April 2024

from The Song of Solomon, The King James Bible (1611) ' My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my Love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over, and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. '

from The Song of Solomon read by Valerie Bloom

This Month we celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday on April 23rd and we feature Spring Poems and Poems recorded by poets for World Poetry Day

Spring Poems on the Underground

Wet Evening in April by Patrick Kavanagh 'The birds sang in the wet trees And I listened to them it was a hundred years from now And I was dead and someone else was listening to them. But I was glad I had recorded for him The melancholy.'

Wet Evening in April by Patrick Kavanagh read by Roger McGough

Kathleen Raine, The Very Leaves of the Acacia-Tree are London ' The very leaves of the acacia-tree are London; London tap-water fills out the fuchsia buds in the back garden, Blackbirds pull London worms out of the sour soil, The woodlice, centipedes, eat London, the wasps even. London air through stomata of myriad leaves And million lungs of London breathes. Chlorophyll and haemoglobin do what life can To purify, to return this great explosion To sanity of leaf and wing. Gradual and gentle the growth of London pride, And sparrows are free of all the time in the world: Less than a window-pane between.'

The Very Leaves of the Acacia Tree are London read by Cicely Herbert

The Trees ,Philip Larkin 1997 poems on the Underground poster 'The trees are coming into leaf Like something almost being said; The recent buds relax and spread, Their greenness is a kind of grief. Is it that they are born again And we grow old? No, they die too. Their yearly trick of looking new Is written down in rings of grain. Yet still the unresting castles thresh In fullgrown thickness every May. Last year is dead, they seem to say, Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.'

Listen to The Trees by Philip Larkin read by Wendy Cope

Opening lines of The Canterbury Tales Geoffrey Chaucer (1340?-1400) 'Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour Of which vertu engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne, And smale foweles maken melodye That slepen all the nyght with open ye (So priketh hem nature in hir corages) Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages... '

LETTER TO ANDRÉ BILLY 9 APRIL 1915 , Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) tr. Oliver Bernard 'Gunner /Driver One (front-line) Here I am and send you greetings No no you're not seeing things My Sector's number fifty-nine I hear the whistle of the bird the beautiful bird of prey I see far away the cathedral Premier canonnier conducteur Je suis au front et te salue Non non tu n'as pas la berlue Cinquante-neuf est mon secteur... OH MY DEAR ANDRE BILLY '

25th April 1974, Sophie de Mello Breyner tr.Ruth Fainlight, 'This is the dawn I was waiting for The first day whole and pure When we emerged from night and silence Alive into the substance of time'

I sing of a Maiden Anon (early 15th century )' I sing of a maiden that is makeless King of all kings to her son she chose he came also still there his mother was as dew in April that falleth on the grass he came also still to his mother's bower as dew in April that falleth on the flower he came also still there his mother lay as dew in April that falleth on the spray mother and maiden was never none but she well may such a lady God's mother be'

Celebrating Shakespeare’s birthday

Ariel's Song (from The Tempest), William Shakespeare ( 1564-1616) Illustration by Arthur Rackham Poems on the Underground Poster 1993 Poster 'Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made: Those are pearls that were his eyes, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich, and strange: Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell- Hark! now I hear them, Ding-dong, bell.'

Listen to Ariel’s Song read by Christopher Logue

Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare ' That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the deathbed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.'

Listen to Sonnet 73 read by George Szirtes

Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare 1998 Poster Poems on the Underground ' Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments; love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove'

Listen to Sonnet 116 read by John Hegley

Sonnet 29, William Shakespeare 'When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.'

Listen to Sonnet 29 read by James Berry

Poems on the Underground Celebrating World Poetry Day 2024

You took away all the oceans and all the room, Osip Mandelstam ' You took away all the oceans and all the room. You gave me my shoe-size in earth with bars around it.'

You took away all the oceans and all the room by Osip Mandelstam read by Cyril Wong

Crow by Cyril Wong ' How does one begin to drink the sky? By tasting its tears, of course, the crow realised. Yet why does it remain so full – a pitcher of blue without end?' Reprinted by permission of Math Paper Press from Animal Season (2020)

Crow read by Cyril Wong

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.

Marjorie Lotfi reads Packing for America

Aunt Jennifer’s Tigers, Adrienne Rich ' Aunt Jennifer's tigers prance across a screen, Bright topaz denizens of a world of green. They do not fear the men beneath the tree; They pace in sleek chivalric certainty. Aunt Jennifer's finger fluttering through her wool Find even the ivory needle hard to pull. The massive weight of Uncle's wedding band Sits heavily upon Aunt Jennifer's hand. When Aunt is dead, her terrified hands will lie Still ringed with ordeals she was mastered by. The tigers in the panel that she made Will go on prancing, proud and unafraid.'

Marjorie Lotfi reading Aunt Jennifer’s Tigers by Adrienne Rich

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.

Seni Seneviratne reading The Weight of The World

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by W. B. Yeats (1865 - 1939) Poems on the Underground 1993 'Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'

Seni Seneviratne reading He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Paisley by Jo Clement ' With India’s hand on the loom I untwist a paisley square from round my neck: red, green and gold threads repeat almonds some call figs, figs the Welsh call pears and pears you might call teardrops. Shook onto the grass, I smooth out Kashmir -- so close to silk – over the fault line made of my body: feet in England, head in Scotland, a heart elsewhere.' Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from Outlandish (2022)

Paisley read by Jo Clement

For My Wife, Reading in Bed by John Glenday ' I know we’re living through all the dark we can afford. Thank goodness, then, for this moment’s light and you, holding the night at bay—a hint of frown, those focussed hands, that open book. I’ll match your inward quiet, breath for breath. What else do we have but words and their absences to bind and unfasten the knotwork of the heart; to remind us how mutual and alone we are, how tiny and significant? Whatever it is you are reading now my love, read on. Our lives depend on it.' John Glenday Reprinted by permission of Picador from Selected Poems (2020)

For My Wife, Reading in Bed read by John Glenday

The Creel by Kathleen Jamie 'The world began with a woman, shawl-happed, stooped under a creel, whose slow step you recognize from troubled dreams. You feel obliged to help bear her burden from hill or kelp-strewn shore, but she passes by unseeing thirled to her private chore. It's not sea birds or peat she's carrying, not fleece, nor the herring bright but her fear that if ever she put it down the world would go out like a light.'

The Creel by Kathleen Jamie read by John Glenday

The Square of the Clockmaker by Helen Ivory When the last train left, the tunnel rolled the train track back into its mouth and slept. Clocks unhitched themselves from the made-up world of timetables and opened wide their arms. And in the square of the clockmaker a century of clocks turned their faces to the sun. Helen Ivory Reprinted by permission of SurVision Books From Maps of the Abandoned City (2019)

The Square of the Clockmaker by Helen Ivory read by Helen Ivory

This Is Just To Say , William Carlos Williams 'I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold'

This is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams read by Helen Ivory

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.

Bridled Vows read by Ian Duhig

Harmonica by Michael Longley read by Ian Duhig

The London Breed I love dis great polluted place Where pop stars come to live their dreams Here ravers come for drum and bass And politicians plan their schemes, The music of the world is here Dis city can play any song They came to here from everywhere Tis they that made dis city strong. A world of food displayed on streets Where all the world can come and dine On meals that end with bitter sweets And cultures melt and intertwine, Two hundred languages give voice To fifteen thousand changing years And all religions can rejoice With exiled souls and pioneers. Benjamin Zephaniah Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from Too Black Too Strong (2001)

The London Breed by Benjamin Zephaniah read by Valerie Bloom

Colonization in Reverse Wat a joyful news, Miss Mattie, I feel like me heart gwine burs’ Jamaica people colonizin Englan in reverse. By de hundred, by de t’ousan From country and from town, By de ship-load, by de plane-load Jamaica is Englan bound. Dem a-pour out o’ Jamaica, Everybody future plan Is fe get a big-time job An settle in de mother lan. What a islan! What a people! Man an woman, old an young Jusa pack dem bag and baggage An tun history upside dung! Louise Bennett © Louise Bennett 1966 from Jamaica Labrish (Sangsters, 1966)

Colonization in Reverse by Louise Bennett read by Valerie Bloom

Paula Meehan reading Not Weeding

London Poems on the Underground Sweet Thames Flow Softly, Ewan MacColl. I met my girl at Woolwich Pier, beneath a big crane standing.

Paula Meehan Reading Sweet Thames flow Softly by Ewan MacColl

Vesper for my mother by Kerry Shawn Keys ' Next to the grapes to the side of the house, the mother with the disappearing bones showed me the flowers opening at dusk, perfuming the silence. See, they unfold the dark to make music with the moths. She stepped inside. Far off, the yellowing moon crocheted its starry nightgown into her shadow.' Reprinted by permission of the author Kerry Shawn Keys ( 2020)

Kerry Shawn Keys reads his poem Vesper and Rivertime by Michael Jennings

Poems on the Underground March 2024