New Poems on the Underground Autumn 2025

The Autumn Poems on the Underground go live on London Underground and Overground trains for 4 weeks from 20th October. The six poems with themes of memory across different times and places include ‘won’t you celebrate with me’ by the African American poet Lucille Clifton, coinciding with Black History Month in October, and ‘Epitaph on a Tyrant’ by W H Auden’, for Remembrance Day (November 11th). We continue our international theme with poets from New Zealand, Hungary, England and Wales.

Epitaph on a Tyrant (January 1939) by W H Auden

I take into my arms more than I can bear to hold by Janet Frame Reprinted by permission of The Wylie Agency from Storms Will Tell: Selected Poems (Bloodaxe Books 2008)

won’t you celebrate with me by Lucille Clifton from The Book of Light  Copyright © 1993 by Lucille Clifton. Reprinted with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Copper Canyon Press

William at four days old by Jack Underwood.   Reprinted by permission of Faber from Happiness (2015)

Overcrowding by Katalin Szlukovényi   translated by George Szirtes. Reprinted by permission of the author and translator

Days of November 2009 by Sheenagh Pugh. Reprinted by permission of Seren from Short Days, Long Shadows (2014)

Epitaph on a Tyrant by W H Auden

Epitaph on a Tyrant by W H Auden Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after, And the poetry he invented was easy to understand; He knew human folly like the back of his hand, And was greatly interested in armies and fleets; When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter, And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

Epitaph on a Tyrant by W H Auden read by George Szirtes

I take into my arms more than I can bear to hold by Janet Frame

I Take Into My Arms More Than I Can Bear To Hold by Janet Frame I take into my arms more than I can bear to hold I am toppled by the world a creation of ladders, pianos, stairs cut into the rock a devouring world of teeth where even the common snail eats the heart out of a forest as you and I do, who are human, at night yet still I take into my arms more than I can bear to hold Reprinted by permission of The Wylie Agency from Storms Will Tell: Selected Poems (Bloodaxe Books 2008)

I take into my arms more than I can bear to hold by Janet Frame read by Imtiaz Dharker

won’t you celebrate with me by Lucille Clifton

won’t you celebrate with me by Lucille Clifton won’t you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life? i had no model. born in babylon both nonwhite and woman what did i see to be except myself? i made it up here on this bridge between starshine and clay, my one hand holding tight my other hand; come celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed. from The Book of Light. Copyright © 1993 by Lucille Clifton. Reprinted with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Copper Canyon Press

won’t you celebrate with me by Lucille Clifton read by Valerie Bloom

William by Jack Underwood  

William at four days old by Jack Underwood When the lock chucks familiar, or a cat follows its name from a room, when silence is strung, or rain holds back the trees, I thought I had the lever of these. But weighing your fine melon head, your innocent daring to be, and mouth-first searching, your tiny fist is allowed absolutely and I am uncooked -- I can feel my socks being on – utter, precious apple, churchyards flatten in my heart, I’ve never been brilliant so scared. Reprinted by permission of Faber from Happiness (2015)

Overcrowding by Katalin Szlukovényi   translated by George Szirtes.

Overcrowding by Katalin Szlukovényi translated by George Szirtes Too much memory. Too many people and things. Each move we make drags a whole wagon of consequences in its wake, opening old wounds. We should try to live out of one suitcase and tread the grass barefoot, not treading on wasps’ nests. Reprinted by permission of the author and translator

Overcrowding by Katalin Szlukovényi read by George Szirtes

Days of November 2009 by Sheenagh Pugh

Days of November 2009 by Sheenagh Pugh Short days, long shadows: sun rising low skims the hill. Mending, making good, days full of outdoor jobs, folk racing to finish before dark, before winter. Angled light, always on the edge of leaving. These days when every little thing feels urgent, unmissable, when all you want is to hold on to a lit rack of cirrus, the taste of woodsmoke catching your throat, a sleek seal slipping back under, the farewell of geese, scribbled in black arrows. Reprinted by permission of Seren from Short Days, Long Shadows (2014)

Days of November 2009 read by Sheenagh Pugh