July 2024

This month we feature our new summer poems, now circulating on London Underground and Overground trains. We also feature London poems, along with recordings that were originally published as a Poems on the Underground audiobook in 1994. We mark the start of the Olympics in Paris with a selection of French poems, and mark the start of the Proms with a selection of Music poems.

New Summer Poems on the Underground

A Glimpse by Azita Ghahreman, translated from the Persian by Elhum Shakerifar and Maura Dooley

A Glimpse So caught up in our conversation that darkness fell and covered us with large damp wings and not a single light showed in that blue hour where we stood grown-up children held for a moment, astonished, watching a paper boat as the water swallowed it. Azita Ghahreman, translated from the Persian by Elhum Shakerifar and Maura Dooley Reprinted with permission from Negative of a Group Photograph (The Poetry Translation Centre / Bloodaxe Books, 2018)

A Glimpse read in Persian by Azita Ghahreman

A Glimpse by Azita Ghahreman read by Maura Dooley

from We Refugees by Benjamin Zephaniah

from We Refugees We can all be refugees Sometimes it only takes a day, Sometimes it only takes a handshake Or a paper that is signed. We all came from refugees Nobody simply just appeared, Nobody’s here without a struggle, And why should we live in fear Of the weather or the troubles? We all came here from somewhere Benjamin Zephaniah from We Refugees Reprinted by permission of Penguin Books Limited from Wicked World (Puffin, 2000).

We Refugees read by Nii Ayikwei Parkes

By Yourself, Boy. . . (1988-2007) by Nii Ayikwei Parkes

By Yourself, Boy. . . (1988-2007) Nat King Cole’s on the TV staring hard at his audience, his hands setting up plays while he sings. Ray Charles said he sang so damn well people forgot how good he was on keys, and I see it now; his right hand stuffs a melody down the grand piano’s throat – that’s the fake – he dribbles the sound down to low notes until you expect the left hand to come in lower. That’s when he breaks mould, hustles his left hand over the right, throws high notes into your ear -crossover, up, swish. Now the trash talk it’s better to be by yourself boy… He smiles like the silent men on my tapes and, suddenly, every move has a name, a sound, a history. Nii Ayikwei Parkes Reprinted by permission of Peepal Tree Press from The Makings of You (2010)

By Yourself Boy…. read by Nii Ayikwei Parkes

The Isle of Portland by A.E. Housman

The Isle of Portland The star-filled seas are smooth to-night From France to England strown; Black towers above the Portland light The felon-quarried stone. On yonder island, not to rise, Never to stir forth free, Far from his folk a dead lad lies That once was friends with me. Lie you easy, dream you light, And sleep you fast for aye;, And luckier may you find the night Than ever you found the day. . A. E. Housman

The Isle of Portland by A.E. Housman read by Maura Dooley

‘Sumer is icumen in’ Anon

‘Sumer is icumen in’ Sumer is icumen in Loud sing cuckoo! Groweth seed and bloweth mead And springeth the wood now, Sing cuckoo! Ewe bleateth after lamb, Cow loweth after calf, Bullock starteth, buck farteth, Merry sing cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo! Well singest thou cuckoo, Nor cease thou never now! Sing cuckoo now, sing cuckoo! Sing cuckoo, sing cuckoo now! Anon (13th century) Music manuscript by permission of The British Library Board, BL Harley 978f.1.1v

Sumer is Icumen in read by Nii Ayikwei Parkes

Taste by Don Paterson

Taste Gooseberry, banana, pear and apple, all the ripenesses . . . Read it in the child’s face: the life-and-death the tongue hears as she eats . . . This comes from far away. What is happening to your mouth? Where there were words, discovery flows, all shocked out of the pith – What we call apple . . . Do you dare give it a name? This sweet-shop fire rising in the taste, to grow clarified, awake, twin-sensed, of the sun and earth, the here and the now – the sensual joy, the whole Immense! Don Paterson Reprinted by permission of Faber & Faber from Orpheus: A Version of Rilke’s ‘Die Sonette an Orpheus’ (2006)

London Poems on the Underground

London Poems on the Underground to listen to. Recordings from a selection of 72 Poems on the Underground originally recorded on tape and published as a Cassell Audiobook in 1994

Listen to London Poems on the Underground

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 by Kathleen Raine read by Cicely Herbert

Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802 ,William Wordsworth 2013 Poems on the Underground poster 'Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty; This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!'

Composed upon Westminster Bridge September 3,1802 by William Wordsworth read by Gerard Benson

Symphony in Yellow by Oscar Wilde, 1998 Poems on the Underground poster 'An omnibus across the bridge Crawls like a yellow butterfly, And, here and there, a passer-by Shows like a little restless midge. Big barges full of yellow hay Are moored against the shadowy wharf, And, like a yellow silken scarf, The thick fog hangs along the quay. The yellow leaves begin to fade And flutter from the Temple elms, And at my feet the pale green Thames Lies like a rod of rippled jade.'

Symphony in Yellow by Oscar Wilde read by Adrian Mitchell

Like A Beacon, Grace Nichols 2009 Poster 'In London every now and then I get this craving for my mother’s food I leave art galleries in search of plantains saltfish/sweet potatoes I need this link I need this touch of home swinging my bag like a beacon against the cold'

Like a Beacon by Grace Nichols read by Valerie Bloom

Immigrant, Fleur Adcock 'November '63: eight months in London. I pause on the low bridge to watch the pelicans:'

Immigrant by Fleur Adcock read by Fleur Adcock

Celia Celia, Adrian Mitchell ' When I am sad and weary When I think all hope has gone When I walk along High Holborn I think of you with nothing on'

Celia Celia by Adrian Mitchell read by Adrian Mitchell

London Airport, Christopher Logue 'Last night in London Airport I saw a wooden bin labelled UNWANTED LITERATURE IS TO BE PLACED HEREIN. So I wrote a poem and popped it in.'

London Airport by Christopher Logue read by Christopher Logue

London Bells. Anon ' Two Sticks & an Apple, Ring ye Bells at Whitechapple Old Father Bald Pate, Ring ye Bells Aldgate, Maids in white Aprons, Ring ye Bells a St. Cathrines, Oranges and Lemmons, Ring ye Bells at St. Clemens, When will you pay me, Ring ye Bells at ye Old Bailey, When I am Rich, Ring ye Bells at Fleetditch, When will that be, Ring ye Bells at Stepney, When I am Old, Ring ye great Bell at Pauls.'

London Bells Anon read by Gerard Benson and Cicely Herbert

French Poems on the Underground

Guillaume Apollinaire tr. Robert Chandler: Caterpillar

La Chenille Caterpillar by Guillaume Apollinaire, tr Robert Chandler 'La Chenille Le travail mène à la richesse. Pauvres poètes, travaillons! La chenille en peinant sans cesse Devient le riche papillon. Caterpillar Work hard, poets, work with good cheer: Work leads to wealth and freedom from fear; And butterflies, for all their graces, Are merely caterpillars who persevere. ' Reprinted by permission of Robert Chandler from Guillaume Apollinaire, Poems, translated by Robert Chandler (Everyman 2000)

Guillaume Apollinaire tr. the Editors: La Petite Auto / The Little Car

La Petite Auto/The Little Car by Guillaume Apollinaire, tr. the Editors ' On the 31st of August 1914 I left Deanville shortly before midnight In Rouveyre's little car With his driver there were three of us We said goodbye to a whole epoch Angry giants reared over Europe Eagles left their eyries to wait for the sun Voracious fish rose from the abyss Nations rushed to know one another through and through In their dark dwellings the dead trembled with fear '

Guillaume Apollinaire tr. Oliver Bernard, : Letter to Andre Billy. 9 April 1915

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 '

Léopold Sédar Senghor tr. Benson, Gerard :  Et nous baignerons mon amie

African Poems on the Underground Et nous baignerons mon amie Léopold Sédar Senghor, tr. Gerard Benson we shall be bathed, my love in the presence of Africa

Yves Bonnnefoy tr. Anthony Rudolf: Let a Place be Made

Qu'une place soit faite... Let a Place be Made by Yves Bonnefoy (b.1923) Translated by Anthony Rudolf 'Let a place be made for the one who draws near, The one who is cold, deprived of any home, Tempted by the sound of a lamp, by the lit Threshold of a solitary house. And if he is still exhausted, full of anguish, Say again for him those words that heal. What does this heart which once was silence need If not those words which are both sign and prayer, Like a fire caught sight of in the sudden night, Like the table glimpsed in a poor house?'

Bosquet, tr. Samuel Beckett : Fresh Sighs for Sale

Fresh Sighs for Sale, Alan Bosquet tr. Samuel Beckett ' Fresh sighs for sale! Prime doubts a penny! Scowls going at a loss!'

Charles D’Orleans tr. Oliver Bernard: The Weather’s cast its Coat of Grey

The weather's cast its cloak of grey by Charles D'Orleans translation Oliver Bernard ' Le temps a laissié son manteau Le temps a laissié son manteau De vent, de froidure et de pluye, Et s’est vêstu de brouderie, De soleil luyant, cler et beau. Il n’y a bêste, ni oyseau Qu’en son jargon ne chante ou crie : Le temps a laissié son manteau. Rivière, fontaine et ruisseau Portent, en livrée jolie, Gouttes d’argent d’orfavrerie, Chascun s’abille de nouveau : Le temps a laissié son manteau. The weather's cast its cloak of grey Woven of wind and cold and rain, And wears embroidered clothes again Of clear sunshine, in fair array. No beast, no bird, but in its way Cries out or sings in wood and plain: The weather's cast its cloak of grey Woven of wind and cold and rain. River and spring and brook this day Wear handsome liveries that feign More silver stars than Charles's Wain, Mingled with drops of golden spray. The weather's cast its cloak of grey.'

Philippe Jaccottet tr. Derek Mahon,:Distances

Distances, Philippe Jaccottet (b.1925) Translated by Derek Mahon 'Les distances Tournent les martinets dans les hauteurs de l' air: plus haut encore tournent les astres invisibles. Que le jour se retire aux extrémités de la terre, apparaîtront ces feux sur l' etendue de sombre sable… Ainsi nous habitons un domaine de mouvements et de distances; ainsi le coeur va de l' arbre à l' oiseau, de l' oiseau aux astres lointains, de l' astre à son amour. Ainsi l' amour dans la maison fermée s' accroît, tourne et travaille, serviteur des soucieux portant une lampe à la main. Swifts turn in the heights of the air; higher still turn the invisible stars. When day withdraws to the ends of the earth their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand. We live in a world of motion and distance. The heart flies from tree to bird, from bird to distant star, from star to love; and love grows in the quiet house, turning and working, servant of thought, a lamp held in one hand. '

Pascale Petit: Her Glasses

Her Glasses, Pascale Petit ‘My grandmother’s glasses are a greenhouse behind which luxurious flowers grow, species I will never name, or find again. Her last glance back at her childhood jungle trembles there, watered by monsoons but I have never seen her cry. She closed the glass doors as I said goodbye. She waved at me as the taxi drove me away – her blinds came down against my fierce rays.’

Paul Verlaine tr John Montague :Le Faune

Le Faune Faun by Paul Verlaine translation by John Montague 'In this middle of the sporting green Taunts an old terra-cotta faun; Predicting, no doubt, a sour outcome To those idylls, so serene, Which lured us, melancholy pilgrims, To this meeting, already fleeting, To the skirl of a tambourines.'

Music Poems on the Underground

Music When Soft Voices Die by Percy Bysshe Shelley

To- P.B. Shelley 'Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory – Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved’s bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.'

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?'

from Tell Me the Truth About Love by W.H. Auden

lines from "Tell Me the Truth About Love" by W.H. Auden ' When it comes, will it come without warning Just as I'm picking my nose? Will it knock on my door in the morning, Or tread in the bus on my toes? Will it come like a change in the weather? Will its greeting be courteous or rough? Will it alter my life altogether? O tell me the truth about love.' W.H. Auden (1907 -73 By permission of Faber from Collected Poems, revised edition (2007) Music by Benjamin Britten is © Faber Music and the Trustees of the Britten - Pears Foundation and appears by permission

If Bach Had Been a Beekeeper by Charles Tomlinson

If Bach Had Been a Beekeeper, Charles Tomlinson ' If Bach Had Been a Beekeeper he would have heard all those notes suspended above one another in the air of his ear as the undifferentiated swarm returning to the exact hive to place in the hive, topping up the cells with the honey of C major, food for the listening generations, key to their comfort and solace of their distress as they return and return to those counterpointed levels of hovering wings where movement is dance and the air itself a scented garden'

Ode to Joy by Gillian Clarke

Bach and the Sentry by Ivor Gurney

Bach and the Sentry, Ivor Gurney 'Watching the dark my spirit rose in flood On that most dearest Prelude of my delight. The low-lying mist lifted its hood, The October stars showed nobly in clear night. When I return, and to real music-making, And play that Prelude, how will it happen then? Shall I feel as I felt, a sentry hardly waking, With a dull sense of No Man's Land again?'

Naima for John Coltrane by Kamau Brathwaite

Naima for John Coltrane, Kamau Brathwaite 'Propped against the crowded bar he pours into the curved and silver horn his old unhappy longing for a home'

June Poems on the Underground