Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Mrs Darwin

7 April 1852.
Went to the Zoo.
I said to Him—
Something about that Chimpanzee over there reminds me of you.

Carol Ann Duffy

Sich Carol Ann Duffy, mit dem Lorbeerkranz winkend, als versificator regis vorzustellen, bedarf es einiger Fantasie. Sie ist die erste Frau (und die erste Schottin), die in der langen Reihe neben Chaucer, Wordsworth, Tennyson, Betjeman, et al Platz nimmt und sie wird die alten Herren sicher etwas aufmischen. Andrew Motion (Poet Laureat 1999-2009) meinte er habe erst gegen Ende seiner Amtszeit wieder Licht am Ende des Tunnels gesehen. Hoffen wir, Carol Ann Duffy wird es nicht so ergehen. 630 Flaschen Sherry helfen da auch nicht.


Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child’s name as though they named their loss.

Darkness outside. Inside, the radio’s prayer –
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.

Carol Ann Duffy


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Ingredients: 500 grams calamari, medium onion, garlic, bouquet garni, white wine, salt, pepper 

Cupping each squid in the palm of your hand
Tug the tentacles
Downward, to release the intestines
From their purse of flesh. Sever
Below the eye (black bulge
Possibly wrathful); reserve
The entrails for your augurs.

Slippery star-speckled pockets of squid flesh!
Slice into rings; dice
The onion (should anyone ask
It’s why you weep), crush garlic,
Add thyme, rosemary, a bay
Leaf from the garden – white splash
Of retsina. Let it simmer.

Which give you an hour to forget
                       about cooking
And consider the positions of love-making,
Here in this volume of vases –
Slender phials with stoppers, bosomy jugs,
Wide-mouthed bowls (called kraters) painted
With satyrs, philandering maenads
And these flue-tootling Athenian women
Dressed in wines and sauces
And served up at banquets
In these antic clay vessels.

I heard Beverley Bie Brahic last week at Lauderdale House in London and this was my favourite poem in the reading. It can be found in an anthology called ‘Against Gravity’ at Worple Press , which has some other gems in it.

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