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Medium 9781847770998

Walking, I Took My Way about the Solarsystems

John Gallas Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

I Saw a Tree…

I saw a tree, greater than the rest, and hung all round with cones I could not reach;

I saw a mighty church, its doors all wide, and all who came out there were pale and strong and ready for death;

I saw a smiling, painted woman throwing dice to try what hap she had and saw her lose.

There was a circle drawn about these things, a circle no one oversteps.

Walking, I Took My Way about the Solarsystems


I took my way about the solarsystems, until, until I found the first thread of my red gown.

I know myself by now.

In space somewhere my heart hangs, streaming sparks, thuddering in air, holding out to other worldless hearts.

The Land That Is Not

I long for the land that is not, because I am too tired to want all there is.

The moon, with silver runes, brings word to me of the land that is not.

A land where all our dreams are strangely given, a land where our fetters all fall, a land where we calm our bloody heads in moon-mist.

My life was hot folly.

But one thing I found, one thing I have won – is the way to the land that is not.

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Medium 9781847772268

Pole Star

Ward, David C. Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781574413090


Caki Wilkinson University of North Texas Press PDF
Medium 9781847779731


Rossetti, Christina Carcanet Press Ltd. ePub

The upland flocks grew starved and thinned:

     Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs

Whose milkless mothers butted them,

     Or who were orphaned of their dams.

The lambs athirst for mother’s milk

     Filled all the place with piteous sounds:

Their mothers’ bones made white for miles

     The pastureless wet pasture grounds.

Day after day, night after night,

     From lamb to lamb the shepherds went,

With teapots for the bleating mouths,

     Instead of nature’s nourishment.

The little shivering gaping things

     Soon knew the step that brought them aid,

And fondled the protecting hand,

     And rubbed it with a woolly head.

Then as the days waxed on to weeks,

     It was a pretty sight to see

These lambs with frisky heads and tails

     Skipping and leaping on the lea,

Bleating in tender trustful tones,

     Resting on rocky crag or mound,

And following the beloved feet

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Medium 9781847770974

18 paradox

Gallas, John Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781847770974

99 was Molecule the cause of the Picton Ferry suicide?

Gallas, John Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781574412802

The Art Teacher’s Wife

Amy M. Clark University of North Texas Press PDF

The Art Teacher’s Wife

“Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision.”

—Emily Dickinson

In the yard, her dog barked along the dark fence.

Next door, the skinny sisters’ father swore a blue storm.

The skinny sisters breathed their shallow breaths.

The dog worried a path over sagebrush. Nobody shushed the dog. How was it I knew the art teacher’s wife?

I’d dress and move within those rooms.

She’d worked on painting a vase, the dog at her feet.

To her friend on the phone, the art teacher said,

“She’s around here somewhere. I’ll see if I can dredge her up.” She took the receiver, making her voice bright. He rumpled her hair.

Was it that way? They didn’t arrive at the faculty party.

I knew her the way the fence’s outer side knows its inner side. Only that it has an inner side.

When the skinny sisters knocked, she invited them in.

Her dog licked their hands. He found them some rocks to paint. She loved him in that hour, while the skinny sisters laughed as if they were children. But their mother made them return the rocks. She stood in the closet, choosing something. It was that way, anticipating morning when she’d drink coffee and read, the warm dog there.

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Medium 9781847770684

The Poem at Times

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781847770998

(Sonnet written at Fotheringhay Castle)

John Gallas Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

(Sonnet to Queen Elizabeth)

An only thought – that safes me and alarms – bitter and sweet – changes endless in my heart – clouds on me between doubt and hope while peace and calm fly from me.

So – sister dear – if this letter draws on the fond desire to see you that makes me forward thus – it is because I am condemned to pain and sadness if some answer does not quickly come.

I have seen a ship drop anchor upon the high tide – near to port – and the bright sky cloud.

Thus I am in worry and in fear – not from you but from unsteady times when Fortune breaks – its double – sail and rigging.

(Sonnet written at Fotheringhay Castle)

Ah what am I? – and what use my life? –

I am no more than a body stripped of its heart – a nothing-shadow – a thing of misery – with nothing now more than a death in life.

O enemies – envy me no more – who has no more desire alive for greatness.

I have done with too much sadness – and cannot see your anger quickly tempered.

And you – my friends – still truly dear – remember that – heartless and lifeless –

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Medium 9781885635204


Kevin Goodan Center for Literary Publishing ePub

Once, through my town, there were rivers.

Thin trees rippled along the spillways.

Morning pierced our breath. Two doves

On the rail bobbing their heads. I am,

My ghost, alone. I stand where there is

No water, thinking water. The laws of nature

Determine all the grief one eye can hold.

Thistles were his winding sheet, my father.

Did he go smooth and gentle? You bum,

What cruder diction than loss?

Though the great pine shove

Taproots down and call the black dirt

Home, though rivers still run,

Though sickly, though this town is not my town,

I wander. Our saws are sharp and never idle long

And through the day we feed the fires

And transform the field-jumble into lines.

Far faces bleared by fire, who are you

That the bright mares of language stride forth

Their flames? I am never more than this.

A green mind in a green world,

And yet the kingdoms that come to my ear.

I look out and know my place.

I, because of love.

In this, there is no recourse.

In this I am humble.

If seeds be language, let them gather.

Let them take these words.

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Medium 9781885635150

The Mountains Overhead

Zach Savich Center for Literary Publishing ePub

for David Bartone

A ladder built into the exterior of a truck,
all anything does is confide, every morning

beginning now, decency its own kind
of constitution, each step onto a balcony or

from a café with little outdoor seating,
not counting the city. “What year

is that from,” the mother says. “First century
AD,” says her son. “But that’s a hundred


for Jeff Downey

We proceed by pattern and anomaly, had
no money but lived above a bakery

and a florist, just-aged flowers free
in a trough. I liked how you called the street

I always take “the secret way,” two fingers
held to a passing dog.

for Hilary Plum

We go to the cinema merely
for the light, view of alleys

from a balcony, to be in
the world and it is mythic:

zinnia market in the churchyard,
onions in mesh, daylit moon

a watermark on foreign currency.


I sang: Tell me of the heart which exists
in which to continue is not
to confine


Then dreamed I sang so loudly, I woke
myself singing

The cygnets’ feet were lost in snow

The cygnets were lovely because footless

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Medium 9781847770684

Legacies and Language

Elizabeth Jennings Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

Legacies and Language

I have learnt my tongue

From cities that are neighbourly and near water,

Where wren or rook or sea-gull lance the air,

Where the land is flat and above it the sea sows its salt.

That was my first home,

Born in Boston, Lincolnshire,

Reared in a flat land of sugar-beet and tulips

But with mind attuned to the tides, the heart ready for journeys,

I learnt the song of storms and ships at anchor

Where the tide governs the mind. Till I was six

These were legacies but my inheritance then

Came from the damp, soft valley of Oxford’s Thames

Where the air is slow and easily misted, where minds

Cogitate, think long and companionably but do not draw

Easy conclusions. For rest, for recreation,

The bells of the churches oddly ring for services

Which are not so often attended. I was a cross-breed also,

Christened to Catholic Christianity, oiled and marked

With the name of Rome on my lips. I learnt the Latin

Of stone and pillar. The Greek was soft and persuasive

But Rome spread out the glory of the Renaissance

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Medium 9781847778512


Clarke, Gillian Carcanet Press Ltd. ePub

A Tadzek boy rides his bicycle in the desert.

Through spokes of his spinning wheels and hundreds of miles

of veils and illusions of bronze air,

mountains are a long white wave unrolling.

They dig for a lost city in the sand.

I can’t tell interior from street,

tiled floor from paved way, if an arch

is a door into sand, whether window

looked on light or the dark room of itself.

How do they know structure from dust?

Children finding castles in the sand,

they crack the desert for its fossil.

Their hands are sandals on secret pavements.

Storey by storey they sift dust-drifts

from doorway and sill, from stairs

which step into sand as if it were water.

His bicycle wheel still ticking heat to a blur,

the boy lowers his bucket, withdraws

his share of the desert,

searching the dust for footprints.

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Medium 9781847770974

37 Jesus lights in Blenheim

Gallas, John Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF
Medium 9781847770998

Coming to Mytilene

John Gallas Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

A coloured thought holds my eyelids down.

I wait, half-knowing what I wait for with no hope, before the shield-brass sea, and you are coming now, to bring me roses…

O heaven and sunset roses! O my roses!

Your Royal Youth Has the Sadness…

Your royal youth has the sadness of the North, where fog wipes colour out, you cross with tears faction and desire,

Hamlet-grave, and pale as Ophelia.

You pass, as she, in flarings of fair madness, lavishing songs and flowers, as he, beneath hurt-hiding pride, your still set stare, and its forgetting.

Smile, fair love, or dream, dark lover, your twofold self attracts, a double-magnet, and your flesh burns with the cold passion of a spill.

My unquiet heart is troubled when I see your rapt and Prince’s face, your pure blue eyes, now This, now That, and both in one.

Coming to Mytilene

Out of my deep past, I come back to you,

Mytilene, upon the play of centuries, and bring my fire, my youth, my faith, my love, like fairing spices,

Mytilene, along the play of centuries, out of my deep past, I come back to you.

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