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The Girton Poetry Group

Not Averse

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

N

could never be (ready) // // Respite, (
n ):  A feeling that sinks // // And settles each morn, // // Affirmed
I could never be (ready)
hands can tear at tissue // // Stille
Nacht must be sung before the crib, // // Two verses, slow as moonris
[In my Grandmother’s homeland]
rian captors.  // // The nilherds sense
nail -break // // and sharpen their needling, // // call out their ma
Nil Charge / Nil Return
ood Pollock should, // // hanging on a
nail inside my eyelids.  // // Is it true that a thing of // // (hear
looking
I picture him as St.  Sebastian, // //
Nailed to pine in ecstatic agony.  // // ’Tis pity.  // // Some ancest
’Tis pity he’s a bore
a pierced calcite skin, bloody ingrown
nails and an incorrection.  Adonai, Adonis, open my sword lips, then my
we’re not in Kansas, anymore
efore I lose myself entirely.  // // My
nails dig red crescents in my skin as I strike // // At her face, con
Reflections
The familiar blunt fingers and shallow
nails // // Of proud practicality.  // // We are already comfortable
The Box
// A taste to slake this thirst.  // //
Naïve one, mercy, // // Is not something to which you should aspire,
Nέμεσις
3.0 compatible— // // Horrified by the
naïveté of younger affirmations:  // // I am in control of my desires
Frighteningly Inert
in my bathroom a Thursday // // I am a
naked Hamlet shaving in the mirror // // Clearing the gravel in my th
rehabilitation
ill we // // forget // // your // //
name .  // //
Wandlebury Hill
// Whispering across the sea, // // A
name a little bit like « me ».  // // To the East, to the West, // //
Ode to a map of the world
s showing.  // // Somehow you fill your
name already, // // Cast in white marble by two gentle breaths.  // /
Loose Ghazal for Rumi
the slate grey sky // // I shouted my
name at the empty football pitches // // I muttered my name incessant
[I whispered my name into the trees]
/ // And expire with the curse of your
name dribbling from my lips // // And clotting on my neck.  // // I k
Apathy
/ And in the fabric of life, I weave my
name // // For these are the things we can call our own.  // //
Signature Flaw
e, I think.  // // I know now your real
name .  // // I could fold my shattered wings // // And speak the word
Apathy
of nature.  What is he like?  What is his
name ?  I don’t know and could only marvel: he exists, he exists, in the
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
e supermarket // //   // // I sang my
name in the church // // I hissed my name to the cold pebbles and the
[I whispered my name into the trees]
y football pitches // // I muttered my
name incessantly in the supermarket // //   // // I sang my name in
[I whispered my name into the trees]
e into the trees] // // I whispered my
name into the trees // // I mumbled my name to the dank moss in the b
[I whispered my name into the trees]
[I whispered my
name into the trees] // // I whispered my name into the trees // //
[I whispered my name into the trees]
diant in its being.  // // They say its
name is ONCE and HEREAFTER // // WAS, IS, and SHALL BE EVERMORE // /
[At the coinciding point of the years]
experience life in this way.  It has no
name , it exists, it shines outside of language and concept.  // // 2. 
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
ise // // state His glory.  This land I
name , La Trinitaria, holy // // Trinity.  Let’s alight now and claim h
La Trinitaria
ttering, spluttering, crying // // his
name like a love-song, // // a meaningless // // thing.  // // Molly
Jonathan’s Deathbed
secrets // // blood! wriggling life! a
name ! love!  // // Candles, hats—shake the snow from your coat, uncle—
Drink and be merry
hat he wouldn’t // // Go far with that
name .  // // Made the decision to // // Pseudonymous-ify:  // // Call
Double Dactyls
h the glor- // // y of the find in the
name of God for the sake of gold.  They mock- // // ed in Portugal, bu
La Trinitaria
r the glor- // // y of the find in the
name of God for the sake of gold.  They mock // // him in island schoo
La Trinitaria
d then conquered and claimed you in the
name of God’s grace.  // //
La Trinitaria
.  Let’s alight now and claim her in the
name of God’s grace.  // // TWO // // Columbus was the end, caravels
La Trinitaria
does not understand, // // For in the
name of Mammon, you still bruise // // Our dialect, sweet sister of o
Envoy
// Uxoricidally, // // Just that his
name // // Scans quite well on the page).  // // Higgledy Piggledy //
Double Dactyls
in the bus shelter // // I mouthed my
name silently on the windswept tip of the hill // //   // // I bello
[I whispered my name into the trees]
ether to our old home.  // // Home is a
name spoken well, // // By stranger or grandfather—it is a peculiar,
Loose Ghazal for Rumi
ame.  // // In thrall to notions of her
name , // // tame linnets nibble for to follow // // and trade with h
La Belle Dame
// you was not hard, we chose // // a
name that meant all things // // that dazzle and move and wave; // /
Stone, Paper, Scissors
// // Promise me—don’t compromise your
name , // // This is how you lose sight of the mountains, of the buffa
Loose Ghazal for Rumi
// // Promise me—don’t compromise your
name , // // This is how you lose the ancestral breath, // // This is
Loose Ghazal for Rumi
ght lines, // // And chose a brand new
name to give to every single one.  // //
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
y name in the church // // I hissed my
name to the cold pebbles and the cold sand // // I roared my name to
[I whispered my name into the trees]
name into the trees // // I mumbled my
name to the dank moss in the bus shelter // // I mouthed my name sile
[I whispered my name into the trees]
the hill // //   // // I bellowed my
name to the slate grey sky // // I shouted my name at the empty footb
[I whispered my name into the trees]
es and the cold sand // // I roared my
name to the surprise of the animals     to the surprise of the quiet c
[I whispered my name into the trees]
ames that have a little heft.  // // To
name your best street simply ‘Fifth’ must surely be a sin.  // // Mayb
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
Urban Warfare // //
Nameless faces tell us we’re going to war, // // I wonder where they
Urban Warfare
, // // This still life has two untold
names :  // // It is:  The Virgin and her Child; // // The Mother and h
[A still life, with ceramic vase]
bow bunny of being able to remember the
names of the metrical forms, // // So easy to learn.  // // I digress
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
look so flat?  // // And why do all the
names sound like a robot filled them in?  // // The avenues just run a
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
give their greatest streets and plazas
names that have a little heft.  // // To name your best street simply
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
’s secret left unspoken // // Only the
names which I have learned.  // // Now I listen at the window // // A
leaves might fall
t show you outward // // to the world. 
Naming // // you was not hard, we chose // // a name that meant all
Stone, Paper, Scissors
iniature tea pot // // (Worth mending,
Nan said, it’s genuine Limoges); // // The milk jug from bank holiday
The Box
// My home, my space, // // except for
nanny and the maids, // // my needlework, // // the duty to be payin
A Room of Her Own
Sestina // // Abyss.  A
nanosecond’s blazing light, // // The herald to a straining fecund ma
Sestina
till above the mantelpiece // // In my
Nan’s seaside semi.  // // Each item carefully labelled // // With ow
The Box
// And you, around that narrow spotless
nape , // // Might, from time to time, consent a tawny arm to drape.  /
Skins
em until I’m hoarse, // // to admit my
narcissism behind the twinkling guitar riff // // and yell my apologi
I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems
ound, and around, // // Passing by our
narrative .  // // Isn’t this war ?  // // She points to the sky.  // /
[She points to the sky]
ing really how small it was, // // How
narrow its eyes became, // // But I couldn’t stop.  // // All around
[So snow falls outside]
in my hair.  // // And you, around that
narrow spotless nape, // // Might, from time to time, consent a tawny
Skins
“A
Nasty Piece of Work” // // A-rise, you poyson’d ape, and stay the sam
“A Nasty Piece of Work”
ack’s devouring // // And an incessant
nattering of the doors that continue to open, // // The sweltering sm
Shit, we’ve missed our stop.
ernard Shaw, the voluptuous Darwin, the
natty Disraeli.  // // Youth wins, // // Confines the noble beard to
Bearded Thoughts
’s raw // // Venality that spurns your
natural law.  // // What a pitiful way for a predator to die, // // A
Unmaking
/ // Eyes like a noose, nipping // //
Natural paper edges.  // // Through the undulating skink // // Night
He who made the Lamb
or to reflect a man // // at twice his
natural size.  // // This is my space for scholarship // // to read a
A Room of Her Own
nt great-aunt   and the queen’s speech,
naturally // // drink to Christmas! and be merry!  // // Turkey on a
Drink and be merry
// The hardest part is to grow another
nature .  // //
On nature
// // (You don’t get perpendiculars in
nature , after all).  // // The streets of London slalom like your chil
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
s they lost touch with true vitality of
nature .  // // 3.  // // But poets have not given in to this ennui.  Th
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
y is primitive, musical, and Dionysiac. 
Nature chants in nonsensical monosyllables; its nonsense pierces us at
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
On nature // // To write on
nature is always ironic.  // // These are leaves I write on, // // Wh
On nature
aziness, it shows.  // // Descend, true
nature sprouts, like damp, decant- // // ing fungus.  Brutish, British
“A Nasty Piece of Work”
to cast any aspersions // // upon your
nature , the way you nurture, // // but as we intertwined at the centr
Over Easy
“In
Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines” // // // // // Manhattan’s built
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
sight.  For you these words // // Were
nature , these forms so often taught that you could // // chat in vers
Sestina to an English Teacher
On
nature // // To write on nature is always ironic.  // // These are le
On nature
in which he receives the tenderness of
nature .  What is he like?  What is his name?  I don’t know and could only
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
, arching skyward only to praise // //
nature’s glory.  He renamed you La Trinitaria, holy // // Trinity, and
La Trinitaria
of its roots, // // a prop for mother
nature’s grand exit, // // and its leaves have all been lost in trans
Wooden
on rather than by thought.  Just like in
nature’s murmuring, Dionysus rules and Apollo is asleep!  // // 7.  //
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
ho see // // Pentameter as breath from
nature’s throat; // // To me it’s just another tyrant’s coat.  // //
In Defence of Evolution
nd painted white.  // // Another having
naught but shop door front, // // Who shivers cold in sleeping bag at
Three gay rituals
ness of mirrors // // For you there is
naught but this.  // // No do not flee!  Do not leave me!  // // Stay! 
Nέμεσις
shock of a constellation lost // // We
navigate by auspice // // And the night stared back // // Perseid gl
Fugue by water
seid gleams between the stars // // We
navigate by auspice // // The fire which leapt over us // // Perseid
Fugue by water
// words that please the mind, // //
navigate the gap of have-been and would.  // //
Poems on the Underground
White-gold light, suspending patterned
navy seats.  // // Accompanying us: families, workers, couples, // //
Shit, we’ve missed our stop.
ed to love her.  // // I beached her on
Naxos , written off as a tax loss, // // Raised black sails, and now I
Cretan Quartet—a blame game
/ // Higgledy Piggledy // // Jesus of
Nazareth // // Born on a solstice // // The prophecised son (/sun) /
Double Dactyls
g is our failure, // // Let us keep it
near .  // //
Ode to a map of the world
// The cutting edge, the edge is coming
near .  // //
The Cutting Edge
/ but supervision faces // // seem too
near —and yet too far.  // //
A Room of Her Own
the M56, // // heading west, somewhere
near Chester, // // the fog lights catching great dark shoals // //
Diorama
e I left it                             
near Finnegan’s Lake            riverrun, past Eve’s and Adam’s // //
Poem:  Debris
ar, // // Here’s to being anywhere but
near .  // // Here they want to leave, // // There, the sound of boots
Ode to a map of the world
// The edge, the cutting edge is coming
near .  // // Not the blind fury // // With the abhorred shears // //
The Cutting Edge
y ate it.  // // His confidence shaken,
near shot dead, // // he thought of some words that Pol Pot said, //
The Failing of the Cheese
e train travelled through snow and ever
nearer to the waves, // // and to the place where I anxiously waited
[I often think of that January morning]
shing 60 // // My sixtieth birthday is
nearing — // // brings a thought that is far from cheering: // // tha
Pushing 60
ges beyond the flickering light.  // //
Nearly -five-year-old Colin // // needed a lavatory, and I had to leav
Fire
barn // // but falling far short of a
neat bull’s-eye.  // // Not quite seeing the wood for the balsa, // /
Wednesday
the grasses // // and unseen by their
neat // // nihilarian captors.  // // The nilherds sense nail-break /
Nil Charge / Nil Return
And fell, and dropp’d beneath, pass’d ’
neath my toes // // To endless death, rinsing me feet to nose.  // //
[What have we done]
ead, // // bracelets, teaspoons // //
neatly priced, // // hunch-huddled, // // a child-like smile almost
In a charity shop
es beneath shed skin, // // The old so
neatly severed // // From the life which lies within.  // // Oak and
leaves might fall
Unthinking choice // // That makes all
necessary marks.  // // Park-safe, the corgi does not even pull the le
Three Ways of Walking
I cannot say // // whether I have the
necessary skill // // to find a way.  // // And now today // // is e
Another day
p us celebrate // // Completion of our
necessary task to fight // // And crush this evil force.  We did appr
Gaza Sequence
// And everything becomes impinging, a
necessity for greed and proof of love or life, no loafing here.  // //
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
ly // // digs deeper. // // clinch my
neck between your fingers, // // bore that small hole through.  // //
tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!
from my lips // // And clotting on my
neck .  // // I know now you walk as a man angel hunter.  // // I could
Apathy
der and thistle // // sprout from its
neck , to wilt upon each soft pale shirt, // // teaching by strange ex
O Valentine
blooms // // From old fashioned, swan-
necked cycles.  // // The pinked sky of dinner has given way.  // // U
Dimming
she’d’ve wanted’.  // // Her scarf, her
necklace .  // // That brooch.  // // Or if she ever // // leant back
In a charity shop
f rowers, // // The pink heat of burnt
necks and thirsty flowers.  // // I taste the faint rustle of grass as
Pimm’s
glad.”  // // The Boris is happy.  “We
need a designer with // // boldness and vision—I know just the man.  /
Troubled waters
Lumley is pondering glumly.  “I // //
need a new project to keep me in trim— // // now the Gurkhas are happ
Troubled waters
toms of their trousers rolled, // // I
need characters like Tennyson, // // Who improve, like port and venis
Poets in Age
ther, Zeus bless her.  // // She’d this
need for a bull to caress her.  // // Left me stuck in a maze to the e
Cretan Quartet—a blame game
to produce a fine plan.  // // We also
need money—of course private finance will // // jump to join in, but
Troubled waters
chink a softer glare // // suggests I
need not now despair // // but follow where, by cute design, // // t
Wormholes
// // from the wicker chair.  // // I
need not say anything because // // she fills the silence of the room
Wicker Chair
h, presumptuous, breakable.  // // Do I
need others’ breezing breath to fill my happiness?  // // Glances, yes
[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]
razy things // // To get back what you
need .  // // So that HAL might set gravity back to nine point eight me
[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]
’s lead to poems of pure gold.  // // I
need the poets now, who match my age, // // Like Coleridge I could be
Poets in Age
passing bell is rung.  // // But now I
need the poets who grew old // // And wore the bottoms of their trous
Poets in Age
hronicle of past unbuttonings.  // // I
need these layers, this heraldry // // That codes and siphons off and
Skins
, // // a royal charter too, // // no
need to hide behind anon // // or to reflect a man // // at twice hi
A Room of Her Own
’clock.  Sharp.  // // But maybe I don’t
need to sing; just wait instead.  // // Like a Wiccan would wait, beca
[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]
// The Sun will keep turning.  We just
need to stay here.  // // Right?  // // All Mary had to do was wait.  G
[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]
‘business leaders’—which means he won’t
need us— // // He’s in with top brass and so scorns Hamas.  // // Whe
Gaza Sequence
would come again.  // // Ostara didn’t
need viscera wrenched by obsessed obsidian.  // // The Sun will keep t
[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]
Your voice, I love the sound— // // I
need you.  // //
Fall for————
/ // Nearly-five-year-old Colin // //
needed a lavatory, and I had to leave the fire for a while // // to t
Fire
skill and elegance.  // // New arts are
needed now: can they enhance // // That fine-boned beauty, linen-wrap
Hermione
had to be, but it was not the memory we
needed .  // // So three months later, we met again // // on a Suffolk
Fire
edges from business are far from what’s
needed .  The // // real public benefit’s not even there.”  // // Sadi
Troubled waters
cept for nanny and the maids, // // my
needlework , // // the duty to be paying calls, // // attending praye
A Room of Her Own
nse nail-break // // and sharpen their
needling , // // call out their managers, // // rule up their ledgers
Nil Charge / Nil Return
eady light // // is flickering between
needling trees; history assures me it’s a house.  // // If I can only
[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]
follow // // and trade with her their
needs , (all fame, // // all hopes will doubtless end in shallow // /
La Belle Dame
yew
needs dried blood in spring // // blood ancestry // // phantoms //
yew needs dried blood in spring
inance will // // jump to join in, but
needs time to come through.  // // I’ll give it some taxpayer funding,
Troubled waters
// downs a double shot of gin // // (
needs to get her liquors on) // // gets her lighter, gets her gas, //
[the typist puts her knickers on]
ripples.  She’s watching too.  // // He
needs to hear the screams, // // But all I do is bark wildly at the m
l’esprit d’escalier
// He understands // // That which he
needs to understand.  // // And doesn’t worry with the rest.  // // Th
THE MAN
hour and my fear for how I would // //
Negotiate the other passengers // // Without too many ‘please’, // /
Poems on the Underground
Before me and hope, somehow, for // //
Neither .  // //
Vicious or Virtuous?
Unmaking // //
Neither fur, feathers nor scales ever clad // // A perfectly honed pi
Unmaking
/ // Young and old.  // // It hides my
nephew’s eyes.  // // God bless us, everyone.  // // Baby, come and si
A Hymn to a Loved One
ust illuminated between // // My optic
nerve and all those that seek its attention.  // // Again, again.  //
Frighteningly Inert
es, feather-forming in the fast- // //
ness of your mother’s side.  And now, at last, // // you’re out.  And t
No Such Signs
so bright, a bird // // Cozied in its
nest , snuggles down somehow.  // // A change, some things remain, I mu
Autumn
the wake— // // And further—the ships
nestle // // In their resting place— // // You—my dear—are such a ve
From Trebetherick Point
s // // than touch anything branded by
Nestlé , // // that a hand-grenade of barbed calories // // nestled w
Chocolate Sonnet
/ // Until they settle together // //
Nestled in a form I had not meant // // Bringing a message I had not
Writing to explore
hand-grenade of barbed calories // //
nestled within each bite of Cadbury’s, // // so bring on the celery. 
Chocolate Sonnet
// When flying to their messy, tree-top
nests , // // Settling down in comfort comparable to ours, // // Coor
[Walcott begins Omeros]
se and // // pursue the sunrise with a
net of silver crunching aphids.  // // I will char those swatches dott
Aubade to Girton
// // And you try to catch them in the
net of your head, // // But deep and troubled the head rolls inwards,
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
to the wrack in a finflick.  // // Our
nets , turning weed, revealed nothing: no blenny, no bream— // // It w
Just a Small Fish
/ // You always said you’d sooner chew
nettles // // than touch anything branded by Nestlé, // // that a ha
Chocolate Sonnet
hat the human heart // // is as much a
network of rooms as a muscle, // // is as much an altar draped in bel
O Valentine
w, fragmented past // // And impotent. 
Neutrino looks on Mass.  // // So was the project worth it?  Should we
Sestina
/ That’s all I knew, // // And now you
never are.  // // Nothing all day nothing // // Until a night of noth
[So snow falls outside]
went for broke.  // // Gifts they could
never be bothered to wrap.  // // Ties, from when he tried to make an
Clearing
d.  // // He can run, he can swim—he’ll
never be drowned.  // // You strike him and deep crystal bass-notes re
[He’s sound]
ully wound.  // // A finer example will
never be found.  // // His talents astound:  // // Listen // // to //
[He’s sound]
the watercloured skies, the moon could
never be king.  And I was king // //   // // You were king?  //
[So the moon was there]
I could
never be (ready) // // Respite, (n):  A feeling that sinks // // And
I could never be (ready)
e reproach // // Of the things I could
never be:  // // There for you, // // Or ready to leave.  // //
I could never be (ready)
d he is always surprised.  // // I have
never been this close.  // // The pond is a tight circle of moon, eyel
Nightwatching
ink I wrote to you in was always black,
never blue, // // and I’d imagine you sitting and reading my words in
[I often think of that January morning]
page.  // // I don’t understand why you
never came back.  The waves // // always return to comfort the shore. 
[I often think of that January morning]
major fifth— // // And down the tone I
never can hear— // // And rise again— // // And don’t go sharp— //
Song
anxiously on the edge, on the look out;
never can we rest and say that: we have it now.  Philosophers and pries
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
d was an inveterate absentee, // // he
never could care for the sender or sent, // // so we’re locking the d
The Dead Letter Office closes down
I don’t remember or care what it 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
less, relentless love of life.  // // I
never could work out if // // you hated my words, // // the words on
Sestina to an English Teacher
// Frozen winches and stays– // // I
never earnestly looked at you // // (only out of you // // (Like a w
How and Why I Should Have Looked You in the Eyes:
ays travels from hot to cold.  // // 2. 
Never eat at an empty sushi restaurant.  // // 3.  Always wash blood of
Three Pieces of Advice
hamed about.  // // Certainly, he would
never even dream of eating meat // // that he had dropped on the floo
THE MAN
feel as if you’d never shut your eyes,
never ever not been seeing words before you, // // The guilt and hide
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
ater upon my feet // // And say never,
never forgive him // // He knows, he knows what he is doing // // Ag
Apathy
a past // // Of telephonic hygiene?  It
never forms // // Intelligence, to burn a gem-like flame.  // // If y
Sestina
give our heat away?  // // That passion
never gains, we just lose it to our loves?  // // That there’s no such
Three Pieces of Advice
elease.  // // Until I cry for things I
never had // // And laugh at memories I never made.  // // I can be a
Writing to explore
always hated sentiment, // // and she
never had much time for times past.  // // So the half-full tin of str
Clearing
words down the phone // // which I’ll
never hear because I feel // // future lights heating, burning bright
why i’m getting into Christmas
n the door we ranged // // Behind, but
never in front.  // // It seemed a constant battle to // // Conform,
Human Pound
// Control what you say.  // // You can
never just say it, // // If you say it people will hear, // // Then
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
lay your men like your cards, dear, and
never // // Keep your cards in hand after you’re quite done; // // D
Poker face
// // I can know these everythings and
never know how they made you (do this).  // //
Catalogue d’Oiseaux:
Thanatos to claim you, // // You will
never know the wilderness of mirrors // // For you there is naught bu
Nέμεσις
r body is so familiar // // yet I have
never known you before.  // // I could stay a hundred years // // Wit
Hold
rystal bass-notes resound.  // // He’ll
never lose time, he’s carefully wound.  // // A finer example will nev
[He’s sound]
Compass Reading // // You could I
never love.  Built of a bulk // // beyond my comprehension; lensed eye
Compass Reading
ever had // // And laugh at memories I
never made.  // // I can be a leader, a fighter, // // A voice of rea
Writing to explore
d and water upon my feet // // And say
never , never forgive him // // He knows, he knows what he is doing //
Apathy
in a press of bodies that would // //
Never normally indulge in such proximity with the // // Strangers tha
Poems on the Underground
t’s that once I’ve seen it // // I can
never not see it again.  // // It lingers     violently // // like a
looking
// I think it is tragic because it is
never not there.  // // Feel free to argue with me.  // // At least wh
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
y walked and walking talked— // // but
never once of cheese.  // //
A trifle
their movement static, // // Constant,
never reaching home.  // // I find that I am not alone // // As stree
Bridge
ld fit it again.  And although the skies
never really liked the moon, they loved it enough to not let it drown,
[So the moon was there]
of smoke.  // // Your (self)-importance
never recognized, // // demanding silence for each wireless news:  //
Compass Reading
ns that a tree so generous // // Could
never refuse us its ripe children to eat // // For, if it could, it w
The Mango Tree
uilibrium.  // // This pumice golem was
never sacred // // In the glaring static of hidden foamy currents.  //
Frighteningly Inert
// And the reality we face // // Has
never seemed greater // // Then when sat around this table, // // A
A Void
h dreams you wake, and feel as if you’d
never shut your eyes, never ever not been seeing words before you, //
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
divorce, // // with burdens that they
never sought to bear?  // // It’s not as though we’ve ceased all inter
Splitting
aning in these kitchen goods?  // // He
never tells.  But in each piece // // The inner thought is evident:  //
[A still life, with ceramic vase]
oss the page’s lush terrain, // // But
never those things that have the amazing audacity to contain nothing m
A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse
ought craft // // and skill, and yet I
never thought you deft // // enough to use so delicate a dial.  // //
Compass Reading
// Drift, despair, dream // // Of lips
never to kiss // // There’s none to hold you // // Here’s Thanatos t
Nέμεσις
// Your river of woe and death.  // //
Never to taste, never to touch // // Drift amidst the scattered echoe
Nέμεσις
f woe and death.  // // Never to taste,
never to touch // // Drift amidst the scattered echoes // // Of lon
Nέμεσις
in a letter, the shriek.  // // I have
never treasured the fingerprint // // sonic resonances of a snore.  //
Aubade to Girton
s the poem?  // // They told you sharks
never turned on their pilots—that’s your blood // // In the water—the
In search of
he undulating skink night, “mother will
never understand” why I had to leave tonight.  Clancy got loose and ran
we’re not in Kansas, anymore
t knock bleeds a honey // // that will
never wash from my hands.  I guard myself like a honeycomb house.  // /
[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]
I’ll
never work for Hallmark // // If I could show you how I love you with
I’ll never work for Hallmark
had cheesy words ravaged the page, then
never would they have been engraved // // Upon those souls of those m
A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse
anagement, // // and all the not-quite-
never -yet notes // // will be burnt to the sound of a piped lament.  /
The Dead Letter Office closes down
es: all // // —or almost all—are duds. 
Nevertheless // // ten thousand different species rise and fall // /
Destination
// To foreground something strange and
new .  // //
Foregrounded
ast away // // all such signs.  May the
new // // and broken morning be no song of you, // // but may you re
No Such Signs
of old shoes, // // when every step is
new // // and every mile is two, // // and I’d walk twice that for y
Joy Ride
ctorian tear, // // Finding the day so
new and so odd, // // With the gain of the world and the loss of God.
(R)evolution:  Easter Rising
ching her in skill and elegance.  // //
New arts are needed now: can they enhance // // That fine-boned beaut
Hermione
earbuds we were sharing, // // And our
new -born argument is furrowing your brow, // // So I glance instead a
Shit, we’ve missed our stop.
lm as the sun’s unknowing light, // //
New but not news, a sign that all is right.  // // The line of bodies
‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush
.  // // Now far from home, I wonder if
new children might // // Monkey-like prance from branch to branch, pr
The Mango Tree
my predictability.  // // // // In a
new city and in love, we took a mapless walk // // at dawn, choosing
Post-it Notes
l miles ahead in wait // // and then a
new city.  // // Now you are relegated to observer, // // My gallery
[Red-hot and tear-kissed]
f // // mixed up with sawdust from our
new cut beams!  // // We’re a curio.  Grain shovel is propped up all or
Renewal
s // // earth.  // // But now // // a
new form of reverence // // is practised in Greece // // the self-co
Delphi
te, but as yet unsigned.  // // Will my
new friend accept that I mix with you lot // // Just as much for dete
Wednesday Evening
Wednesday Evening // // Brought my
new friend to the Poetry Group // // To sit on a sofa, our fingers en
Wednesday Evening
angling, // // A curled query around a
new gaze, // // Your palm pressed flat to my sole, // // Your nightb
Café oh late
l eyes must have stared // // Watching
new generations play.  Then dared // // A young voice call: ‘who’s tha
Hermione
left too // // a strange new religion,
new gold mines, new laws and a people dead.  // // Ieri- Land of the H
La Trinitaria
ckly if you’re clever // // And find a
new hapless victim to con.”  // // So if you think your love and your
Poker face
h // // beating his hammer against his
new heart made of // // iron and stealing the warmth of his ring.  //
Jonathan’s Deathbed
, // // And who’s going to help me put
new laces in, // // Because you can’t wear quirky May Ball maroon-lac
Three Pieces of Advice
a strange new religion, new gold mines,
new laws and a people dead.  // // Ieri- Land of the Hummingbird, give
La Trinitaria
battles // // In return for our shiny
new lives, however long they last.  // //
Urban Warfare
/ in the secret of the space behind the
new moon.  // // And elsewhere, as deep as port, as rich as Tokaji, //
O Valentine
traight lines, // // And chose a brand
new name to give to every single one.  // //
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
must surely be a sin.  // // Maybe the
new New Yorkers were just simply overcome; // // This thirteen-and-a-
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
t of your grin, // // we'll make you a
new one of china and tin.  // // After your hipbone, we'll put in a ba
Reinforced
m must have done:  // // Alone in brand
new Paradise with infinite-ish time.  // // And so they split their Ga
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
// what do we become?  And now someone
new // // playing the part, such Jungian subtext— // // you are a ch
Pallium
is pondering glumly.  “I // // need a
new project to keep me in trim— // // now the Gurkhas are happy—some
Troubled waters
dawns behind, left too // // a strange
new religion, new gold mines, new laws and a people dead.  // // Ieri-
La Trinitaria
: time to let it dry.  // // Now I cut
new rivulets // // to drain the chains of pools that lace the spreadi
Ebb tide
frame.  These are sharp // // scissors,
new scissors: // // no stone will blunt them.  // //
Stone, Paper, Scissors
re.  // // My shoes have turned a whole
new shade of wet.  // // My Frost-bit ears resound with words I know. 
Cycling Home on a Winter Evening
// // Usurping the old shore with the
new tide.  // //
After the Rise
// On and off again, // // Averse to
new versions, // // Soldering patches over kneed corduroys, // // Mo
Frighteningly Inert
s fallible than our own, // // To find
new ways to hold, // // To hold without hands.  // // But serene pain
[Red-hot and tear-kissed]
ugh a mouthful of smoke, // // To find
new ways to no longer hold.  // //
[Red-hot and tear-kissed]
Gaza Sequence // //
New Year.  Gaza, 2009 // // The tank commander, aiming well, // // To
Gaza Sequence
// // There will come a time when the
new year is held back, firm by the wrist.  // // // // And, lover, c
Sijo
the wilds of the Irish Sea, // // the
new year is sleeping within // // cyclizine dreams, // // and I am r
Diorama
e and rise and fall, // // So why does
New York City from the heavens look so flat?  // // And why do all the
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
t surely be a sin.  // // Maybe the new
New Yorkers were just simply overcome; // // This thirteen-and-a-half
“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”
ty sheets with window open, // // Your
newest song on the speaker, // // A cold coffee left by my side.  //
Home, with you
reached their seventy-percent // // Of
newly -broken foetus-leaves // // In the last May bursts of spring.  //
Leaves
ie on the grass, // // White at first,
newly -mowed, // // Shorn beneath its reasonable limits // // And cov
[Hot]
n’s unknowing light, // // New but not
news , a sign that all is right.  // // The line of bodies on the table
‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush
// Recycled as the morning’s front-page
news , // // And we—we turn it over so you will not see.  // //
‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush
and hazel, beech and alder, // // What
news borne on the wind?  // // Just a list of wedding favours // // A
leaves might fall
leaves might fall // // What
news borne on the wind?  // // What winged seed has taken root, // //
leaves might fall
e too much your own. believe // // the
news . can’t starve the much-too-muchness out // // and in the hollows
[time rolls up like a woodlouse]
// // than I could moralise that hill. 
News of // // the fact of you (your real- and rightness) makes // //
No Such Signs
Flash
News // // Scientist says: meme for belief in life after death // //
Flash News
ot to hollows, but hellos—the crying of
news // // (“She’s birthed!  She’s birthed!”)—children at play— // //
Hollow Way
wee hours of // // waiting on fronted
news , the foreplay tense, // // the hot slit in a letter, the shriek.
Aubade to Girton
e room are children.  // // Part of the
news they lie upon, they can’t // // Look out at me, because their fa
‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush
// demanding silence for each wireless
news : // // vainglorious hope they’ll trumpet forth your K.  // // So
Compass Reading
wood and you, // // There is the day’s
newspaper , blazoned with // // The spin of a world that isn’t yours
‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush
looks and the lens // // Looks and the
newspaper image blithely grins // // Into a million messy shards.  //
‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush
eemingly by force ’gainst law // // Of
Newton .  Each light-ray does one ice thaw, // // Reflecting light thro
[What have we done]
ountry house // // that is my mother’s
next big venture after // // producing six of us.  // // L-shaped the
Fire
r eyes, // // Blood dripping from your
next cigarette, // // And we feel bored and lazy, // // And my paren
Home, with you
// // The world would start again the
next day.  // // A clockwork Abraham, ready every morning with his fli
[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]
vicar’s son— // // the old podiatrist
next door, // // ‘Eternal Footman’, snickers on, // // dribbles in e
[the typist puts her knickers on]
you were a difficult child”; // // the
next : “getting so drunk is a waste of // // my time, the college’s ti
Aubade to Girton
very much reality (wink here)”; // //
next head: “bet you were a difficult child”; // // the next: “getting
Aubade to Girton
lly and daily deleting, whatever is not
next // // Sneering, and sniping and snipping, // // Excising every
The Cutting Edge
k // // Of your digital clock, resting
next to my head.  // // “No milk” // // Pushing a trolley through th
The Notes You Have Left
oss // // To that person who was lying
next to us // // Only a second ago, // // Finding only shorter grass
[Hot]
clipsed by the shuttered windows of the
next train— // // Watch, as all the panes steal your reflections.  //
Shit, we’ve missed our stop.
st returns // // to make a crust.  The
next two months // // are clear and fine and bitter cold.  // // Ever
Walking in winter
otions of her name, // // tame linnets
nibble for to follow // // and trade with her their needs, (all fame,
La Belle Dame
out from under you.  // // You look so
nice : fresh-dressed and still warm from // // Your bath—calm as the s
‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush
here].  // // Thanks for today.  It was
nice seeing each other, wasn’t it?  // // Like a breath of old air.  He
Whales sing because they have a song
the world ending sometimes sound a bit
nice ?’  // // Everybody occasionally dreams of apocalypse.  // // Some
[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]
‘War is not
nice ’—Barbara Bush // // There is a picture of you that we love, //
‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush
enemy on his way up.  // // ‘War is not
nice ’, but we accept the battles // // In return for our shiny new li
Urban Warfare
Oh! why // // did I // // pick // //
Nick ?  // //
Déjeuner
/ and pink cravat— // // just gazed at
Nick , // // and Nick at him, // // while he pontif- // // icated t
Déjeuner
— // // just gazed at Nick, // // and
Nick at him, // // while he pontif- // // icated through the whiff
Déjeuner
// // set in gibbet salt, // // a red
nick cuts… // // wonder began // //   // // or I // // Iron Age br
Hercules et Oracle
Déjeuner // // I thought
Nick old, // // but devilish.  // // He’s in a raffish // // urban m
Déjeuner
written The Waste Land first time round
Nickerson .  // //
[the typist puts her knickers on]
// demurely stripped, // // I’d catch
Nick’s eye // // and he’d be gripped.  // // I thought he’d itch //
Déjeuner
// // A thousand geese are flying into
night .  // //
Wells in winter
to the slow // // black treacle of the
night air // // and see the simplicity // // moonlight // // brings
[The sash rattles up]
eflected in inky water, // // the cool
night air // // slows down time.  // // Now is the time // // to lie
Reflections
// // Ideas, the waiting of night upon
night , // // An expectant lie on the grass, // // White at first, ne
[Hot]
labouring before // // The furnaces by
night and day—for me.  // // Now my achievement’s lauded as the best: 
Patrimony
al - // // And the sheets creak in the
night as you wrap up warm with worn-out future thoughts, // // Of poe
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
the cold wind on a bench on a freezing
night , // // because let’s not go home just yet, all right?  // //
[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]
like your father.  // // Stiff from the
night before and still drunk // // I shackle myself to the peddles an
Poem:  Debris
es like bouquets // // thrown into the
night behind us.  // // And now, deep in the wilds of the Irish Sea, /
Diorama
// of men and kings—all rot away, while
night // // brings rumbling forest drums that cry vanité! // // vani
Lemon Pie in Zaïre
g recognition // // Of how bizarre the
night can be, // // Roof falling down, // // The sound of the lawnmo
[Hot]
 and we are safe against the cold, cold
night // // drink! and be merry!  // // Warm, mellow bread breath    
Drink and be merry
er the days were short, // // and dark
night fell as we built and lit the fire // // on the dark stones, and
Fire
al of Ferragosto // // Years from that
night // // Fireworks like a Pollock painting // // As the thunderst
Fugue by water
n five minutes.  // // The patterns the
night frosted on car windows // // will be water and unremarkable in
[Five minutes after our hearts stop]
you here?  See her red hair // // Last
night , gaping smile, // // Sharp with the earth’s slow // // Bleed,
Here be dragons
dreamed I saw // // your coming in the
night , I can no more // // credit clairvoyance for what was simply lo
No Such Signs
h step forward // // Into last night’s
night I cut // // Myself with familiar awkwardness // // Of searchin
rehabilitation
following that day.  // // Sometimes at
night I drift.  // // Small and high up.  // // With my hands I try an
[So snow falls outside]
lt a roaring blaze.  Then late into the
night // // I fed it all the bits that it had missed: // // fragment
Fire
ou not, // // Keep digging— // // All
night — // // I kept digging.  The sun rose, // // And I kept digging,
Did you bury her yet?
them all.  // // They took you away, at
night I lie awake and call.  // // I think about the time we met, how
[My face is old now]
Deep in the bosom of the // // gentle
night .  // // I make no love to the girl // // on the heath, // // R
l’esprit d’escalier
he heap of history.  // // But still at
night , I tiptoe to the door // // To rustle through these severed st
The Cutting Edge
gertips turned a page, // // and every
night I watched your mind dreaming // // before my unconscious swallo
[I often think of that January morning]
// clavicles fuse in birds’ ancestral
night // // in this revision one and one makes one // // it holds th
Furcula
chthonic cauldron bubble.  Incorrigible
night // // in which sailors drown at sea because I let the glass rin
Flash News
// beneath the piles.  Then one stormy
night // // it pulls the final prop.  A hundred yards // // of man’s
Walking in winter
// Who shivers cold in sleeping bag at
night // // Looks in to see them dancing in red light, // // Endeavo
Three gay rituals
ld dogs cry out in the undulating skink
night , “mother will never understand” why I had to leave tonight.  Clan
we’re not in Kansas, anymore
p // // everything (nothing) // // is
night -mute // // and sea-dark.  // //
[Five minutes after our hearts stop]
Nothing all day nothing // // Until a
night of nothing following that day.  // // Sometimes at night I drift
[So snow falls outside]
rk] // // “Oh work, // // ye fill the
night ; // // Oh time; // // ye slip, slip, slip away, // // Slippin
[Oh work]
m struck the sea // // Years from that
night // // On a promontory we watched // // As the thunderstorm str
Fugue by water
a stage curtain, // // and it is last
night on the M56, // // heading west, somewhere near Chester, // //
Diorama
do I have it, or no? this meme of after-
night // // On the threshold of genesis, in what purgatory shall I pe
Flash News
r of padding paws.  // // A pant in the
night , // // Panthera Tigris gulps the moon.  // //
He who made the Lamb
/ // Is nothing for you // // In this
night .  Redshift // // The stars black—do you still feel // // Their
Here be dragons
, who I call the major man, is a man of
night , revery, and murmuring, a man of repose, romance, and relaxation
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
// Through the undulating skink // //
Night she sulks, // // Two cigar butts dunking themselves // // In t
He who made the Lamb
// Under the magnesium moon.  // // One
night soon I will take off my boots, // // Slip out from under the he
Nightwatching
/ We navigate by auspice // // And the
night stared back // // Perseid gleams between the stars // // We na
Fugue by water
a promontory we watched // // And the
night stared back // // The shock of a constellation lost // // We n
Fugue by water
yson has power // // (But only late at
night , taken with port) // // I like them all and sample every sort /
Cheese is the medium
March-Wind // // All
night the March wind blows about our windows // // And chases whisper
March-Wind
The Flower // // Monday
night , the tv on, // // keeping us tied to the hundrum: // // you wa
The Flower
, exhilarating // // assault // // of
night -time on my radiator-warmed skin // // And the crunch of the sea
[The sash rattles up]
What have we done in this, our darkest
night ?  // // To what forgotten forest are we fell // // And how, so
[What have we done]
// Day into day, into day // // Into
night .  Try not to think of me, // // Though you might, let this waste
I could never be (ready)
ed-crushed // // Ideas, the waiting of
night upon night, // // An expectant lie on the grass, // // White a
[Hot]
do we see in Market Square on a Friday
night ?  // // We distrust this facial hair perhaps, or what it means. 
Bearded Thoughts
// as Martin’s morning breaks upon the
night // // we trade in futures on the wishing bone // // and learn
Furcula
objects surrounded us.  // // Long into
night we’re sitting tired and carefree // // In the darkness of no-br
[Ambient objects surrounded me]
e fire will be lit in the dark hours of
night , // // when dawn is stuck in its casual delay.  // // All lette
The Dead Letter Office closes down
lm pressed flat to my sole, // // Your
nightbed briefly vacated.  // // My arm fading back now, rocking with
Café oh late
em?  // // Strange loops writhe inside,
nightmares can be sensitive creatures— // // ‘You go!’  ‘Now me!’  ‘Who
In search of
by waves // // From dawn far into the
nights , before the words // // Began to stick and move in different w
[My face is old now]
elf.  // // For years—for, rather, rare
nights between inky uterine nights—I’d dream: // // my index finger e
Phonecall
l this too don’t you: in your sleepless
nights , clutching your pillow case, wishing those ‘thoughts’ away, tho
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
Mosquito
nights // // It would be wise to stop scratching now, // // And spar
Mosquito nights
ather, rare nights between inky uterine
nights —I’d dream: // // my index finger extended in front, walking in
Phonecall
nces // // more sleeps, more sleepless
nights , more dreams // // more seasons bleeding into seasons.  // //
Anticipation
ith the earth’s slow // // Bleed, four
nights till it sheds // // Its shadow to bloom // // In the vast, du
Here be dragons
with keef, kefir, with champagne on the
nightstand , and four dozen roses I once destroyed.  I’m up in the woods
we’re not in Kansas, anymore
Nightwatching // // By the bone-ground my eyes linger; // // I am wa
Nightwatching
riding?’  Is this the poem?  // // Last
night’s kiss a broken bridge—now we’re both in the abyss.  // // In th
In search of
ring each step forward // // Into last
night’s night I cut // // Myself with familiar awkwardness // // Of
rehabilitation
// // and unseen by their neat // //
nihilarian captors.  // // The nilherds sense nail-break // // and sh
Nil Charge / Nil Return
pounding // // they charge…  // // Ah! 
Nihilist nil, // // nil desperandum.  // // Bannockburn dreaming – //
Nil Charge / Nil Return
nant chomp // // of a mutinous herd of
nil .  // // Below them, the sharp-suited nilherds // // insinuate up
Nil Charge / Nil Return
nilherds encircle // // to make their
nil capture.  // // For this year there’s no nil return.  // // Nil Re
Nil Charge / Nil Return
// // // //
Nil Charge // // High above desk-jockey Cardiff // // the wild wind
Nil Charge / Nil Return
charge…  // // Ah!  Nihilist nil, // //
nil desperandum.  // // Bannockburn dreaming – // // this is their Ba
Nil Charge / Nil Return
eful stride.  // // Nimble Nimrods, the
nil // // make a dash for the mountain, // // turn and bellow their
Nil Charge / Nil Return
// // they charge…  // // Ah!  Nihilist
nil , // // nil desperandum.  // // Bannockburn dreaming – // // this
Nil Charge / Nil Return
apture.  // // For this year there’s no
nil return.  // // Nil Return // // While the nilherds are snoring //
Nil Charge / Nil Return
ledgers and pens // // for the annual
nil return.  // // Nil, wild-eyed and woolly, // // pent in a furry f
Nil Charge / Nil Return
this year there’s no nil return.  // //
Nil Return // // While the nilherds are snoring // // wrapped warm i
Nil Charge / Nil Return
apped warm in their nilpelts // // the
nil strain – tight pressed // // in a circlet of steel.  // // Haunch
Nil Charge / Nil Return
/ // for the annual nil return.  // //
Nil , wild-eyed and woolly, // // pent in a furry fury // // at the n
Nil Charge / Nil Return
urn.  // // Nil Return // // While the
nilherds are snoring // // wrapped warm in their nilpelts // // the
Nil Charge / Nil Return
// // and steelily smiling, // // the
nilherds encircle // // to make their nil capture.  // // For this ye
Nil Charge / Nil Return
il.  // // Below them, the sharp-suited
nilherds // // insinuate up from the city // // dragging their ledge
Nil Charge / Nil Return
ting the balance, // // the hill-weary
nilherds // // return to their high stools // // for extended head-s
Nil Charge / Nil Return
t // // nihilarian captors.  // // The
nilherds sense nail-break // // and sharpen their needling, // // ca
Nil Charge / Nil Return
// pent in a furry fury // // at the
nilherd’s final demands, // // stamp in a sweep to the slope-edge:  //
Nil Charge / Nil Return
g // // like overwound springs; // //
nilly -willy their horns reap // // the full cornucopia, // // gambol
Nil Charge / Nil Return
re snoring // // wrapped warm in their
nilpelts // // the nil strain – tight pressed // // in a circlet of
Nil Charge / Nil Return
to crash back down— // // you must be
nimble .  // // Later we discover // // that that was just a sideshow:
Walking in winter
r // // each purposeful stride.  // //
Nimble Nimrods, the nil // // make a dash for the mountain, // // tu
Nil Charge / Nil Return
/ each purposeful stride.  // // Nimble
Nimrods , the nil // // make a dash for the mountain, // // turn and
Nil Charge / Nil Return
/ // My friends have piled up eight or
nine // // Close-written sheets, but as for me // // I fear I am not
Exam Room Villanelle
// I war dirt-up, image-bled, // // if
nine demon ever did, god-won // // Arrêt.  // // Anger // // art //
Hercules et Oracle
No Such Signs // // During these slow
nine months the castle mound, // // swelling with cartoon vigour from
No Such Signs
/ So that HAL might set gravity back to
nine point eight metres per second // // Per second, and I’ll finally
[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]
// // Yawn, // // Dawn // // Five o
nine , // // Swiss time; // // An accurate // // Fate.  // // Shift
Small Particles in the Small Hours
toppered oil caster.  // // The year is
nineteen fifty-five; // // The man, Bologna’s drawing-master.  // //
[A still life, with ceramic vase]
ing else again.  // // A memory // // (
nineteen -sixty-one or so—my teens—already // // between the end of th
Fire
ng cold-nose, // // Eyes like a noose,
nipping // // Natural paper edges.  // // Through the undulating skin
He who made the Lamb
pping, slip!  // // Slipping, slipping,
nipple slip; // // uncatheable fish; // // in a river that eludes yo
[Oh work]
on!  // // Professorial election // //
Nobel genuflection // // …and pension protection.  // // Though, just
Small Particles in the Small Hours
// // Youth wins, // // Confines the
noble beard to a // // Woolly-jumpered existence in out-of-the-way pl
Bearded Thoughts
Cambridge college // // And pilfer the
noble classes’ ancient knowledge.  // // I think again of coal-dust in
Patrimony
/ // since no-one remembers—no— // //
nobody heard from that // // bullet-proof hideout their // // life’s
Jonathan’s Deathbed
The Daily Planet // // All day the
noise of battle rolls, // // The skirmishes and wars, // // What pea
The Daily Planet
// // We shudder here with the jarring
noise of chain saws, // // Beginning to write essays that in some wis
[Walcott begins Omeros]
questions for the sake of making // //
Noise .  Repetitive exchanges of false // // Smiles and bravado that s
Vicious or Virtuous?
let the glass ring on and // // on—the
noise the dream-world appropriates for its own // // but you Break it
Flash News
ldn’t stop.  // // All around me // //
Noises fell in puddles // // Like a building falling // // Brick by
[So snow falls outside]
g worse // // Than boredom.  Except the
non -existent tick // // Of your digital clock, resting next to my hea
The Notes You Have Left
nd learn too late that one and one make
none // //
Furcula
d the streets of late modernity.  // //
None came.  Time passed.  She left the door ajar— // // She thought she
[The room was plainness and preparedness]
// Of lips never to kiss // // There’s
none to hold you // // Here’s Thanatos to claim you, // // You will
Nέμεσις
moods, different company, // // but me
nonetheless .  // // Here, the courtyard is blank.  // // Still just a
[The sash rattles up]
ther Earth.  // // But they came // //
nonetheless // // the feeble // // the old // // the rabid // // l
Delphi
/ // Let It come freely, and look what
nonsense it writes!  How it is determined by sound, rhythm, and repetit
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
hants in nonsensical monosyllables; its
nonsense pierces us at once with an unease and vitality.  // // 4.  //
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
usical, and Dionysiac.  Nature chants in
nonsensical monosyllables; its nonsense pierces us at once with an une
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
// // under the brown fog of a winter
noon // // Tiresias the stripper’s son // // turns to me and says:  /
[the typist puts her knickers on]
Crouching cold-nose, // // Eyes like a
noose , nipping // // Natural paper edges.  // // Through the undulati
He who made the Lamb
press of bodies that would // // Never
normally indulge in such proximity with the // // Strangers that are
Poems on the Underground
ing each to each: a throng // // moves
north against the fading evening light.  // // Slanting lines are form
Wells in winter
ough the fear, all will be fine?  // //
North of here, climate’s unsure.  // // All enduring is our failure, /
Ode to a map of the world
// To endless death, rinsing me feet to
nose .  // // But just as I did to this purpose mold, // // The ice wi
[What have we done]
Columbo-standard, // // Crouching cold-
nose , // // Eyes like a noose, nipping // // Natural paper edges.  //
He who made the Lamb
, with me complaining about a getting a
nosebleed on // // A crisp white formal shirt, // // And me realisin
Three Pieces of Advice
n’t hide.  // // And I still faint from
nosebleeds .  // //
Three Pieces of Advice
edy // // Brideshead Revisited:  // //
Nostalgic adventures // // Of Ryder and Flyte // // Awestruck Oxonia
Double Dactyls
o make you love me again // // Is like
notating birdsong.  // // I made you the ideal theory:  // // An unsys
Catalogue d’Oiseaux:
/ // We begin.  // // A long sustained
note ; a perfect third; // // Each of us with our own concerns.  // //
Song
ne.  It’s time: my end has come.  // //
Note by the senior author:  When my assistant first presented this poe
Ebb tide
violin plays triplets // // The final
note is sung // // Diminuendo—soft, my love, // // We end where we b
Song
e key.  // // If you aimed a card, or a
note , or a cry // // too carelessly into the hopeful abyss // // ple
The Dead Letter Office closes down
rs // // Than in conversations, so the
note stays unfinished.  // // One last breath drawn, shakily, then I e
Snapshot Endings
arvellous invention, // // The post-it
note // // (The survivor of technological advance, // // Its virtua
The Box
Post-it
Notes // // // // At first they were covered in words: critical dia
Post-it Notes
the same route again // // Until your
notes covered it like yellow bricks.  // //
The Notes You Have Left
After the Rise // // The plaintive
notes of accordion-song on the waters, // // The voices straining fro
After the Rise
ife // // To hear the Song, beyond the
notes // // Oh onwards, onwards, draw us on // // Into the ever-flow
Song
// You strike him and deep crystal bass-
notes resound.  // // He’ll never lose time, he’s carefully wound.  //
[He’s sound]
// // We talk less now— // // Leave
notes that are no more than signs— // // Trust that the old choices h
Post-it Notes
at he’s going to say?  // // We are but
notes the piano plays.  // // Crescendo—jump a major fifth— // // And
Song
avely, someone intones // // The first
notes to // // Wild Mountain Thyme, // // And our voices warm // //
Wild Mountain Thyme
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘
Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’ //
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
// // and all the not-quite-never-yet
notes // // will be burnt to the sound of a piped lament.  // // The
The Dead Letter Office closes down
The
Notes You Have Left // // “Make yourself at home” // // I eased my t
The Notes You Have Left
e sink. sing miserere, doubt // // the
notes , your voice too much your own. believe // // the news. can’t st
[time rolls up like a woodlouse]
// indifferent // // and that there’s
nothing // // above // // or beyond // // or below // // that has
Delphi
w, // // And now you never are.  // //
Nothing all day nothing // // Until a night of nothing following that
[So snow falls outside]
ery correct proposition.  // // It says
nothing // // And is perfectly useless // // And is perfect, // //
Catalogue d’Oiseaux:
then, just then.  // // Inside it was a
nothing anyway, // // Surprising really how small it was, // // How
[So snow falls outside]
ry morning together, dreaming // // of
nothing as we walked through the waves.  // // Lying dizzily on the cl
[I often think of that January morning]
rack and cold consume, // // And leave
nothing but a blackened gloom, // // Of faces lost and undefined.  //
Foregrounded
edge // // Where fell breaks // // On
nothing but the shiver // // of your fresh skimmer’s // // river-hew
Crummock Water
you can’t hear anything else // // And
nothing can drown out this voice and its words.  // // But then you lo
[Untitled]
Nothing can stand for itself, you know,
nothing can even be a thing without anything, // // For something alw
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
/ // Something to analyze here.  // //
Nothing can stand for itself, you know, nothing can even be a thing wi
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
world of which you’re made.  // // Call
nothing common in the earth or air, // // Accept it all and let it be
Singing Bowl
// Rolling Rs and layering up— // //
Nothing else works for the College bird.  // // The burr-sore want som
BURR (or Brrrrr)
, // // sad.  // // ‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘
nothing ever // // changes.’  I wondered // // if she’d pictured //
In a charity shop
ok, really look—we are nothing, we have
nothing , everything swims and wills around us.  // // 5.  // // For ex
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
all day nothing // // Until a night of
nothing following that day.  // // Sometimes at night I drift.  // //
[So snow falls outside]
Do not bloody my door, there // // Is
nothing for you // // In this night.  Redshift // // The stars black—
Here be dragons
ouse and the skies // // go white, and
nothing hurts the way it should. // // resent the years of careful co
[time rolls up like a woodlouse]
one differently.  // // There is // //
nothing // // in between.  // // For every action there is an equal a
The Scientist
/ // I mean wrecked as in ended.  Leave
nothing intact.  As in, if it doesn’t kill me // // I at least want to
[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]
fter our hearts stop // // everything (
nothing ) // // is night-mute // // and sea-dark.  // //
[Five minutes after our hearts stop]
tatters of hope in my fist.  // // With
nothing left to fight for, I battle.  // // Your line, not for emphasi
The Other Side of the Line
All mountains and hills around, // //
Nothing living in this landscape // // Save mustangs high up in the h
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
w, warming // // in the sun?  Or maybe
nothing —maybe she // // is pensive, dreaming, lost in reverie.  // //
Cape Cod Morning
, // // You’re nothing, utter nothing,
nothing more.  // //
“A Nasty Piece of Work”
at have the amazing audacity to contain
nothing more than their visible capacity // // So that cheese is not
A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse
// // Our nets, turning weed, revealed
nothing : no blenny, no bream— // // It was just a small fish.  // //
Just a Small Fish
stic bore, // // You’re nothing, utter
nothing , nothing more.  // //
“A Nasty Piece of Work”
me unchartered // // trip, remembering
nothing of the things we’d seen, // // choosing again without design.
Post-it Notes
I could be free // // You know there’s
nothing that I’d rather wear // // Than the crease of your brow embla
Skins
site reaction.  // // In between // //
nothing , // // there is // // always something I could have done dif
The Scientist
actually just very sound advice.  // //
Nothing to argue with here. // // 3, told over the phone last week, w
Three Pieces of Advice
him yet.  // // This man, at least, has
nothing to be ashamed about.  // // Certainly, he would never even dre
THE MAN
d // // carpet) // // there is simply
nothing to connect you to your former self but the concentric rings th
[I have tried]
the ground, // // Our eyes blank, with
nothing to // // Consider, no reason on which to found // // Our rel
Human Pound
air // // And the tea-leaves showed me
nothing to fear; // // But I cried a splashy Victorian tear, // // F
(R)evolution:  Easter Rising
// // Or even vicars, touched by God,
nothing to hide?  // // Or the classicist, that type of beard that loo
Bearded Thoughts
the stomach, two for the money.  // //
Nothing to see here.  Give me a minute.  // // At the slow end of a fo
Wednesday
he books drew blanks?  // // There’d be
nothing to write about for one. // // (but they’d find something) //
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
nd // // In cold-blooded rage.  // // (
Nothing too funny here, // // Uxoricidally, // // Just that his name
Double Dactyls
w you never are.  // // Nothing all day
nothing // // Until a night of nothing following that day.  // // Som
[So snow falls outside]
agnant, solipsistic bore, // // You’re
nothing , utter nothing, nothing more.  // //
“A Nasty Piece of Work”
eous creation.  Look, really look—we are
nothing , we have nothing, everything swims and wills around us.  // //
A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1:  ‘It Must be Abstract’
appiness.  You human anti // // climax,
nothingness .  You are mewling death.  // // In truth, you stagnant, sol
“A Nasty Piece of Work”
ting machine.  // // He whispered sweet
nothings // // And proffered a posy.  // // She clutched it and simpe
Gaza Sequence
and frightening and // // Does anyone
notice that I’m staring?  // // Pity.  // // Now his sumptuous form is
’Tis pity he’s a bore
rs have fine timing, or fine luck, I’ve
noticed : // // an old one dies, a young one stumbles mumbling onto th
Sijo
a drink.  // // How was the flight?  Few
noticed that you’d slipped away?  // // The Washington distraction mus
Gaza Sequence
iet’ // // we kept on talking // // I
noticed the sign said // // ‘take care, ail road’ // // ahead, on th
Crossing
We sought to do away // // With silly
notions // // Of freedom and equality, // // Drinking the potions //
Human Pound
// la belle dame.  // // In thrall to
notions of her name, // // tame linnets nibble for to follow // // a
La Belle Dame
ecreasing with every page // // of the
novel that dwindled between your hands, as the deep blue // // sky da
[I often think of that January morning]
half in the dawning).  // // End-tale: 
November song seeks mist-blue port, so // // Defying stormy-weather a
Flash News
/ on a Suffolk shingle beach.  // // In
November the days were short, // // and dark night fell as we built a
Fire
ming, how he values himself.  // // But
nowadays it’s stubble or baby-faced gangster chic, // // How many Wal
Bearded Thoughts
// // Beards seem to be out of fashion
nowadays — // // The domain of eccentric professors or men with knitte
Bearded Thoughts
ul Clouds Crossing The Stars, Racing To
Nowhere // // And you’re frantic - no record seems to fit the air, //
[For A Long Time She Stands There]
e // // Threatening to escape.  Getting
nowhere , I stare // // Harder, longer.  Trying to be less alive, //
Reflections
st every time.  // // The cold he feels
nudges at my booted feet.  // // The speckles of weed on the water are
Nightwatching
ount ictūs with fingers stunt’d; // //
numb’d ass’nance, ’lision; laziness, it shows.  // // Descend, true na
“A Nasty Piece of Work”
ns // // upon your nature, the way you
nurture , // // but as we intertwined at the centre // // of the worl
Over Easy
// // Itself from the hardened winter
nut // // And the half-hearted rust remains // // Of another autumn’
Leaves
a burial mound where boots crunch beech
nuts // // and heave clods of wet grass. // // cowbwebs catch on ton
[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]
s useful:  // // I can assess my scanty
nuts of coke, // // apportion rationed quires and dilute ink.  // //
A Room of Her Own
er halves // // And ghostly shimmering
nylon stockings curled // // Like bindweed.  Deposited, blooming with
Skins
Nέμεσις // // Personification of God’s idle perfection, // // Epochs
Nέμεσις
ms that cry vanité! // // vanité! tous
n’est ce que vanité!  // // But, creeping further in, she finds a tree
Lemon Pie in Zaïre