Saturday, 24 March 2018
"The loyalest and most devotest [sic] soldier I ever saw, and a very great personal loss" HPW to his father, April 1945
Removing a packet of cigarettes from my father on a hot day:
"Sor! Never smoke your own sweat"
Monday, 12 March 2018
Friday, 9 March 2018
Some of the 'reviews' for '15/01'
Thursday, 8 March 2018
Wednesday, 7 March 2018
ST DAVID’S DAY, LONDON, 2018
So splendidly bleak, this St David’s Day.
A cold corpse of a day, the blood drained
from its veins, the cemetery’s rare lush shades
reduced to weak tints of green, brown, grey.
The air’s as empty as the white duvet’d plots
and I wonder, where are the parakeets
that love to flock screeching across the dead.
They’re absent as daffs. Perhaps drawing lots.
Lonely headstones crook proud of iron ground.
Heavy-winged angels seem to grieve again.
In the snow-silence the present dominates.
There is no then or when, but only now.
Snow obliterates borders, ways. So I plant
my feet where I wouldn’t, oblivious
of foul or infringement. This is all one place.
We all come: you and I and Dewi Sant.
Monday, 5 March 2018
young fallow deer, a buck or doe of the first year
of a class of rural deities; at first represented
like men with horns and the
tail of a goat,
afterwards with goats' legs
like the Satyrs,
to whom they were
assimilated in lustful character.
Sunday, 4 March 2018
"...long ago in 1945." The last words of Muriel Spark's acute, wicked novel The Girls of Slender Means, published in 1963, eighteen years after the period in which the book is set. It is as though Spark knew this book would be read long after it was written (18 years ago is, of course, just yesterday for those of us approaching 60).