It’s a brand new year – can we look after it properly this time round

It’s a funny old world, not necessarily the funny that makes you laugh, although I can still manage a wry smile for the tragedy that is humour. I started this year with a poem, by Dannie Abse, the poet brother of politician Leo Abse. I rather pre-empted the New Year by posting this short poem,Continue reading “It’s a brand new year – can we look after it properly this time round”

Light Is More Important Than The Lantern

by Nizar Qabbani Light is more important than the lantern, The poem more important than the notebook, And the kiss more important than the lips. My letters to you Are greater and more important than the both of us. They are the only documents Where people will discover Your beauty And my madness.

Strange Meeting

by Wilfred Owen It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined. Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned, Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred. Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared With piteous recognition inContinue reading “Strange Meeting”

The Miner

by Henrik Ibsen translated by Fydell Edmund Garrett Beetling rock, with roar and smoke Break before my hammer-stroke! Deeper I must thrust and lower Till I hear the ring of ore. From the mountain’s unplumbed night, Deep amid the gold-veins bright, Diamonds lure me, rubies beckon, Treasure-hoard that none may reckon. There is peace withinContinue reading “The Miner”

Break of Day in the Trenches

by Isaac Rosenberg The darkness falls away It is the same old Druid time as ever, Only a live thing leaps my hand, A queer sardonic rat, As I pull the parapet’s poppy To stick behind my ear. Droll rat, they would shoot you if they knew Your cosmopolitan sympathies, Now you have touched thisContinue reading “Break of Day in the Trenches”

A Beautiful Young Nymph Going To Bed

by Jonathan Swift Corinna, Pride of Drury-Lane, For whom no Shepherd sighs in vain; Never did Covent Garden boast So bright a batter’d, strolling Toast; No drunken Rake to pick her up, No Cellar where on Tick to sup; Returning at the Midnight Hour; Four Stories climbing to her Bow’r; Then, seated on a three-legg’dContinue reading “A Beautiful Young Nymph Going To Bed”