of the fire, // /

izzle out in modesty // // So that the

Earth stops spinning dead in its gait, // // So that I’m launched 3,0

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

Isn’t Daddy proud? // // I was always

earth -strewn, // // A brief interlude of disequilibrium. // // This

Frighteningly Inert

iots can clatter by— // // we have the

earth , the water and the sky. // //

g into the air. // // Our space is the

earth , // // time lives in fire, // // leaving us the water and the

st a Fire. // // The others too I love—

Earth , Water, Air—but Fire // // is something else again. // // A me

f and binds me here // // And keeps me

earthed , but, if I could be free // // You know there’s nothing that

e columns spaced, // // lightning rods

earthed . // // On the dark side of the earth, // // in the light of

/ His hair is a lustrous shadow cast by

earthly forms of that abyssal goddess. // // ’Tis pity he’s a bore. /

’Tis pity he’s a bore

elds, // // Walking, hopping, stirring

earthly leas, // // Serenading us among our garden’s yields, // // W

[Walcott begins Omeros]

irs // // moistening the many-coloured

earths . // // In forests and in open spaces // // there are times //

ht, gaping smile, // // Sharp with the

earth’s slow // // Bleed, four nights till it sheds // // Its shadow

Here be dragons

hand slackened slightly, // // Muscles

eased and tired, not wanting everything. // // There was a hint or fl

[The sun flattened]

// // “Make yourself at home” // // I

eased my two feet, too small, // // Into worn and ripped slippers //

The Notes You Have Left

hange. if it will make you fall in love

easier I can change for you. I will be your umbilicalised hero. correc

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

s. I just pulled it out of the sky—it’s

easier than it sounds—and I swallowed it whole. // // // // W

[So the moon was there]

’t live with yourself, // // Don’t. No

easier to describe my feelings in scrawled letters // // Than in conv

Snapshot Endings

/ // But, Christ! From the West to the

East , // // All I can see is the Beast. // // Here’s to failure, her

Ode to a map of the world

ck- // // ing him closer to the exotic

East . Each tear was worth the glor- // // y of the find in the name o

in island schools now, fumbling for the

East Indies like one who // // couldn’t find his hat in the dark so h

a little bit like « me ». // // To the

East , to the West, // // I wish a witch would show her face. // // B

Ode to a map of the world

st light and then first lines along the

east // // To touch and brush a sheen of light on water // // As tho

Easter Rising // // This Easter Sunday was the first // // Without t

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

(R)evolution: Easter Rising // // This

Easter Sunday was the first // // Without the old sun-dancing Christ:

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

Easter Triolet // // We won’t give up our love, it is a given // //

An Easter Triolet

ping father just would guess. // // In

Eastern Cape men show their worth by rite, // // Both those who fit a

Three gay rituals

eathless, // // Are obscured by Middle-

Eastern tales // // Of a boy-king. // // Seeming deathless, // // T

Before Christmas

en lives, // // Are obscured by Middle-

Eastern tales. // // The supple green branches, // // Seeming deathl

Before Christmas

e churn // // of waves upon the sand.

Eastwards we turn, // // along the open beach, in rich sea air. // /

Wells in winter

ake off his shoes, // // Slipping them

easy as peel from his moon-silvered skinny feet. // // He coughs with

nother hour in despair // // It was so

easy before // //

Easy // // I don’t wish to cast any aspersions // // upon your natur

friends with time.’ // // Everything’s

easy . // // It slips like oil through an engine, // // with the occa

In a charity shop

ies to sighs in seconds. // // It’s so

easy // // to deflate into lonely doubt. // // Coloured creases of d

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

ow soon enough; // // A little word so

easy to excise // // Another snippet for the cutting room // // A sw

The Cutting Edge

names of the metrical forms, // // So

easy to learn. // // I digress. // // I always digress. // // I apo

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

h. // // Who is this now, who dares me

eat a peach? // // Time’s warring chariots can clatter by— // // we

avels from hot to cold. // // 2. Never

eat at an empty sushi restaurant. // // 3. Always wash blood off in c

Three Pieces of Advice

ld never refuse us its ripe children to

eat // // For, if it could, it would feed even Tantalus. // // The f

ere still turf slightly warped. // //

Eat junk? You might as well rummage through bins, // // barefaced as

Chocolate Sonnet

/ // // Please don’t go! // // I’ll

eat you up, // // I love you so. // // But it didn’t listen, a

[So the moon was there]

s of tree climbing delight // // Fruit

eating and the inevitably ripped clothes. // // Or does the mango tre

Certainly, he would never even dream of

eating meat // // that he had dropped on the floor (by accident) //

e wattle, scabbed about the arse // //

Eating us out of chicken feed. // // But that was to miss the glory o

[No point, she said]

eel I’m going somewhere. // // Reality

eats // // slow-moving prey. // //

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

, pop, superseded. // // No heave-some

ebb and flow. // // No cramping bend to lunar bow. // // No woman ru

// // soft soft, come down— // // The

ebb and flow of melody // // Ends on a heartfelt sigh. // // As the

// // now stuck, // // cinder at last

ebb // // ignites arena morn: // // I war dirt-up, image-bled, // /

Hercules et Oracle

before we ever knew the flow // // And

ebb of love like beaches touched by waves // // From dawn far into th

[My face is old now]

Ebb tide // // First I carefully let go // // just as far as I can r

to the music of wind and the glittering

ebbstream // // that trickled the head of the pool. Sand shivered a h

Just a Small Fish

fashion nowadays— // // The domain of

eccentric professors or men with knitted jumpers // // (big ideas on

Bearded Thoughts

/ // Arms stretched as sundown. // //

Echo calls of words unspoken— // // She hopes to watch you drown. //

Who am I, Bernard?

a fighter, // // A voice of reason, an

echo // // Of some thought you once had, // // But couldn’t hold. //

Writing to explore

we can still see // // There are pagan

echoes . // //

Before Christmas

d to forget, the memories resurfaced in

echoes , // // and always I found myself staring at the sea. Waking, s

[I often think of that January morning]

lled the room with the sound of careful

echoes . // // Even now I remember little of reading The Waves // //

[I often think of that January morning]

ine you sitting and reading my words in

echoes . // // Just as my memories of you began to feel like echoes, /

[I often think of that January morning]

s still hurt. Like bruises, existing as

echoes // // of former pain written across me, transforming the body’

[I often think of that January morning]

touch // // Drift amidst the scattered

echoes // // Of long forgotten lust; // // Dead gods rise and so I

the cliffs, we listened to echoes upon

echoes // // of the sea incessantly singing her serenade of blue. //

[I often think of that January morning]

// With his flesh that resonates with

echoes // // of the sublime, // // He is reduced to an X. // // The

’Tis pity he’s a bore

ding on borrowed wit. // // Your voice

echoes off my skull. // // Your eyes are plastered onto mine. // //

// // whose waves expand, // // whose

echoes still expend // // themselves in riffs of time and space, //

Before Christmas // // There are pagan

echoes . // // The supple green branches, // // Remembering half-forg

Before Christmas

waves. // // Like a seed listening to

echoes through earth, I long for water and a sky of blue. // // Like

[I often think of that January morning]

g dizzily on the cliffs, we listened to

echoes upon echoes // // of the sea incessantly singing her serenade

[I often think of that January morning]

s my memories of you began to feel like

echoes , // // you came home. Measuring the miles decreasing with ever

[I often think of that January morning]

arling thoughts, // // Smile’s phantom

echoing inchoate affections, // // A tongue, dark and delicate, from

It gleams and disappears, // // cloud-

eclipsed , and closer than it seems. // //

[A spinning spider]

/ Will only pause briefly, // // Or be

eclipsed by the shuttered windows of the next train— // // Watch, as

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

// now men can come to tea. // // An

eco -room. // // A modern phoenix // // risen from old coal-grate ash

A Room of Her Own

elp this helpless man? Perhaps only the

ecstasy and the trembling of love could awake him from his fantasy. Tr

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

St. Sebastian, // // Nailed to pine in

ecstatic agony. // // ’Tis pity. // // Some ancestral memory is unse

’Tis pity he’s a bore

for the sake of gold. They mock- // //

ed in Portugal, but when land (oh finally, land!) bid their seek- //

gna terra. // // Now dog, did re-venom

Eden // // infidel beg! // // Am I putrid, raw // // in Roman era,

Hercules et Oracle

e; // // This thirteen-and-a-half mile

Eden seemed to be divine. // // And so they thought of what two-day-o

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

// // These colours seem to fall from

Eden’s light, // // The air they shine through breathes a change in t

The Magic Apple Tree

g fire’s waft, // // Sizzling at every

edge and spitting ’oft. // // My open’d eyes do look around the wood,

[What have we done]

Edge // // At my back, like you, I always hear // // The edge, the c

The Cutting Edge

hts, like chairs drawn out from table’s

edge , // // Awaited those who knew how to be guests. // // The page,

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

ht // // That strides in freedom on an

edge // // Between idea and infinite beyond. // //

Three Ways of Walking

his skin demarcates the Sun’s furthest

edge . // // His hair is a lustrous shadow cast by earthly forms of th

’Tis pity he’s a bore

s, // // stamp in a sweep to the slope-

edge : // // horns lowered, // // hides steaming, // // hooves pound

Nil Charge / Nil Return

lways here // // The cutting edge, the

edge is coming near. // //

The Cutting Edge

lways hear // // The edge, the cutting

edge is coming near. // // Not the blind fury // // With the abhorre

The Cutting Edge

ng Is Like This // // Teetering on the

edge of // // A big idea. // // Each line, a step, // // Towards th

Falling Is Like This

ham Tarn. // // Then back to skirt the

edge of Malham Cove, // // with fields below and limestone crags abov

Daydream Dale Journey

eness of eternity // // At the austere

edge of the real // // And in the lengthening shadow of the unknown.

[At the coinciding point of the years]

inter’s afternoon // // we walk to the

edge of town and on // // the mile across the river meadows // // to

Walking in winter

nd goes—we are forever anxiously on the

edge , on the look out; never can we rest and say that: we have it now.

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

ack, like you, I always hear // // The

edge , the cutting edge is coming near. // // Not the blind fury // /

The Cutting Edge

e you, I always here // // The cutting

edge , the edge is coming near. // //

The Cutting Edge

// // Life’s pawn at lifetime’s darker

edge , // // The one who gave him tone and form // // Is still the gu

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

// It falls away // // Through water’s

edge // // To depths unknown (in feet at least) // // To Mellbreak’s

// One stride too far, // // Over an

edge too steep // // And I’m immortal, powerless, // // Until I hit

Falling Is Like This

Voices // // On Rushup

Edge // // Voices far across the valley sound // // through still, w

// // Wend your way // // Towards the

edge // // Where fell breaks // // On nothing but the shiver // //

— // // Crumpled cardboard, // // Raw-

edged — // // Wrapped within the glossy blackness // // Of Dad’s fune

nd planted fireworks // // in the dark

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

eflections // // High up above, at the

edges of the air // // and the beginning of space // // the sky is d

had missed: // // fragments around the

edges of the blaze. // // Even now, // // I feel the heat upon my fa

// Tapering towards well-thumbed // //

Edges — // // Their camouflage of grease spots // // Leopard-like //

e a noose, nipping // // Natural paper

edges . // // Through the undulating skink // // Night she sulks, //

He who made the Lamb

// against the straight planes of your

edges ) // // To imagine you as you once were: // // those undulating

mming and spectral, // // The absence,

eerie , of mountains, of people. // // Just you, steady tread and glin

Coiling round temple pillars and bronze

effigies , // // Usurping the old shore with the new tide. // //

e cicada’s memories discarded, a copper

effigy caves in, // // And far away green wings are flying—is this th

demotic towers - // // Half-deserted,

effluvial . // // A surety of sound and shining light // // To beat t

// Ties, from when he tried to make an

effort // // and make her proud; and four wax-white earplugs // // i

. A hundred yards // // of man’s best

effort at defence // // drops thirty feet into a hole. // // Cambrid

Walking in winter

// // But serene pain is found in the

effort to learn to relinquish, // // To let go of leaden years as tho

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

e who had // // Mastered the hunt with

effortless effrontery // // And imposed the jungle’s law entirely //

/ // Mastered the hunt with effortless

effrontery // // And imposed the jungle’s law entirely // // On the

own // // And rhyme’s extinction means

egality . // // At least that’s how it seems to those who see // // P

In Defence of Evolution

o miss the glory of it— // // The warm

egg // // Dropping from the golden heaven of her vent // // Misshape

[No point, she said]

d under my own wing, // // and more an

egg , framed by a serpentine // // mouth; less folded in your body and

The chicken and the

egg // // I live! Un-ownable, not made: revealed. // // Confused and

The chicken and the egg

ched by a mother-serpent // // from an

egg laid by a too-proud rooster // // twisted copper about a girl’s w

. And it looked just like an orb, or an

egg , or an eye. And it was just sitting there, looking blankly at me,

[So the moon was there]

g’s // // way of making // // another

egg // // then what I should // // not be doing // // is counting /

Don’t count your chickens

t be doing // // is counting // // my

eggs . // //

Don’t count your chickens

rightest ripest ones, // // takes yard

eggs , flour, fruit of the citronnier // // and bakes a tarte au citro

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

ay, an omelette’s only made by breaking

eggs . // // Oh! must you leave so early? We had hoped // // You’d st

n empty bird box // // with flightless

eggshells mouldering. // //

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

… but if the chicken // // is just the

egg’s // // way of making // // another egg // // then what I shoul

Don’t count your chickens

as built me some buses which boosted my

ego —the // // Heatherwick’s sure to produce a fine plan. // // We al

Troubled waters

No less than home. // // The burden of

Egypt , // // The burden of the desert of the sea. // // Fatness slui

nuary 2009 // // ‘I’ll take your coat.

Ehud will fix a drink. // // How was the flight? Few noticed that you

she would have been, what, eight? yeah,

eight . // // Looking back, it’s flown by. On his 13th birthday we ha

AL might set gravity back to nine point

eight metres per second // // Per second, and I’ll finally be able to

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

onfined // // My friends have piled up

eight or nine // // Close-written sheets, but as for me // // I fear

Exam Room Villanelle

, // // and she would have been, what,

eight ? yeah, eight. // // Looking back, it’s flown by. On his 13th b

/ the musk and slip of six weeks’ work,

either // // mustard gas and ether or your man’s flesh // // flash-f

ring on the tree, // // I ain’t sleepy

either . // // The angel then sings out, “Amen, // // Casablanca’s on

A Hymn to a Loved One

a haven. // // I have little hope that

either will be satisfied. // // I am a fool without wisdom, // // Fe

// Tim was their orphan, withdrawn with

elation at // // endless results embryonically won. // // Perfect fo

Jonathan’s Deathbed

arves // // The sandy bend that was my

elbow , crooked // // Round old socks long since sundered from their o

tubs // // feeding yew // // crooked

elbow // // no gravestones // // poor yew transplanted // // wide-l

yew needs dried blood in spring

ere frontiersmen stand and watch // //

Elbowed dog-wise against the rumour // // Of Africa. // // The sky s

just hung there softly, crumpled at the

elbows and knees. But the moon looked so sad that I stayed there for h

[So the moon was there]

// Erde… // // Sol… // // tod // //

elcaro te se lucreh* // // * ‘You flesh to atone’ (Google Translate,

Hercules et Oracle

Model’ perfection! // // Professorial

election // // Nobel genuflection // // …and pension protection. //

Small Particles in the Small Hours

Or write, approaching her in skill and

elegance . // // New arts are needed now: can they enhance // // That

at could // // keep its humour through

elegy and tragedy, could // // smile and tease and pass on courage, s

Sestina to an English Teacher

words, // // the words on tragedy and

elegy , words // // you praised so much—if you would // // think I’d

Sestina to an English Teacher

es to be found along my path // // are

elemental : water, sky and earth // // and rock and air; no fire and n

Daydream Dale Journey

in my mind: here comes a lion, then an

elephant , and presently, a bear. I did not ask them to come, I did not

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

down. // // Pigeon panicking inside an

elevator . // // I can know these everythings and never know how they

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

themselves lke cottage cheese // // To

Eliot , difficult, in cold collations // // Crumbling and stuffed with

Cheese is the medium

fire: // // Here is Herbert, Tyndale,

Eliot —rare tongues // // Who in the fires of sixteen forty-five // /

Sixteen Forty-Five

serfs, and so kept away // // From the

elm - // // Wood door, not daring // // To step beyond our domain, //

Water, Air—but Fire // // is something

else again. // // A memory // // (nineteen-sixty-one or so—my teens—

’s shouting and you can’t hear anything

else // // And nothing can drown out this voice and its words. // //

e, a luminescent metaphor for something

else , but all you can see through is a pierced calcite skin, bloody in

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

ver elude you— // // tell me something

else I will not forget. // //

a sentry asleep at the post: // // how

else to explain, sheltered by the brimming chest, // // the shivering

e she had no other cause, // // no-one

else to spend her days // // watching, and so thought she might // /

In a charity shop

ling Rs and layering up— // // Nothing

else works for the College bird. // // The burr-sore want some fast r

BURR (or Brrrrr)

e space behind the new moon. // // And

elsewhere , as deep as port, as rich as Tokaji, // // your head bobs i

// // knowing the great hereafter for

elsewhere . // // Athlete’s foot, Achilles’ heel, mouth ulcer, // //

// And laugh as they invest their funds

elsewhere . // // The lights are going out, drain one more glass // /

// // of memory. // // Not here, but

elsewhere , // // the places were // // myself: // // different ages

[The sash rattles up]

// // Maybe they patternize to someone

else’s eyes, affirm a thing, touch a cord // // ‘umbrellas meeting se

heart // // whose meaning will forever

elude you— // // tell me something else I will not forget. // //

ncatheable fish; // // in a river that

eludes you, // // your essay // // will destroy you. // //

extracted from my fickle memory— // //

elusive and illusive treasure, she. // //

Daydream Dale Journey

solar system with the light // // That

emanates always from her eyes. // // I want her to cut me open at the

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

evidence of our affair // // Our old,

embarassing affair with God. // // And God himself will follow soon e

The Cutting Edge

depths of will, // // With heavy heart

embarking on its sea. // // The cascade I had ’fore in-gazed faced me

[What have we done]

ought I’d fledged, // // abandoned the

embarrassment of home, // // but now I’m back // // to teddy and a b

A Room of Her Own

didn’t leave the oily residue // // Of

embarrassment on everything it touched, my mouth // // Soils everythi

[I am almost 25 years old]

s the deep blue // // sky darkened and

embellished around you. You began dreaming // // as the train travell

[I often think of that January morning]

, all soft, // // My heart alight, the

ember grown aloft, // // My skin feels ’kin to a burning fire’s waft,

[What have we done]

// A crack in distance shone—’twas my

ember . // // The flame brought me to my feet remember // // And, hal

[What have we done]

did spark a tiny fire. // // A lonely

ember ’twas, and did require // // Some movement to its fickle flame

[What have we done]

find it cold, but every day // // the

embers beneath the ash were darkly glowing, asking only // // a sligh

ear // // Than the crease of your brow

emblazoned in my hair. // // And you, around that narrow spotless nap

at all things must pass. // // Unless,

emboldened by our revelry, // // We make a stand against their tyrann

fist, soon to become a fatherly // //

Embrace between insubstantial beings who feel too much. // // // //

Snapshot Endings

, when I see you // // And her in that

embrace . // // I should have laughed by now, at this. // // Eyes, ro

// As it howls, painlessly, through my

embrace . // // If only I could feel its assault, maybe // // This la

The Other Side of the Line

g day by day, // // a cursive script’s

embrace // // in which to rest—safe in the sound // // of whispered

luc bat to mr. beam

I can keep. // // Your Fair Isle-knit

embrace invites me in. // // Like everything you wear, of course, it’

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

ful feeling that evening sun through an

embrace // // of scaffold. And why not wriggle our toes in bits of ol

good looks, better bank statements and

embrace , // // Will catch me this time and make me Mrs. // // I’ll-s

for both were classed and cruel: // //

Embroideries and rhymes were fortune’s perk— // // They advertised wh

In Defence of Evolution

with elation at // // endless results

embryonically won. // // Perfect formation and heartless damnation //

Jonathan’s Deathbed

let hills peak- // // ing out from the

emerald isle’s southern shore. Behold! Sailors, all hail! // // No is

ide // // As your polished black shoes

emerge stealthily // // And know the simple tie, knotted with pride /

pull, // // And commit all her sins of

emission . // // The sequel was building the labyrinth // // To conce

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

I’ve listened to too much Midwest

emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems // // because I just

I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems

. // // And I don’t mean ‘wreck’ as in

emotionally wreck. // // I mean wrecked as in ended. Leave nothing in

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

ntrasting gentle with the strong // //

Emotions felt when read in whole. // // The writer scoffs when hearin

ce to tears // // Or lets them feel or

empathise . // // For the writer may agree, but he lies, // // He put

or, I battle. // // Your line, not for

emphasis , but division, // // Pushes me back. You’re there, but I’m s

The Other Side of the Line

// But if a tidal wave as tall as the

Empire State // // Really is gonna come to make us all meet our fate,

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

/ Fatness sluiced clean, // // Streets

emptied utterly into pits // // Girded with chalk and bone. // // Ta

chime // // Is richness rising out of

emptiness , // // And timelessness resounding into time. // // And wh

ng // // downwards to slug lickings on

empty bird box // // with flightless eggshells mouldering. // //

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

abags gone furry in the heat, // // an

empty bookshelf // // what remains // // three years in boxes. // /

rey sky // // I shouted my name at the

empty football pitches // // I muttered my name incessantly in the su

[I whispered my name into the trees]

emains is dripping blood // // And an

empty frame. // //

ryone can see, // // But his gifts are

empty on the inside. // // I feel carved out when I accept. // // He

. But all I have is cold coffee, and an

empty page. // //

[I often think of that January morning]

ur lungs. // // Blown away through our

empty sails, over the fields. // // We’re right grateful feeling that

// as Paradise offers // // a thrice-

empty // // shun. // // Death’s minstrel followed this path of destr

Jonathan’s Deathbed

// // The sunken armchair left // //

Empty since last December, // // Just over twelve months now. // //

Wild Mountain Thyme

and cruel. This city now extinguished,

empty , spent; the beauty of the day submerged in silence. Buses, bicyc

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

hot to cold. // // 2. Never eat at an

empty sushi restaurant. // // 3. Always wash blood off in cold water.

Three Pieces of Advice

es // // She is not there. The room is

empty . // // There is a chair there, made of wicker // // For her to

il you’re gone. // // Wake up alone to

empty thoughts, // // In the early evening now, day dead, // // And

of grey // // hospital walls. Roses in

empty wine bottles unfolded in the house, // // anxiously mourning re

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

nsgenerationally, // // Can’t help but

emulate , // // Try as they might. // // Higgledy Piggledy // // Osc

a reference on-line. // // This is the

en -suite life. // // I thought I’d fledged, // // abandoned the emba

A Room of Her Own

on the summoners, the twenty-six // //

enchanters . Spelling silence into sound, // // they bind and loose, t

d steelily smiling, // // the nilherds

encircle // // to make their nil capture. // // For this year there’

Nil Charge / Nil Return

from the bone-cage // // The word-worm

encircles , tightens its coils, and the wordsmith // // And wrings and

g six of us. // // L-shaped the house;

enclosed within its arms // // a walled garden, left untended // //

do both curse spell, // // Where fog,

encoal’d , imbues with cloud our sight, // // Surrounding ev’ry face w

[What have we done]

ly glowing, asking only // // a slight

encouragement . As the day went on, // // we generated quantities of

me forget— // // That is its place, to

encroach — // // Everything of which I am bereft. // // Slowly, time

I could never be (ready)

inds, let it whirl away // // into the

encroaching dark. // // Feel the earth. Feel the water return // //

// // unpenned letters from the past,

encrypted // // in a knowledge of the reader that was me. // // In a

ght be like to be tied up, or otherwise

encumbered , // // Or maybe forced to wear something restrictive, //

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

And wonders when on earth all this will

end . // //

d away. // // So I struggle to find an

end , an epilogue. // // I stand, figureless, grey and distant, // //

The Other Side of the Line

wrought // // Over-thought in the tail-

end ; by day at poet’s sea of glass and fire; // // (too hopeful by ha

ace. // // TWO // // Columbus was the

end , caravels crashing crudely over cor- // // al, usurping canoes cl

ack in when I have gone. It’s time: my

end has come. // // Note by the senior author: When my assistant fir

he cat instead. // // Columbus was the

end . He left the quiet dawns behind, left too // // a strange new rel

l fame, // // all hopes will doubtless

end in shallow // // graves), share confessions of their shame, // /

rything // // in the beginning, in the

end , // // is only this, // // a sound. // //

// Revealing smokey lines of my knife’s

end . // // I’m roped on to the source, luminate, warm, // // Floatin

[What have we done]

. Give me a minute. // // At the slow

end of a forty day fast // // unpeel the digits from your onion fist

ns me and my writing, I’m sure it’s the

end // // Of a love that would flourish were it not for the curse //

Wednesday Evening

. // // Left me stuck in a maze to the

end of my days // // Where it stinks. I’d give gold for some fresh ai

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

so—my teens—already // // between the

end of the Chatterley ban // // and the Beatles’ first LP; // // str

d stayed stuck in the quiet, // // the

end of the road, // // not the one we were crossing. // // and the t

y. // // // // …If you come to the

end of the road, stop. If you can’t live with yourself, // // Don’t.

Snapshot Endings

ally, land!) bid their seek- // // ing

end , Portugal could only tip its hat. Columbus would sail // // again

ment, often, when // // Faced with the

end result // // The big idea no longer seems so big // // The fall,

Falling Is Like This

One last breath drawn, shakily, then I

end something // // For the first time. // //

Snapshot Endings

hopeful by half in the dawning). // //

End -tale: November song seeks mist-blue port, so // // Defying stormy

ere we met and all was well; // // the

end , the moment life just seemed to drain // // away from you, in tho

best attempts of two wheels // // To

end this trip early. // // “Sorry” // // Your absence, far more val

The Notes You Have Left

// still there when adolescence was the

end // // what do we become? And now someone new // // playing the p

// Diminuendo—soft, my love, // // We

end where we begun. // //

happy. // // // // Is that the

end ? // // Yes. // //

[So the moon was there]

ory // // that would show the immortal

endeavour to preserve, // // To find stability that will outlive, //

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

o see them dancing in red light, // //

Endeavours in but weekly shut out blunt. // // They all are shunned a

Three gay rituals

/ // choosing again without design. We

ended in the same bar // // with the same familiar waiter pouring win

ally wreck. // // I mean wrecked as in

ended . Leave nothing intact. As in, if it doesn’t kill me // // I at

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

d a way. // // And now today // // is

ending . I suppose tomorrow’s still // // another day // // to find

, // // ‘Doesn’t the idea of the world

ending sometimes sound a bit nice?’ // // Everybody occasionally drea

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

Endings // // // // …The anticipated

ending stretches forward, dripping hungrily on the path // // Like ra

Snapshot Endings

Endings // // // // …The anticipated ending stretches forward, drip

Snapshot Endings

eneath, pass’d ’neath my toes // // To

endless death, rinsing me feet to nose. // // But just as I did to th

[What have we done]

aced me, // // Wide-as-the-horizon, an

endless hill. // // The top did seem but further every inch // // Bu

[What have we done]

// these dying words with your // //

endless life. I wondered if your // // thinning blood resented life,

Sestina to an English Teacher

dignity, your // // inspiration, your

endless , relentless love of life. // // I never could work out if //

Sestina to an English Teacher

rphan, withdrawn with elation at // //

endless results embryonically won. // // Perfect formation and heartl

Jonathan’s Deathbed

nto eachother’s face, // // Beaming an

endless web around my field, // // Housing my growing self inside a s

[What have we done]

/ Watered into the ground by the // //

Endlessness repeating crashed-crushed // // Ideas, the waiting of nig

home in Camberwell. // // Between the

endpoints there were many days // // —or should have been—for many ki

ing debris of the world: // // Its fag

ends and canisters of laughing gas. // //

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

assages—just losing weight // // So it

ends as a snack—not my feast on my plate. // // Ah! this one looks ch

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

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

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

-brac, // // bits and pieces, odds and

ends , junk, old rope. // // Boarding passes from times they went for

/ // The ebb and flow of melody // //

Ends on a heartfelt sigh. // // As the violin plays triplets // // T

h of here, climate’s unsure. // // All

enduring is our failure, // // Let us keep it near. // //

Ode to a map of the world

e gutter, shot down // // By an unseen

enemy on his way up. // // ‘War is not nice’, but we accept the battl

ss” and is “bland,” // // But, full of

energy and youth, I choose // // Our dialect, sweet sister of our lan

/ // I could declare our love to be an

energy saving light bulb, // // It takes its time to warm up, and can

I’ll never work for Hallmark

udes of senses strung out in series and

enfolded into dense coils, // // Chopped up and worn away until I for

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

l confusion without any explicit // //

engagement from responsible adult figures. // // and the girl’s like:

sy. // // It slips like oil through an

engine , // // with the occasional stinge // // stopping // // to ri

In a charity shop

adly marred by smoke but, as you // //

English say, an omelette’s only made by breaking eggs. // // Oh! must

English Teacher // // I wondered if // // you hated words— // // th

Sestina to an English Teacher

rose // // And drew the temple down on

English tongues. // // Huntsman, lord of a thousand blooded tongues /

Sixteen Forty-Five

e page, then never would they have been

engraved // // Upon those souls of those modern men who bask in the f

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

ouples, // // Phone-paralysed and book-

engrossed , // // Pret-a-Manger munching, soul searching, love-life li

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

/ // New arts are needed now: can they

enhance // // That fine-boned beauty, linen-wrapped and masked in pai

rd, right? // // It’s like how I don’t

enjoy a yoga class until my knees are at my ears, // // and I feel li

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

mongst the sand // // Whilst colonists

enjoy resplendent views: // // Oppression’s language does not underst

shed worldliness // // For a spasm of

enlightenment . // //

sue the desire that’s generated by this

ennui : the desire for Truth, something that doesn’t change and they ca

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

// But poets have not given in to this

ennui . The poem restores us to the experience of reality, if only for

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

and priests have all succumbed to this

ennui . They redirected themselves and pursue the desire that’s generat

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

y, thoughts that are not yours. In your

ennui , you tried to control them, restrict their frivolous dance, and

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

words // // and the great big massive

enormous wide universe full of galaxies and black holes and stars //

Same but differenT

annot remember a time when I felt clean

enough . // //

[I am almost 25 years old]

// // And God himself will follow soon

enough ; // // A little word so easy to excise // // Another snippet

The Cutting Edge

, // // barefaced as a Buddhist monk.

Enough buns // // and you’ll look like you’ve one in the oven. // //

Chocolate Sonnet

ricks // // Might, if we built a Babel

enough crane. // // Bums are falling off our kids: ruthless in cuttin

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

eing you in different ways. // // Days

enough for giving and receiving. // // Did I give enough? // // I ca

// The only map of his kingdom perfect

enough // // (For you) had to be // // Identical. // // I cannot un

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

giving and receiving. // // Did I give

enough ? // // I cannot say. // //

rred and ill-conceived, // // But cram

enough inside and surely in a week or two // // A miracle will occur,

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

current state, 19 years and // // Not

enough months to make a difference old, // // I don’t wanna be told ‘

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

maybe one day my skin will be stripped

enough . one day I get to cry Kri’at Shema lying down. I get unbelief.

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

zy, // // And my parents can’t tell me

enough , // // That I’m wasting my life away— // // But your room is

, only, because it looks // // Forlorn

enough to be a threat to // // Something. // // A cycle of conversat

Vicious or Virtuous?

is, further than I could fathom and far

enough to fall at from a height in swift surrender. // //

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

ole. // // That was before she was old

enough // // To join their business in the living room. // // She do

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

ou feel the rods // // are they strong

enough to lift a stained glass // // skull, my black eyes my light ey

r one brief hour // // the air is warm

enough to melt // // the topmost layer. The frost returns // // to

Walking in winter

er really liked the moon, they loved it

enough to not let it drown, and so I was safe. And so I started swimmi

[So the moon was there]

rd years saw // // They had just funds

enough to pay and brought you here. // // Three X-rays and a CAT scan

and yet I never thought you deft // //

enough to use so delicate a dial. // // Why should I miss this little

Compass Reading

many kinds of loving. // // Did I love

enough ? use every day? // // Days for seeing you in different ways.

/ // rule up their ledgers, // // and

enter an integer // // each purposeful stride. // // Nimble Nimrods,

Nil Charge / Nil Return

ing dong, ding dong, merrily. // // We

enter mass to bands of brass, // // We stand as the choirs pass. //

A Hymn to a Loved One

the window, // // catches my eye as I

enter the kitchen: // // a dove, sprawled wide in its this— // // is

ot, // // But I feel like I want to be

entirely destroyed by love. // // Not like that. // // I mean, sure,

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

To lose this odium before I lose myself

entirely . // // My nails dig red crescents in my skin as I strike //

ery // // And imposed the jungle’s law

entirely // // On the dithering herds that daily assert // // Their

/ More darkness in my brow than in your

entirety . // // You may yet grow to resemble your mother more than mi

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

he tree falls silent after receiving no

entry . // // // // …If you come to the end of the road, stop. If

Snapshot Endings

up // // To sit on a sofa, our fingers

entwined , // // While we help disentangle some alphabet soup // // S

Wednesday Evening

omplexity // // that flexes // // and

envelops us, // // so it seems we barely move at all. // // The illu

Our thanks, and come again’. // // The

Envoy . Gaza, 1 March 2009 // // Now we must cheer, for Blair is here.

Envoy // // // Oppression’s language does not understand, // // For

. // // The days still dis-leave. Pale

envy -green, wet-yellow, gold-wrought // // Over-thought in the tail-e

dull. // // Are we not glad it was an

epic cause the Greeks and Trojans fought for, instead of finlandia swi

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

Epicycle // // Wake. // // Feel the water. Push out below, // // te

// // So I struggle to find an end, an

epilogue . // // I stand, figureless, grey and distant, // // My frus

The Other Side of the Line

cation of God’s idle perfection, // //

Epochs before this have claimed you, // // The archaic gods will make

en. // // For every action there is an

equal and opposite reaction. // // In between // // nothing, // //

in this flesh— // // Survival does not

equal dividing. Is this the poem? // // They told you sharks never tu

t to be explored, // // I crave to be

equal to your wisdom, // // But instead I find my mind is flawed. //

The Tree of Wisdom

play tennis on the lawn, // // talk of

equality and love, // // the fight to win our rights. // // We have

A Room of Her Own

ith silly notions // // Of freedom and

equality , // // Drinking the potions // // The world forced us // /

ee ? // // But shouldn’t we strive for

equality instead ? // // She points to the sky, // // And I, with my

[She points to the sky]

le phlox, // // The hare whose eyes at

equinox // // Eyed the slowly roving ox // // Bellowing his song of

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

one // // the size of an ancient kin’s

era // // he sees my lips as archaeological tools // // extracting a

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

// // Am I putrid, raw // // in Roman

era , // // set in gibbet salt, // // a red nick cuts… // // wonder

Hercules et Oracle

// And me realising that the method of

erasing blood was stated with experience, // // And me realising that

Three Pieces of Advice

// Lunar // // vos rêves Roma: // //

Erde … // // Sol… // // tod // // elcaro te se lucreh* // // * ‘You

Hercules et Oracle

// now the Gurkhas are happy—some shiny

erection to // // burnish my halo. Ah, I have a whim // // to build

Troubled waters

it inside your head. // // You want to

escape // // But you can’t, // // But you won’t // // Because the w

em, restrict their frivolous dance, and

escape from their transcendental intrusion, // // of You. // // 6. /

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

ery real fear // // there’s no assured

escape from there. // // The light of other days can shine // // on

with caged spite // // Threatening to

escape . Getting nowhere, I stare // // Harder, longer. Trying to be

y life away— // // But your room is my

escape , // // You, with my heart in hand, my home, // // Until you’r

shade that you are glad to feel, // //

Especially today. // // You don’t taste anything, // // Because you’

in a river that eludes you, // // your

essay // // will destroy you. // //

f chain saws, // // Beginning to write

essays that in some wise start to feed us, // // When from the trees

[Walcott begins Omeros]

ar and unrepeatable. // // Some golden

essence seems to concentrate // // From light to air, from pigment in

The Magic Apple Tree

An accurate // // Fate. // // Shift

essential , // // Tangential // // To the Jura // // Mandala. // //

Small Particles in the Small Hours

// // // // // // // // Hercules

et Oracle // // . // // lose dream // // or sever // // Sov’ran //

Hercules et Oracle

skin histories // // from violent to -

et to rose-risen blush. // // We must not rush now past the wee hours

Aubade to Girton

the college’s time, the porter’s time,”

etc . // // To some other wide-eyed labour-eager chosen one // // I s

Aubade to Girton

ning warmth; // // our exquisitely ice-

etched selves drowned, like ice cubes // // in scotch, or scotch in a

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

ays to savour, or discard; not feed the

eternal angelic fight. // // Still I turn from peat-smoke laughter an

ands! You stroked me into light… // //

Eternal concept, crystalline, unknown… // // But I can’t reach or fee

The chicken and the egg

created form, // // And looked for no

eternal flame. // // Just passed on far more heat than light. // //

/ the old podiatrist next door, // // ‘

Eternal Footman’, snickers on, // // dribbles in excitement // // li

[the typist puts her knickers on]

dden source; // // The Day-Spring, the

eternal Prima Vera. // // Blake saw it too. Dante and Beatrice // //

and find you here, // // Like spring,

eternal spring, inside my heart. // //

[My face is old now]

// // Or a sly’d promise of the // //

eternal sunshine // // That provides the peacock // // its scream, /

l’esprit d’escalier

/ // That it stands in the bareness of

eternity // // At the austere edge of the real // // And in the leng

[At the coinciding point of the years]

moonshine // // Fin de siècle. // //

Ethel Sargant, botanist // // (Girton student 1880s) // // builds a

There must be moonshine

ks’ work, either // // mustard gas and

ether or your man’s flesh // // flash-fried, seasoned, laid out, spri

oad’s cacophony. // // Through air and

ether people mutter, shout, // // voices, ipods, phones speak out. //

Girton // // We must not speak now of

etherised spread- // // eagle evenings fading skin histories // // f

Aubade to Girton

set of two— // // shared only with my

Euclid // // and Thucydides. // // My visitors all knock. // // We

A Room of Her Own

er // // in return he translates Latin

eulogies // // and we imagine their last seconds // // like the one

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

to decline, // // Before the best that

Europe’s vineyards yield, // // And all the fruits of forest, farm, a

// the girl poised and primed. // //

Evadne the unseizable defying Iphis, // // she jumps // // to meet t

From across the waters // // blow the

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

. // // Teacakes were taboo. I wasn’t

even // // allowed to bring up the subject of Lindt. // // All of wh

Chocolate Sonnet

stand for itself, you know, nothing can

even be a thing without anything, // // For something always exists -

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

hose pace, within the strictest measure

even , // // Breaks in the drill and rhythm of a bell… // // Were I t

flames of that revered pen. // // Not

even Chesterton would find it hard to believe that men can desire more

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

s poem // // I would, but I can’t. Not

even close. My vocabulary // // Can describe many things, but the th

I’ll never work for Hallmark

about. // // Certainly, he would never

even dream of eating meat // // that he had dropped on the floor (by

ust stay silent for your public with an

even - // // handed air of gravitas. Our thanks, and come again’. //

re, not unless it is tragic, // // And

even if you thought it was, // // You must plan what you say, // //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ke spring it follows // // All before.

Even now, after all these years apart, // // I can look inside, and f

[My face is old now]

s around the edges of the blaze. // //

Even now, // // I feel the heat upon my face. // // Twenty three yea

ith the sound of careful echoes. // //

Even now I remember little of reading The Waves // // except your sof

[I often think of that January morning]

s. // // Park-safe, the corgi does not

even pull the lead // // 2B // // ‘Two Black’ too black?—what sun be

Three Ways of Walking

remembered mythic method // // I can’t

even remember where I left it near Finnega

dn’t mind // // Standing, would // //

Even smile at the other passengers. // // Shrill beep as the // // D

Poems on the Underground

/ // We burn. // // We can’t touch or

even speak, // // afraid of the reflections; // // and when the mome

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

// // For, if it could, it would feed

even Tantalus. // // The frequent sticky thrill of that first bite of

// At least, that’s what I’m told, that

even the comedy is tragic, // // Well, if you say so. // // I have n

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// by all the breath of Russia // // (

even the kitchen sink bears witness // // to Soviet columns of ice).

why i’m getting into Christmas

somewhere someone’s saying yes. // //

Even the plane tree’s drop-earrings // // Have almost reached their s

ber this, // // Not the torn tissue or

even the treasure beneath. // // My Grandmother says she saw // // A

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

. The // // real public benefit’s not

even there.” // // Sadik says “The Boris’s vanity project has // //

Troubled waters

cks and bones in the ground), // // Or

even vicars, touched by God, nothing to hide? // // Or the classicist

Bearded Thoughts

. I did not ask them to come, I did not

even want them to come. You feel this too don’t you: in your sleepless

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

hing restrictive, // // But that’s not

even where I’m going with this. // // I just mean that in my current

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

// to read and pen and thrive, // //

even without degree. // // My maths proves useful: // // I can asses

A Room of Her Own

is not yours to surrender // // I take

even your liquid mirror // // Is there no more you can do // // Than

watch and hold each other’s hands till

evening , // // And as we watch, our souls dart to and fro // // Betw

Is it a memory?

Cycling Home on a Winter

Evening // // // // // // // // // // As if the act of moving

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

the mothers and God’s angels // // The

evening before Christmas day. // // Men and listening children // //

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

Evening // // Brought my new friend to the Poetry Group // // To sit

Wednesday Evening

g // // moves north against the fading

evening light. // // Slanting lines are forming, breaking, forming //

Wells in winter

to empty thoughts, // // In the early

evening now, day dead, // // And there’s no song on or cold coffee le

g in Leicestershire; // // red was the

evening sky. // // By Derby town they settled down // // on purple s

/ // We’re right grateful feeling that

evening sun through an embrace // // of scaffold. And why not wriggle

nuary 3, 2002 // // Early in the

evening , we left the school. Wandering out along the darkening lanes w

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

k now of etherised spread- // // eagle

evenings fading skin histories // // from violent to -et to rose-rise

Aubade to Girton

/ // Over the bow // // I can see the

evening’s // // last blue twilight, // // pressed between // // sto

something there? // // Some object or

event which holds her stare? // // Or is it just the clarity of light

Cape Cod Morning

ater? Why would aquarium be a freshers’

event ? // // You’re not annoyed at the fish. // // Anyways, how was

Whales sing because they have a song

// // And I gaze too // // At frozen

events , pale memory, // // Pendant in silicon amber. // // Plain and

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

eminder that success is fleeting // //

Eventually we all sit in the gutter, shot down // // By an unseen ene

ack across the page: // // Love, Time,

Ever , Age. // //

wars but not like these did they

ever ask the question // // What we cooking for tea? We could hav

— // // We'll build you up better than

ever before. // //

g a sound more recognisable // // Than

ever before. To tell the solid // // Cost from the worthless losses;

Vicious or Virtuous?

rey and distant, // // My frustration,

ever building, swelling, // // Oozing towards the battlegrounds ahead

The Other Side of the Line

sad. // // ‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘nothing

ever // // changes.’ I wondered // // if she’d pictured // // her d

In a charity shop

// // Neither fur, feathers nor scales

ever clad // // A perfectly honed piece of mortal machinery // // Li

rt-up, image-bled, // // if nine demon

ever did, god-won // // Arrêt. // // Anger // // art // // Lunar /

Hercules et Oracle

ds, onwards, draw us on // // Into the

ever -flowing flow // // And let us fall, and let us grow, // // One

, how long ago // // It was, before we

ever knew the flow // // And ebb of love like beaches touched by wave

[My face is old now]

e. // // That brooch. // // Or if she

ever // // leant back on her stool // // and realised that, // // r

In a charity shop

th present: a poet’s hexagram // // Of

ever -living fire and unseen rose. // // This is our hexagram: the Tud

Sixteen Forty-Five

rise, // // The swamp up which I move,

ever more warm, // // And though at start I find I face a swarm // /

[What have we done]

as the train travelled through snow and

ever nearer to the waves, // // and to the place where I anxiously wa

[I often think of that January morning]

as if you’d never shut your eyes, never

ever not been seeing words before you, // // The guilt and hideous sh

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// // Another day // // to feel your

ever -present absence, still // // to find a way. // // I hear you sa

This is where I hide below // // your

ever -reaching steps, // // to hear and touch and see // // what is b

// Life flying in. // // Everything I

Ever See Was Comin’ Or Goin’ Away. Same As You. Maybe The Only Thing I

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

mouldering slowly, // // will burn for

ever . The fire once begun // // would last for days and days. Each

his flower—momentary and no— // // way

ever to be preserved or pressed? // // And so the big words, disposse

/ // in an instant // // when all I’d

ever wanted was to be free // // from any of the associated risks and

This Boy’s in Love—Section C Part 2b (i-ixx)

HEREAFTER // // WAS, IS, and SHALL BE

EVERMORE // // That it stands in the bareness of eternity // // At t

[At the coinciding point of the years]

t you know // // We hold you treasure,

evermore to teach. // //

/ nothing // // in between. // // For

every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. // // In betwee

heory: // // An unsystematised list of

every correct proposition. // // It says nothing // // And is perfec

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

e loneliness breeds like dysentery down

every corridor, // // And everything becomes impinging, a necessity f

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

me it’s difficult to love a light, when

every darkness is a reminder of their breaking. // //

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

loving. // // Did I love enough? use

every day? // // Days for seeing you in different ways. // // Days e

, // // expecting to find it cold, but

every day // // the embers beneath the ash were darkly glowing, askin

burning fire’s waft, // // Sizzling at

every edge and spitting ’oft. // // My open’d eyes do look around the

[What have we done]

r summer // // And through the fall of

every fruiting time. // // Journey through the pictures packed like l

The Magic Apple Tree

tests along her (warm) corridor. // //

Every Girtonian burrs like a Scot, // // At every moment the burring

BURR (or Brrrrr)

ll. // // The top did seem but further

every inch // // But ’hind did seem sure death. ’Twas in this pinch /

[What have we done]

my goddess. // // I praise Venus with

every judder. // // My body is a hymn to Cupid; // // He is in its a

heerful, but can’t fain it: // // With

every line I hate the bugger more. // // And so my theory for this op

In Defence of Evolution

/ // when every step is new // // and

every mile is two, // // and I’d walk twice that for you. // //

his hair is white all through.) // // ‘

Every mile is two’? no, hardly thus. // // Some miles are ten, while

Walking in winter

I cannot contain by // // Mapping its

every minuscule alteration— // // By changing everything. // // Tiny

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

Girtonian burrs like a Scot, // // At

every moment the burring grows, // // Thrushes migrate where the weat

BURR (or Brrrrr)

day. // // A clockwork Abraham, ready

every morning with his flint // // At six o’clock. Sharp. // // But

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

my fingertips turned a page, // // and

every night I watched your mind dreaming // // before my unconscious

[I often think of that January morning]

me. Measuring the miles decreasing with

every page // // of the novel that dwindled between your hands, as th

[I often think of that January morning]

that on the page it lies, // // And in

every reader the poet tries // // To foreground something strange and

// in the dark of dark, // // hungry

every second of our lives, and // // blood-fed, or starved to oblivio

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

d sniping and snipping, // // Excising

every sign-post from the text // // Paring all the parts that point a

The Cutting Edge

/ And chose a brand new name to give to

every single one. // //

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

port) // // I like them all and sample

every sort // // from Creamy keats with his mossed cottage trees //

Cheese is the medium

s is the time of old shoes, // // when

every step is new // // and every mile is two, // // and I’d walk tw

me, it will hold my weight.’ // // But

every step it drops you down // // into soft snow, up to the tops //

Walking in winter

clear and fine and bitter cold. // //

Every step, // // your foot upon the crust, you think // // ‘This ti

Walking in winter

lent about cheese // // Because whilst

every subject is the message. // // Cheese is the very medium of the

Cheese is the medium

nitiates thoughts in the mind // // Of

every thinker it lands upon, // // Contrasting gentle with the strong

tially (I think that’s the one), // //

Every time I thought a pot was getting hot instead of a flame losing h

Three Pieces of Advice

water; // // I love that bubble-burst

every time. // // The cold he feels nudges at my booted feet. // //

// // For romance but I am too porous,

every touch soaks in, // // Seeping and spreading, mycorrhizal in my

[I am almost 25 years old]

ing in it now, away upstream… // // So

every trace of light begins a grace // // In me, a beckoning. The sma

ng in their dance // // the genesis of

every utterance, // // pattering the pattern of the Tree. // // Summ

ter storm. // // The tide is high, and

every wave tries hard // // to breach the wall. And when it hits jus

Walking in winter

glistening yellow and grey, // // and

everybody has wolf-eyes in the rain. Their irises keep breaking // //

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ing sometimes sound a bit nice?’ // //

Everybody occasionally dreams of apocalypse. // // Sometimes your rou

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

my nephew’s eyes. // // God bless us,

everyone . // // Baby, come and sit with me, // // We pick this time

A Hymn to a Loved One

He holds his generosity high // // So

everyone can see, // // But his gifts are empty on the inside. // //

is is my fantasy, and Freud said you’re

everyone in your dreams. // // Of course I’ll continue to sing, becau

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

Heat-treatment is the only cure; // //

Everyone should give the bursar grief— // // Have protests along her

BURR (or Brrrrr)

// // The silent depths where touch is

everything . // //

Is it a memory?

sing. // // The summoners will summon

Everything . // //

sentery down every corridor, // // And

everything becomes impinging, a necessity for greed and proof of love

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

, dreaming. // // I am still dreaming;

everything breaks over me in waves. // // Like a seed listening to ec

[I often think of that January morning]

t. // // Everything squalls and // //

Everything breathed and // // Your soft memory immolates its body ben

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

e string, our source, // // flowing in

everything , for everything // // in the beginning, in the end, // //

ing down, // // Life flying in. // //

Everything I Ever See Was Comin’ Or Goin’ Away. Same As You. Maybe The

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

use you breathe. // // I only included

everything important. // // Everything was important. // // Everythi

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

urce, // // flowing in everything, for

everything // // in the beginning, in the end, // // is only this, /

oily residue // // Of embarrassment on

everything it touched, my mouth // // Soils everything, my speech sme

[I am almost 25 years old]

thing it touched, my mouth // // Soils

everything , my speech smeared into your clothes, // // I cannot remem

[I am almost 25 years old]

ve minutes after our hearts stop // //

everything (nothing) // // is night-mute // // and sea-dark. // //

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

That is its place, to encroach— // //

Everything of which I am bereft. // // Slowly, time makes its approac

I could never be (ready)

always dreamed of staying before // //

Everything snapped and you left, you walked away. // // So I struggle

The Other Side of the Line

// // Everything was important. // //

Everything squalls and // // Everything breathed and // // Your soft

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

y look—we are nothing, we have nothing,

everything swims and wills around us. // // 5. // // For example, in

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

// Muscles eased and tired, not wanting

everything . // // There was a hint or flash of something // // Munda

[The sun flattened]

inuscule alteration— // // By changing

everything . // // Tiny fingertips. // // (The winners in heartbreak.

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

rds offhand, // // Both you and I have

everything to lose. // // Oppression’s language does not understand /

aks slowly on the hills of green // //

Everything turned strangely, oddly quiet // // The wind that blusters

y included everything important. // //

Everything was important. // // Everything squalls and // // Everyth

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

mber what Kierkegaard said, // // am I

everything you hate in yourself, // // all those feelings circling in

through the lines and rhymes // // Of

everything you see (trying so hard to relate it to tragedy), // // An

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

knit embrace invites me in. // // Like

everything you wear, of course, it’s mine. // // You’ve taken residen

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

erly devoid of remembrance. // // It’s

everything you’d expect // // of a Cambridge courtyard: // // the li

[The sash rattles up]

de an elevator. // // I can know these

everythings and never know how they made you (do this). // //

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

t there’s no use in talking // // when

everything’s been said. // // In the dead, we stopped // // and stay

// // like friends with time.’ // //

Everything’s easy. // // It slips like oil through an engine, // //

In a charity shop

ce and time // // seem cut and twisted

everywhere . // // Though, via a chink a softer glare // // suggests

ecurling-wise and like two young // //

Eves , in a flurry of speckled limbs lobbed apples her way. // // She

nnegan’s Lake riverrun, past

Eve’s and Adam’s // // sins of the sons are visited upon the fathers

paper to the floor, // // The shredded

evidence of our affair // // Our old, embarassing affair with God. //

The Cutting Edge

each piece // // The inner thought is

evident : // // These objects are his household gods, // // Found tok

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

eeping pace) // // —but Sadik the Most

Evil deposes poor Boris, and // // gets the Red Margaret to look at t

Troubled waters

ary task to fight // // And crush this

evil force. We did appreciate // // Your quiet support, as well as g

evolution : Easter Rising // // This Easter Sunday was the first // /

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

Evolution // // I’m thinking up a theory to explain it— // // Why Rh

In Defence of Evolution

ti-writing reader: ‘Foucault!’, // // ‘

evolution ’, ‘what?’, or ‘no!’. Now they’re wordless: // // unpenned l

tilian life thus thrown // // into the

evolving curve of modern flight // // now trade in futures on the wis

ith cloud our sight, // // Surrounding

ev’ry face we meet with Blight, // // Whose knived line carv’s out a

[What have we done]

-wife, with clippings from the youngest

ewe , // // who cursed as the basket spills in sticky clay // // and

ect // // and rich, or still a ghastly

ex -officio // // crash corpse? Those ‘hoodlums scammers’ I reflect //

Between Life and Death

// // It’s been well-spent, and’s gone

exactly as he meant it to. // // And he has some years left in him ye

hen I write a line I wonder // // Just

exactly where it came from // // And if it’ll happen again. // // If

Writing to explore

full of quietness // // Begin the song

exactly where you are. // //

Singing Bowl // // Begin the song

exactly where you are, // // Remain within the world of which you’re

en I write a poem, I can be // // Just

exactly who I mean to be // // And then some. // //

Writing to explore

Exam Room Villanelle // // I fear I am not in my perfect mind: // //

Exam Room Villanelle

Exam // // This question was generally quite poorly attempted, with m

kept at bay from the quiet and rustling

examination halls. // // This is my revision, it has no structure and

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

I am not in my perfect mind: // // As

examiners so cruelly, // // In the chilling hall where I’m confined,

Exam Room Villanelle

d wills around us. // // 5. // // For

example , in my mind: here comes a lion, then an elephant, and presentl

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

he archaic gods will make you // // An

example in your death. // // Curst to know yourself, vain paragon, /

pale shirt, // // teaching by strange

example that the human heart // // is as much a network of rooms as a

e, he’s carefully wound. // // A finer

example will never be found. // // His talents astound: // // Listen

// To drink, potions which // // Were

excellent (Minus // // Perhaps their mind-dulling // // Concoction w

er Own // // My home, my space, // //

except for nanny and the maids, // // my needlework, // // the duty

A Room of Her Own

k trees and it would have been perfect,

except my skin felt too big for my bones. It just hung there softly, c

[So the moon was there]

n’t anything worse // // Than boredom.

Except the non-existent tick // // Of your digital clock, resting nex

The Notes You Have Left

flesh meets wire and no-one wins // //

Except you, you and your line victorious. // //

The Other Side of the Line

mber little of reading The Waves // //

except your soft smile each time my fingertips turned a page, // // a

[I often think of that January morning]

Soldiers making a killing on the stock

exchange // // So we can line pockets and grease palms. // // The fe

sake of making // // Noise. Repetitive

exchanges of false // // Smiles and bravado that shield the truth //

Vicious or Virtuous?

enough; // // A little word so easy to

excise // // Another snippet for the cutting room // // A sweeping o

The Cutting Edge

shed // // with a still? Local // //

excise officer takes to // // dropping by unannounced. // // Catch t

There must be moonshine

ering, and sniping and snipping, // //

Excising every sign-post from the text // // Paring all the parts tha

The Cutting Edge

otman’, snickers on, // // dribbles in

excitement // // licks his lips and gets his slippers on // // as sh

[the typist puts her knickers on]

// // (Hand to hand with a bull/man’s

exciting ), // // But I turned on the charm: made her help me to arm—

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

nd see something that has been secretly

excluded by the precision of reason. The true poet, who I call the maj

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

h, just on reflection, // // Our model

excludes gravitation. // // Da capo // //

Small Particles in the Small Hours

the // // Train disgorging scores of ‘

excuse me please’ // // As passengers // // Cross and recross the ga

Poems on the Underground

many ‘please’, // // ‘Thank you’ and ‘

excuse me’s slips from my mind // // As I pour with them into the //

Poems on the Underground

// // forgetting the details won’t be

excused , // // and we may read it out as a punishment. // // The fir

The Dead Letter Office closes down

u had been // // A teacher and must be

exemplar for // // The ‘women’s college’ where the third years saw //

y straight-ruled. // // Pacing for the

exercise alone. // // HB // // ‘Hard Black’ appears as grey: // //

Three Ways of Walking

// // Stepping out, // // the crisp,

exhilarating // // assault // // of night-time on my radiator-warmed

[The sash rattles up]

ste the contentment of bees, // // The

exhilaration of rowers, // // The pink heat of burnt necks and thirst

with ‘unconscious will’, ‘pure power’, ‘

exhilaration ’ ‘beating heart’ and ’fresh blood’. This reality is primi

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

ongst the bums // // in the silence of

exiles . // // No surprise at sundown // // when it rains great, warm

Tridente, 10th September

pes to watch you drown. // // When you

exist outside of me // // Am I the waiting well? // // For rainy day

Who am I, Bernard?

noble beard to a // // Woolly-jumpered

existence in out-of-the-way places, // // Lounging on a bench or pew,

Bearded Thoughts

Human Pound // //

Existence was a problem // // In the under-stair cupboard // // Of p

rse // // Than boredom. Except the non-

existent tick // // Of your digital clock, resting next to my head. /

The Notes You Have Left

The thoughts still hurt. Like bruises,

existing as echoes // // of former pain written across me, transformi

[I often think of that January morning]

e behind my Wyatt today who knew // //

Existing on hot coals blisters the feet // // Just when I found them

I don’t know and could only marvel: he

exists , he exists, in the combustion of his heart! // //

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

wly my mind renders his form. // // He

exists illuminated in slow motion // // And I am drunk on vertigo //

’Tis pity he’s a bore

ow and could only marvel: he exists, he

exists , in the combustion of his heart! // //

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

ce life in this way. It has no name, it

exists , it shines outside of language and concept. // // 2. // // Af

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

t anything, // // For something always

exists - // // Watching others, irregularities abound, and you realis

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// // a prop for mother nature’s grand

exit , // // and its leaves have all been lost in transit, // // and

And, just before we stagger through the

exit , // // Discover that we might yet wreck their brexit. // //

/ i’m // // going // // to … // // [

exit stage right accompanied by the ineffectual whirring of defunct ma

the windmill’s lament—a short play

roll rock- // // ing him closer to the

exotic East. Each tear was worth the glor- // // y of the find in the

ound. // // A sound // // whose waves

expand , // // whose echoes still expend // // themselves in riffs of

rides, // // Warm air turbulent // //

expanding billowing fabrics, // // Exquisite timpani of sole on pavem

’Tis pity he’s a bore

reels. Imagine it just passed, // //

Expanding in a bubble that you know // // Soaped Titan in his bath. H

e’ll know; // // Its megallanic stream

expands to form // // A Universe of fire. One second’s past— // // M

membrance. // // It’s everything you’d

expect // // of a Cambridge courtyard: // // the library, the chapel

[The sash rattles up]

waiting of night upon night, // // An

expectant lie on the grass, // // White at first, newly-mowed, // //

cally // // wanting no more and // //

expecting no // // less. // // Tim was their orphan, withdrawn with

Jonathan’s Deathbed

days. Each morning I came down, // //

expecting to find it cold, but every day // // the embers beneath the

// // more travels, journeys, voyages,

expeditions // // more books, more coffee cups // // more tragedies,

waves expand, // // whose echoes still

expend // // themselves in riffs of time and space, // // in overlap

cident) // // simply because it was so

expensive . // // The man does not experience accidence. // // His po

s so expensive. // // The man does not

experience accidence. // // His poetry is perfect. // // I sit here,

method of erasing blood was stated with

experience , // // And me realising that his blood would have come fro

Three Pieces of Advice

/ // Focus is the hinge // // Between

experience and reality that you dangle me from. // // Frozen winches

How and Why I Should Have Looked You in the Eyes:

y luminous. It is difficult to look and

experience life in this way. It has no name, it exists, it shines outs

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

lay; // // Because the abstractions of

experience // // Make the metaphor of photography literal, // // Pur

How and Why I Should Have Looked You in the Eyes:

this ennui. The poem restores us to the

experience of reality, if only for a brief moment. This reality is coe

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

d in layer after layer, like I’m // //

Experiencing that first childhood snow. // // Humming show tunes to t

The Notes You Have Left

ined to die young, // // That you must

expire like Shelley, // // Or the fire in your belly // // Will be q

the word too mundane to say // // And

expire with the curse of your name dribbling from my lips // // And c

tion // // I’m thinking up a theory to

explain it— // // Why Rhyme Royal is such a bloody chore. // // I’m

In Defence of Evolution

asleep at the post: // // how else to

explain , sheltered by the brimming chest, // // the shivering sceptic

t there to reply, cannot defend, cannot

explain with a hand or description - no visual aid, // // No images a

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// // and sexual confusion without any

explicit // // engagement from responsible adult figures. // // and

// // And it feels like your head will

explode // // And the watery sounds take control of your body // //

d straight, // // So fast that my eyes

explode in their sockets, // // And as I’m limping blind through Sibe

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

they’ll protect us when our cosy lives

explode . // // Mental muscles flex and pose in minimalist offices. //

git meets digits, // // space and time

exploded // // to a single // // point // // Could this induce a co

fire. One second’s past— // // Matter

explodes . Growth’s spiraling has passed // // The comprehendable. A l

time // // to cross the waters, // //

explore the earth, // // and send signal fires // // blazing into th

ther there was a // // World beyond to

explore . // // We sought to do away // // With silly notions // //

explore // // When I write a line I wonder // // Just exactly where

Writing to explore

on pages, // // Of knowledge yet to be

explored , // // I crave to be equal to your wisdom, // // But inste

The Tree of Wisdom

ves, debris // // From some controll’d

explosion : dry and charr’d, // // Destin’d to be the waste fate does

[What have we done]

shoes, // // Increasing in frustration

exponentially (I think that’s the one), // // Every time I thought a

Three Pieces of Advice

eir boundaries. The vital stress // //

expresses change. Some variant has found // // how good sex is—to mix

// expanding billowing fabrics, // //

Exquisite timpani of sole on pavement. // // How he glitches and slid

’Tis pity he’s a bore

kable in the morning warmth; // // our

exquisitely ice-etched selves drowned, like ice cubes // // in scotch

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

return to their high stools // // for

extended head-scratching. // //

Nil Charge / Nil Return

ights—I’d dream: // // my index finger

extended in front, walking in a straight line, tied to the inexorabili

ill inhale. The peak reaching skywards,

extending // // The lows into dry soil. My path has not yet led // /

Vicious or Virtuous?

the losing side. // // Isn’t this mass

extermination ? // // She points to the sky. // // Take some distanc

[She points to the sky]

agged about the town // // And rhyme’s

extinction means egality. // // At least that’s how it seems to those

In Defence of Evolution

e river, black and cruel. This city now

extinguished , empty, spent; the beauty of the day submerged in silence

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

ion // // However, no man has dared to

extol , the properties of a property so woefully dull. // // Are we no

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

se // // Special four-seater sections (

extra legroom). // // Framed by filtering sun, picking your lip. //

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

ll the Seven Deadlies // // Plus a few

extra . // // She could just hang up her cross, // // Pour the holy w

eyond imagination; and of course // //

extracted from my fickle memory— // // elusive and illusive treasure,

Daydream Dale Journey

my lips as archaeological tools // //

extracting and brushing each letter // // in return he translates Lat

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

is. I never could // // meet anyone’s

eye . // //

I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems

see! // // What will you trade for an

eye ? AI might be cis, white, male, hetero, // // but at least it won’

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

e stars. They glitter ’gainst my mirror

eye , // // And back they swim into that mirror pool, // // Wherefrom

[What have we done]

urely stripped, // // I’d catch Nick’s

eye // // and he’d be gripped. // // I thought he’d itch // // if I

// // Untouched by bird, unseen by any

eye . // // And I know you are there, amongst them all. // // They to

[My face is old now]

oked just like an orb, or an egg, or an

eye . And it was just sitting there, looking blankly at me, like a glob

[So the moon was there]

would-be saviour // // and caught his

eye and struck him blind and dead. // // A winged beast can be so und

white on the window, // // catches my

eye as I enter the kitchen: // // a dove, sprawled wide in its this—

o the sky, // // And I, with my prying

eye , // // Far and away, // // I get a point I can’t convey. // //

[She points to the sky]

ege, refusing // // to look him in the

eye , it could have been a confrontation but there’s // // a sickly gl

I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems

atched by the crystal prism’s sharp-cut

eye ? // // It represented such a fine-wrought craft // // and skill,

Compass Reading

rl says: why did you peck out // // my

eye , magpie? // // and the magpie says: fairy tales formally feature

but falling far short of a neat bull’s-

eye . // // Not quite seeing the wood for the balsa, // // knowing th

ry. // // and the magpie pecks out her

eye . // // the left one, I think. // // I don’t actually remember th

ncing in different tongues // // their

eyeballs rolled heavenward, phonemes falling thick and fast // // the

Same but differenT

t and snow // // Crustate my hairs and

eyebrows , a great flow // // Of white from top-to-toe. Each day I fee

[My face is old now]

the annual nil return. // // Nil, wild-

eyed and woolly, // // pent in a furry fury // // at the nilherd’s f

Nil Charge / Nil Return

s time,” etc. // // To some other wide-

eyed labour-eager chosen one // // I shall leave this garden instruct

Aubade to Girton

ave been gifted, // // Blonde and blue-

eyed Sufi, upright and serious and oblivious. // // Promise me—let’s

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

/ The hare whose eyes at equinox // //

Eyed the slowly roving ox // // Bellowing his song of grace. // // B

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

// The pond is a tight circle of moon,

eyelashed with heavy grasses. // // His pointed foot will break the s

// // To her, a State Secretary // //

Eyeless for Gaza, // // Blind to the consequence: // // Tabula Rasa.

s. // // I shut my eyes, but // // my

eyelids are glowing with // // bright, pale yellow, // // the kind t

Bright, Pale Yellow

skin in the sunshine. // // I press my

eyelids from // // out of the darkness, // // watch the brightness /

Bright, Pale Yellow

uld, // // hanging on a nail inside my

eyelids . // // Is it true that a thing of // // (heart-stopping) bea

Maybe they patternize to someone else’s

eyes , affirm a thing, touch a cord // // ‘umbrellas meeting sewing ma

ut inside this place. // // I close my

eyes and feel their cacoons grow // // More pink, more soft, and in t

[What have we done]

ause a rash, // // But you’d roll your

eyes and tell me we’re late for dinner. // // So I’ll tuck my mind ba

I’ll never work for Hallmark

amiliar awkwardness // // Of searching

eyes and violent kisses // // To adjust myself, realise // // That L

me my honey hair is darker now, and my

eyes are a deeper grey. // // You tell me it’s difficult to love a li

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

nnel’s vulgar arrival. // // Those old

eyes are achingly familiar. // // —‘Please change here, for…’— // //

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

ch on. // // I am lying in the bed, my

eyes // // are closed. I can feel that she is there, // // I keep my

the dirt they earlier trod. // // His

eyes are deep dark centre stones, // // Buried in squinting distance,

’Tis pity he’s a bore

yes are filled with wonder] // // Your

eyes are filled with wonder as they gaze // // so deep between the co

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

eyes are filled with wonder] // // Your eyes are filled with wonder a

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

voice echoes off my skull. // // Your

eyes are plastered onto mine. // // I can’t tell whether I want them

ve. // // they use their words, saying

eyes are the window to the soul // // but eyes don’t talk to God: //

Same but differenT

e kind that still refracts through your

eyes . // // As the sky began seeping liquid gold // // and blood rus

the purple phlox, // // The hare whose

eyes at equinox // // Eyed the slowly roving ox // // Bellowing his

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

how small it was, // // How narrow its

eyes became, // // But I couldn’t stop. // // All around me // // N

[So snow falls outside]

// // beyond my comprehension; lensed

eyes ‘big // // as saucers’ x-ray-burning to my five- // // year inf

Compass Reading

we grovelled on the ground, // // Our

eyes blank, with nothing to // // Consider, no reason on which to fou

/ // cowbwebs catch on tongue and mesh

eyes // // blinking on a pimpled trunk // // snail-spotted and blood

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

urtains. // // You shed dust from your

eyes , // // Blood dripping from your next cigarette, // // And we fe

house is in darkness. // // I shut my

eyes , but // // my eyelids are glowing with // // bright, pale yello

Bright, Pale Yellow

eel that she is there, // // I keep my

eyes closed. // // My Grandmother sits in the corner, // // she is w

of flames. // // Should I wonder if my

eyes deceive me? // //

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

dge and spitting ’oft. // // My open’d

eyes do look around the wood, // // The ghoulish form’s tear in the a

[What have we done]

s are the window to the soul // // but

eyes don’t talk to God: // // mouths do // // mouths don’t talk to G

Same but differenT

second straight, // // So fast that my

eyes explode in their sockets, // // And as I’m limping blind through

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

and Why I Should Have Looked You in the

Eyes : // // Focus is the hinge // // Between experience and reality

How and Why I Should Have Looked You in the Eyes:

s into dead wood; // // Cremates Glede-

eyes garnet // // Tightens coils, wrenches words // // Tightens coil

ng and old. // // It hides my nephew’s

eyes . // // God bless us, everyone. // // Baby, come and sit with me

A Hymn to a Loved One

g brighter now // // that her kerosene

eyes have lost their heat // // and the snows and skies of memory //

why i’m getting into Christmas

// Just you, steady tread and glinted

eyes , // // Holding and held by darling thoughts, // // Smile’s phan

ld you // // bear to // // close your

eyes , // // how could you // // fall // // asleep? // //

Bright, Pale Yellow

// so that, by painted mouth and fresco

eyes , // // I had to show what I wanted so to tell. // //

nd unsteady ground // // If I close my

eyes I still see // // A harbour adorned with lights // // On the fe

ival of Ferragosto // // If I close my

eyes I still see // // Fireworks like a Pollock painting // // On th

ht // // That emanates always from her

eyes . // // I want her to cut me open at the waist with her clavicle

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

and grey, // // and everybody has wolf-

eyes in the rain. Their irises keep breaking // // me, and so I build

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

e kind that still refracts through your

eyes . // // I’m not sure when we collected this specimen of sadness.

ard, // // Crouching cold-nose, // //

Eyes like a noose, nipping // // Natural paper edges. // // Through

He who made the Lamb

htwatching // // By the bone-ground my

eyes linger; // // I am watching the boy take off his shoes, // // S

And houses have hollow // // Fishbowl

eyes // // Looking over sidings. // // Their peeling paint // // Ma

know which way is home. // // My still

eyes make their movement static, // // Constant, never reaching home.

// Mellow touch, a kiss // // Then our

eyes meet // //

paint? // // How many years your kohl

eyes must have stared // // Watching new generations play. Then dared

a stained glass // // skull, my black

eyes my light eyes, this arched spine, // // do you remember what Kie

e, and feel as if you’d never shut your

eyes , never ever not been seeing words before you, // // The guilt an

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

e present our offerings. // // Dutiful

eyes , obedient lips, // // Voices synchronising in prayer. // // Our

lling world two daggers cold. // // My

eyes obscured by wash, I blindly dug // // My place, lifting my molte

[What have we done]

/ Here in Higgs’ Field // // I keep my

eyes peeled, // // For each mil-billionth strike // // Might give th

Small Particles in the Small Hours

// // Or whether you want my voice, my

eyes . // // Probably not. // //

/ pages upon pages of poetry. My blurry

eyes resisted breaking // // concentration until the walls dissolved

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ld have laughed by now, at this. // //

Eyes , rolling, at artificial sparkle // // And hearts as target pract

, // // From tumbling to the concrete,

eyes screaming from tear gas // // Thrown by Apartheid police. // //

Three Pieces of Advice

so for my childhood too // // When my

eyes searched frantically, // // blotted with beads of light, // //

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

e ship’s pitch and yaw, // // borrowed

eyes seeing // // some earlier draft of things, // // lost in a cold

to say something back. // // I open my

eyes // // She is not there. The room is empty. // // There is a cha

knowing, // // Somehow wisdom in fresh

eyes showing. // // Somehow you fill your name already, // // Cast i

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

To have held on. Head lowered, but her

eyes // // Stare through me, past my skin, to the scream stuck // //

/ // her hands, the wrinkles round her

eyes , // // the softness of her hair. // // I want to ask her someth

ss // // skull, my black eyes my light

eyes , this arched spine, // // do you remember what Kierkegaard said,

an // // Words. Each man seeks to draw

eyes to his // // Point of the ring, without disclosing the secrets /

Vicious or Virtuous?

sk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! // // your

eyes , weighted, watch the glass // // snatch its sound out the air. /

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

/ in motion by my beloved, her gleaming

eyes wet // // From the cold wind on a bench on a freezing night, //

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

where: // // fear reflects between our

eyes , // // without words or comforts. // // We burn. // // We can’

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]