New Spring Poems on the Underground

Our first set of Poems on the Underground in 2024 goes live on London Underground and Overground cars from 26 February throughout March.  As Spring approaches, the common theme is LOVE — of persons and places, welcomed, scorned, remembered, rediscovered. We’re also marking the bicentenary of Lord Byron, the great Romantic poet who died in Missolonghi in 1824. Emily Bronte, another free spirit, is also featured.

The poems are:

from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage  by Lord Byron

Riches I hold in light esteem by Emily Bronte

Packing for America by Marjorie Lotfi Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from The Wrong Person to Ask (2023)

The Weight of the World by Seni Seneviratne Reprinted by permission of Peepal Tree Press from Unknown Soldier (2019)

Bridled Vows by Ian Duhig Reprinted by permission of Picador from New and Selected Poems (2021)

The Teapot by Robert Bly from Talking into the Ear of a Donkey by Robert Bly. Copyright © 2011 by Robert Bly. Reprinted by permission of Georges Borchardt, Inc. on behalf of the author’s estate.

from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage  by Lord Byron

from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage I have not loved the world, nor the world me; I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed To its idolatries a patient knee, Nor coined my cheek to smiles, nor cried aloud In worship of an echo; in the crowd They could not deem me one of such; I stood Among them, but not of them, in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed my mind, which thus itself subdued. Lord Byron

Riches I hold in light esteem by Emily Bronte

Riches I hold in light esteem by Emily Bronte Riches I hold in light esteem And Love I laugh to scorn; And Lust of Fame was but a dream That vanished with the morn; And if I pray, the only prayer ⁠ That moves my lips for me Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear, ⁠ And give me liberty!' Yes, as my swift days near their goal, ⁠ Tis all that I implore; In life and death a chainless soul ⁠ With courage to endure.

Packing for America by Marjorie Lotfi Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from The Wrong Person to Ask (2023)

Packing for America My Father in Tabriz , 1960 by Marjorie Lotfi He cannot take his mother in the suitcase, the smell of khorest in the air, her spice box too tall to fit. Nor will it close when he folds her sajadah into its cornered edges. He cannot bring the way she rose and blew out the candles at supper’s end, rolled the oilcloth off the carpet to mark the laying out of beds, the beginning of night. He knows the sound of the slap of her sandals across the kitchen tiles will fade. He tosses the framed photographs into the case, though not one shows her eyes; instead, she covers her mouth with her hand as taught, looks away. He considers strapping the samovar to his back like a child’s bag; a lifetime measured by pouring tea from its belly. Finally, he takes the tulip tea glass from her bedside table, winds her chador around its body, leaves the gold rim peeking out like a mouth that might tell him where to go, what is coming next.

The Weight of the World by Seni Seneviratne Reprinted by permission of Peepal Tree Press from Unknown Soldier (2019)

The Weight of the World by Seni Seneviratne Oh, how they blew like vast sails in the breeze, my mother’s wet sheets, pegged hard to the rope of her washing line. There was always hope of dry weather and no need for a please or thanks between us as we hauled them down. Whether to make the fold from right to left or left to right, to tame the restless heft? My job to know. I won’t call it a dance but there were steps to learn and cues to read, the give and take of fabric passed like batons in a relay race. She was my due north. Her right hand set west, mine tracing the east, we closed the distance, calmed the wayward weight, bringing order to the billowing world.

Bridled Vows by Ian Duhig Reprinted by permission of Picador from New and Selected Poems (2021)

Bridled Vows by Ian Duhig I will be faithful to you, I do vow, but not until the seas have all run dry et cetera. Although I mean it now I’m not a prophet and I will not lie. To be your perfect wife, I could not swear; I’ll love, yes; honour (maybe); won’t obey, but will co-operate if you will care as much as you are seeming to today. I’ll do my best to be your better half, but I don’t have the patience of a saint and at you, not with you, I’ll sometimes laugh, and snap too, though I’ll try to show restraint. We might work out. No blame if we do not. With all my heart, I think it’s worth a shot.

The Teapot by Robert Bly from Talking into the Ear of a Donkey by Robert Bly. Copyright © 2011 by Robert Bly. Reprinted by permission of Georges Borchardt, Inc. on behalf of the author’s estate.

The Teapot by Robert Bly That morning I heard water being poured into a teapot. The sound was an ordinary, daily, cluffy sound. But all at once, I knew you loved me. An unheard-of-thing, love audible in water falling.

You can see the rest of our February poems here