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The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

Michelle_Obama_shares_a_laugh_with_Wendell_E__Berry,_as_President_Obama_talks_with_Rocco_Landesman,_2011

Michelle Obama shares a laugh with Wendell Berry

The Peace of Wild Things

 

Wendell Berry was born on this day in 1934.  His collection The Peace of Wild Things and other poems, is available in Surrey Libraries.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/feb/20/the-peace-of-wild-things-wendell-barnes-rich-harvest

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August 1914 by Isaac Rosenburg

August 1914

What in our lives is burnt
In the fire of this?
The heart’s dear granary?
The much we shall miss?

Three lives hath one life –
Iron, honey, gold.
The gold, the honey gone –
Left is the hard and cold.

Iron are our lives
Molten right through our youth.
A burnt space through ripe fields
A fair mouth’s broken tooth.

 

Isaac Rosenbury was born in Bristol in 1890.  You can find more of his work, available in Surrey Libraries by clicking here

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My Will by Lorna Goodison

My Will

Son, my will,
albeit premature
when the palm readers
divine
for me an extended
life line.

Besides who knows what
worth bequeathing
I could acquire
before the life line
inches to the darker side
of my hand.

But, for a start,
the gift of song,
this sweet immediate source
of release was not given me
so I leave it for you in the hope
that God takes hints.

 

To read the full poem click here

Lorna Goodison was born in Jamaica on this day in 1947.  She is Poet Laureate of Jamaica and author of From Harvey River, a memoir of my mother and her island 

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In a Cardiff Arcade, 1952 by Gillian Clark

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In a Cardiff Arcade, 1952

One of those little shops too small

for the worlds they hold, where words

that sing you to sleep, stories

that stalk your dreams,

open like golden windows in a wall.

 

One small room leads to another,bookshop

the first bright-windowed on the street,

alluring, luminous. The other is dusk,

walled with pressed pages, old books

with leathery breath and freckled leaves.

 

What stays is not the book alone

but where you took it down,

how it felt in your hands,

how she wrapped it in brown paper,

how you carried it home,

 

To read the full poem click here

In the Cardiff Arcade, 1952 is one of the poems featured in the new anthology, Off the Shelf: A Celebration of Bookshops in Verse, by Carol Ann Duffy.

This collection is available to borrow from Surrey Libraries.

 

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From Silent is the House by Emily Bronte

From Silent is the House

 

Come, the wind may never again

Blow as it now blows for us;

And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;

Long before October returns,

Seas of blood will have parted us;

And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love in mine!

 

Emily Bronte was born on this day in 1818, you can find more of her work here

 

 

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We used to think the universe was made…

coverWe used to think the universe was made…

We used to think the universe was made

of tiny invisible pin-points of energy, jostling

and tumbling and buzzing together, and so,

by whatever particular arrangement they took,

and the way in which they bounced off one another,

all sorts of physical matter could be produced.

Later we found the universe, in actual fact, is made

of tiny invisible threads of incredible length, and,

in the same way a violin string changes pitch

when touched at points along its measured span,

so all these interweaving loops and knots,

this tangle of quantum spaghetti,

as it flexes and line crosses line,

so it resonates throughout the whole bundle

a complex vibratory code that defines

any outward appearance and characteristic.

 

To read the full poem click here

Assurances, the new collection by J O Morgan is available to borrow from Surrey Libraries.

 

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Laying the Fire by Andrew Motion

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Laying the Fire 

I am downstairs early
looking for something to do
when I find my father on his knees
at the fireplace in the sitting-room
sweeping ash
from around and beneath the grate
with the soft brown hand-brush
he keeps especially for this.
Has he been here all night
waiting to catch me out?
So far as I can tell
I have done nothing wrong.
I think so again
when he calls my name
without turning round;
he must have seen me
with the eyes in the back of his head.
‘What’s the matter old boy?
Couldn’t sleep?’
His voice is kinder than I expect,
as though he knows
we have in common a sadness
I do not feel yet.
To read the full poem click here
Andrew Motions new collection of poetry, Essex Clay, is available to borrow from Surrey Libraries.
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