January 2025

Gavin Ewart , A 14 year old Convalescent Cat in the Winter Poems on the Underground 1995 ' I want him to have another living summer, to lie in the sun and enjoy the douceur de vivre- because the sun, like golden rum in a rummer, is what makes an idle cat un tout petit peu ivre- I want him to lie stretched out, contented, revelling in the heat, his fur all dry and warm, an Old Age Pensioner, retired, resented by no one, and happinesses in a beelike swarm to settle on him – postponed for another season that last fated hateful journey to the vet from which there is no return (and age the reason), which must come soon – as I cannot forget''

A 14 Year Old Convalescent Cat in Winter read by Gavin Ewart

We welcome the New Year with a selection of Winter poems and poems of Hope. We mark Burns night with  poems by Burns and three  contemporary Scottish poets. We end this month’s selection with poems on a musical note

Poems for the New Year

Benediction by James Berry

Benediction, James Berry 'Thanks to the ear that someone may hear Thanks to seeing that someone may see Thanks to feeling that someone may feel Thanks to touch that one may be touched Thanks to flowering of white moon and spreading shawl of black night holding villages and cities together'

Benediction read by James Berry

Promise by Jackie Kay

Love Poems on the Underground Promise Jackie Kay. Remember, the time of year when the future appears like a blank sheet of paper

Prayer by Carol Ann Duffy

The World’s Great Age begins Anew by P B Shelley

P. B. Shelley, The World’s Great Age Begins Anew 'The world’s great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew her winter weeds outworn:'

And if I Speak of Paradise by Roger Robinson

And if I speak of Paradise, Roger Robinson ‘And if I speak of Paradise then I’m speaking of my grandmother who told me to carry it always on my person, concealed, so no one else would know but me.’

Expectans Expectavi by Anne Ridler

Expectans Expectavi by Anne Ridler (b.1912) Reprinted by permission of Carcanet from Collected Poems, 1994 ' The candid freezing season again: Candle and cracker, needles of fir and frost; Carols that through the night air pass, piercing The glassy husk of heart and heaven; Children's faces white in the pane, bright in the tree-light. And the waiting season again, That begs a crust and suffers joy vicariously: In bodily starvation now, in the spirit's exile always. O might the hilarious reign of love begin, let in Like carols from the cold The lost who crowd the pane, numb outcasts into welcome. '

Note by Leanne O ‘Sullivan

Note, Leanne O’Sullivan If we become separated from each other this evening try to remember the last time you saw me and go back and wait for me there.

Time to be slow, John O’Donohue ‘This is the time to be slow, Lie low to the wall Until the bitter weather passes’

This is the Time to be Slow

Excerpt from For the Break-Up of a Relationship,  from Benedictus (Europe) / To Bless the Space Between Us (US) by John O’Donohue

Poems of Hope

Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh read by George Szirtes

World Poems on the Underground Carving , Imtiaz Dharkar. Others can carve out their space in tombs and pyramids

Carving read by Imtiaz Dharker

Lines from Endymion, John Keats 1987 Poems on the Underground poster 'A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits.'

from Endymion by John Keats read by Cicely Herbert

Hope by Edith Södergran translated by Herbert Lomas

Hope by Edith Södergran (1892 - 1923) translated by Herbert Lomas' I want to let go - so I don't give a damn about fine writing, I'm rolling my sleeves up. The dough's rising ... Oh what a shame I can't bake cathedrals ... that sublimity of style I've always yearned for ... Child of our time - haven't you found the right shell for your soul? Before I die I shall bake a cathedral.'

Beacon of Hope (for John La Rose) by Linton Kwesi Johnson

from Beacon of Hope (for John La Rose) by Linton Kwesi Johnson ' welcome nocturnal friend I name you beacon of hope tonight fear fades to oblivion as you guide us beyond the stars to a new horizon tomorrow a stranger will enter my hut my cave my cool cavern of gloom I will give him bread he will bring good news from afar I will give him water he will bring a gift of light'

Happiness by Stephen Dunn

Happiness, Stephen Dunn ' A state you must dare not enter with hopes of staying, quicksand in the marshes, and all the roads leading to a castle that doesn't exist. But there it is, as promised, with its perfect bridge above the crocodiles, and its doors forever open.'

The Language Issue by Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill translated by Paul Muldoon

Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, trans. Paul Muldoon The Language Issue 'Ceist na Teangan Cuirim mo dhóchas ar snámh i mbáidín teangan faoi mar a leagfá naíonán i gcliabhán a bheadh fite fuaite de dhuilleoga feileastraim is bitiúmin agus pic bheith cuimilte lena thóin ansan é a leagadh síos i measc na ngiolcach is coigeal na mban sí le taobh na habhann, féachaint n’fheadaraís cá dtabharfaidh an sruth é, féachaint, dála Mhaoise, an bhfóirfidh iníon Fharoinn? The Language Issue I place my hope on the water in this little boat of the language, the way a body might put an infant in a basket of intertwined iris leaves, its underside proofed with bitumen and pitch, then set the whole thing down amidst the sedge and bulrushes by the edge of a river only to have it borne hither and thither, not knowing where it might end up; in the lap, perhaps, of some Pharaoh’s daughter. '

Love Without Hope by Robert Graves

Love Without Hope, Robert Graves 'Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher Swept off his tall hat to the Squire's own daughter, So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly Singing about her head, as she rode by.'

Poems On a Musical Note

The Silver Swan, Anon 'The silver swan, who living had no note, When death approached unlocked her silent throat, Leaning her breast against the reedy shore, Thus sung her first and last ,and sung no more:'

The Silver Swan read by Christopher Logue

Canticle by John F. Deane

Canticle by John F. Deane (b.1943) ' Sometimes when you walk down to the red gate hearing the scrape-music of your shoes across gravel, a yellow moon will lift over the hill; you swing the gate shut and lean on the topmost bar as if something has been accomplished in the world; a night wind mistles through the poplar leaves and all the noise of the universe stills to an oboe hum, the given note of a perfect music; there is a vast sky wholly dedicated to the stars and you know, with certainty, that all the dead are out, up there, in one holiday flotilla, and that they celebrate the fact of a red gate and a yellow moon that tunes their instruments with you to the symphony.'

Today by Sujata Bhatt

Today , Sujata Bhatt ' The fourth candle has been lit. How can you be in exile when you live with the one you love? Our Chinese Schiller stands by the window. Outside, three crows ignore a snowman. The fourth candle has been lit. These flames make us linger, these flames slip into our words- Today, it's Händel on the radio- and the northern sun is still strong. '

A Musical Note by Elizabeth Smart

A Musical Note, Elizabeth Smart ' Sometimes Handel is loud, triumphant, insistent. I wanted to say shut up! Can anything really be that successful and sure?'

Harvestwoman by Fernando Pessoa translated by Jonathan Griffin

Harvestwoman, Fernando Pessoa ' But no, she's abstract, is a bird Of sound in the air of air soaring, And her soul sings unencumbered Because the song's what makes her sing.'

Concerto for Double Bass by John Fuller

John Fuller, Concerto for Double Bass ' He is a drunk leaning companionably Around a lamp post or doing up With intermittent concentration Another drunk's coat.'

Lines to a Movement in Mozart’s E- flat Symphony by Thomas Hardy

Lines to a Movement in Mozart’s E-flat Symphony, Thomas Hardy ‘Show me again the time When in the Junetide’s prime We flew by meads and mountains northerly! – Yea, to such freshness, fairness, fullness, fineness, freeness, Love lures life on….’

Poems to Celebrate Burns Night

Up in the Morning Early ,Robert Burns 'Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, I'm sure it's winter fairly.'

Up in the Morning Early by Robert Burns read by Gerard Benson

A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns

John Anderson my Jo by Robert Burns

Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns

Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' auld lang syne? We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin' auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, From mornin sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne. Chorus: For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne.'

Web by Don Paterson

Web by Don Paterson 'The deftest leave no trace: type, send, delete, clear history. The world will never know. Though a man might wonder, as he crossed the street what it was that broke across his brow or vanished on his tongue and left it sweet.'

The Creel by Kathleen Jamie

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 Twa Corbies , Anon

The Twa Corbies , Anon 'As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the tither say, ‘Whar sall we gang and dine the day?’ ‘In behint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. ‘His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk, to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady’s ta’en another mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet. ‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane, And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een: Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare. ‘Mony a one for him maks mane, But nane sall ken whar he is gane; O’er his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair.’

The Twa Corbies, Anon read by Gerard Benson

Poems from 2024