Selected Stanza’s

Each week on the homepage I choose a snippet from a favourite poem. I’ll gather them here:

From: ‘Kingsbury Mill’ by

If only, when I travelled,
I could always really move –
not take the apparatus,
teeth and straps,
the whole thought-mangle.

p162 Roy Fisher : The Long and the Short of It: Poems 1955-2010 

For more information on this poet click HERE


From: ‘Preludes’ by

The late were I lived the greater part of my life is to be cleared out.
It is now quite empty. The anchor has let go – although we are still
mourning it is the lightest flat in the whole city. The truth needs no
furniture. I have made a journey round life and come back to the starting-
point: a blown-out room. Things I have taken part in here show on the
walls like Egyptian paintings, scenes on the inside of a burial chamber.
But they are steadily being erased. For the light is too strong. The
windows have become bigger. The empty flat is a large telescope aimed
at the sky. It is silent as a quaker service. What can be heard are the
back-yard pigeons, their cooing.

p94 Tomas Tranströmer : New Collected Poems translated by Robin Fulton

For more information on this poet click HERE


From: ‘Wodwo’ by

[…] what shape am I what
shape am I am I huge if I go
to the end on this way past these trees and past these trees
till I get tired that’s touching one wall of me
for the moment if I sit still how everything
stops to watch me I suppose I am the exact centre
but there’s al this what is it roots
roots roots roots and here’s the water
again very queer but I’ll go on looking

p109 Ted Hughes : Selected Poems 1957-1967

For more information on this poet click HERE


From: ‘Saddish Day in Spring’ by

[…] A ritual, some weeks always
Before coarse Honesty flares on garden mounds.
On mounds: Marlborough, they said, meant Merlin’s
Mound: it means, precisely, Mound of Marigolds,
Most glazing pigment in our natural box.
Yet either was a glitter. It is the youngest

Only of our party cares. Wind blows chimney smoke
Downhill: it is this stinging wind
Creates our tears, the situation neither

Saccharine nor bitter. […]

p20 Geoffrey Grigson : Collected Poems 1963-1980


From: ‘On the Uncountable Nature of Things’ by


Yes, the tree’s spine conditioned by uncountable
Days of rain and drought: all fleeting coordinates set

Against a variable sky – recounting faithfully
The thing as it is – transient, provisional, changing

Constantly in latitude – a refugee not unlike
Us in this realm of exacting, but unpredictable, time.

pg. 419 ‘Staying Alive’ anthology edited by Neil Astley

From: ‘My Heart’ by
On my desk: a dictionary.
All mine, my mine.
Words like “lacrimator” wait for me,
             lak re mat ar
which means:
             1.  the lake really matters
             2.  the lilac reddens into matters of the air
             3.  the lack of the red mats in the attic
All of the above and below.
For more information on this poet click HERE
From: ‘Distances’
[…]We live in a world of motion and distance.
The heart flies from tree to bird,
from bird to distant star,
from star to love; and love grows
in the quiet house, turning and working,
servant of thought, a lamp held in one hand.
For more information on this poet click HERE
From: ‘How To Be a Poet’
(to remind myself)iMake a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.
For more information on this poet click HERE
From ‘Inclement’
heart writes a different letter
of winter to its cold.
Icicles on sheet
metal, bucket frozen in the well.Once there was no language
for the weather, just    The sky is low and birdless;
or The sky is a box of wings.
For more information about the poet click HERE
From ‘Exit Row’

You will buy your life
as a series
of “experiences”
to which you
will belong.
Have a good flight.
For more information about the poet click HERE
From ‘A Part of Speech’
by JOSEPH BRODSKY[…]A list of some observations. In a corner, it’s warm.
A glance leaves an imprint on anything it’s dwelt on.
Water is glass’s most public form.
Man is more frightening than his skeleton.
A nowhere winter evening with wine. A black
porch resists an osier’s stiff assaults.
Fixed on an elbow, the body bulks
like a glacier’s debris, a moraine of sorts.
A millenium hence, they’ll no doubt expose
a fossil bivalve propped behind this gauze
cloth, with the print of lips under the print of fringe,
mumbling “Good night” to a window hinge.


For more information about the poet click HERE

From ‘Saying Goodbye to Very Young Children’

They will not be the same next time. The sayings
so cute, just slightly off, will be corrected.
Their eyes will be more skeptical, plugged in
the more securely to the worldly buzz
of television, alphabet, and street talk,
culture polluting their gazes’ pure blue.

For more information about the poet click HERE

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