1476 Chapters
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Memories of Rome

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781847770684

The Feel of Things

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

Young Love

My first love was all eye and stayed that way

For months, then slowly hands

Moved to each other in a thoughtful play

None ever understands.

O let the touch of love now for the young

Be almost Eden – new,

We only give the darks they move among.

Some dreadful debts are due.

The Feel of Things

The feel of things, the nap, the fringe, the sheen,

To catch the light that circles round the cat

Brushing him as you groom a horse. To show

The rueful tumble of a head of hair,

Its curl, its fall. And then there is the glow

Vermeer caught always with a modesty

Of means, a tact, a kind

Of cool respect with passion at the core,

The impulse of the mind,

While all the senses make a music of

What others feel but cannot understand.

The poem is a way of making love

Which all can share. Poets guide the lips, the hand.

Some Solitude

To be alone just as I often was

When small, before the name of solitude

Or loneliness impinged on what I did,

To be alone, my mind among the stars,

My hands brushing the lavender and herbs,

My senses clear of smoke and dirt and all

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A Realisation

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

A Realisation

It is only today that I

Have suddenly thought that I have no one who

Cares for me totally,

No one to whom I come first. There are a few

Who think of me, certainly,

But there is no longer one

To whom I am the world, the centre, the heart,

The headstrong noonday sun,

And of course I too love many who play a part

In my universe, but gone

Are the one or two I’ve known

With whom I broke the Galilean claim.

Who were the suns which spun

About my earth. Yes, I have none to name

For whom I’m the only one.

A Coffee House

A little boy of twenty months. He fits

Exactly into space and floor.

He runs a few yards as his mother sits

Talking but she’s soon after him. What’s more

She wears an anxious frown. He’s full of glee

Not knowing how we all

Share in watching over him while he

Laughs loudly. He knows he will not fall

Although he hasn’t moved about for long –

Fair hair, a smile of grace.

If he knew one he’d sing a morning call

But there is worry on each watching face

For this year one horrific murder was

Done by two boys of ten.

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Night Concert at Taormina

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

Chinese Poem

It would be an error to suppose

This is impersonal.

True the sky is drained of all but palest

Blue, and true that one cool willow here

Repeats itself in water never rough.

But look more closely, watch the handiwork,

The painter gives himself away in his

Careful calligraphy.

He signs himself in letters which themselves

Are further pictures, miniatures and all

Are upright, at attention.

Here we may gaze at coolness which is worked for.

Monet would have understood how closely

This painter’s eye studied the way all water

Is on the move, is never still because

Sun whether dazzling or, as here, concealed,

Coaxes it constantly in serious play.

This eastern painter sent his brushes chasing

To marry elements and keep them linked,

Water and airy light, in unison,

But drawn together by a human touch.

Night Concert at Taormina

The Greco-Roman Theatre

The spectacle is changing into sound,

The columns, plucked by song, turn into light,

Two key-boards rise in triumph from the ground

And fill the spaces of a warm good-night.

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Journey through Warwickshire to Oxford

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

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