May 2024

On May Morning by John Milton

Song: On May Morning, John Milton Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail bounteous May that dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire! Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.'

This month we feature poems for May Day. We follow this with poems by poets who will be appearing at the Newcastle Poetry Festival 9-11 May and poems recorded for World Poetry Day

Poems for May Day

The Argument of His Book by Robert Herrick

The Argument of His Book by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674) 'I sing of Brooks, of Blossomes, Birds, and Bowers: Of April, May, of June, and July-Flowers. I sing of May-poles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes, Of Bride-grooms, Brides, and of their Bridall-cakes. I write of Youth, of Love, and have Accesse By these, to sing of cleanly-Wantonnesse. I sing of Dewes, of Raines, and piece by piece Of Balme, of Oyle, of Spice and Amber-Greece. I sing of Times trans-shifting; and I write How Roses first came Red, and Lillies White. I write of Groves, of Twilights, and I sing The Court of Mab, and of the Fairie-King. I write of Hell; I sing (and ever shall) Of Heaven, and hope to have it after all. '

In the heart of Hackney by Sebastian Barker

In the Heart of Hackney, for Aidan Andrew Dun by Sebastian Barker Poems on the Underground 2007 poster ' Behold, a swan. Ten houseboats on the Lee. A cyclist on the towpath. Gentle rain. A pigeon in a white apple - blossoming tree. And through the Marsh the rumble of a train. Two courting geese waddle on the bank Croaking. A man unties his boat. Police cars howl and whoop. And vast and blank The rain cloud of the sky is trampled underfoot. Behold, a dove. And in Bomb Crater Pond Fat frogs ignore the rain. Each trembling rush signals like a wand Earthing the magic of London once again. In the heart of Hackney, five miles from Kentish Town, By Lammas Lands the reed beds are glowing rich and brown '.Sebastian Barker Reprinted by permission of Enitharmon Press from Damnatio Memoriae: Erased from Memory (2004)

Cuts by Sam Riviere

Cuts, Sam Riviere ' I can see that things have gotten pretty bad our way of life threatened by financiers assortments of phoneys and opportunists and very soon the things we cherish most will likely be taken from us the wine from our cellars our silk gowns and opium but tell me what do you expect Chung Ling Soo much ridiculed conjurer of the court and last of the dynasty of brooms to do about it?'

A Song by Laetitia Pilkington

A Song Laetitia Pilkington 'Lying is an occupation, Used by all who mean to rise; Politicians owe their station, But to well concerted lies. These to lovers give assistance, To ensnare the fair-one's heart; And the virgin's best resistance Yields to this commanding art. Study this superior science, Would you rise in Church or State; Bid to Truth a bold defiance, 'Tis the practice of the great.'

The Leader by Roger McGough

The Leader, Roger McGough Poems on the Underground 1995 Poster 'I wanna be the leader I wanna be the leader Can I be the leader? Can I? I can? Promise? Promise? Yippee. I'm the leader I'm the leader OK what shall we do?'

What is Truth by Louis MacNeice

Free by Merle Collins

Free, Merle Collins 'Born free to be caught and fashioned and shaped and freed to wander within a caged dream of tears'

Much Madness is Divinest Sense by Emily Dickinson

Much Madness is Divinest Sense, Emily Dickinson, Much Madness is divinest Sense- To a discerning Eye- Much Sense- the starkest Madness- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, Prevail- Assent- and you are sane- Demur- you're straightway dangerous- And handled with a Chain-''

I SIng of Change by Niyi Osundare

African Poems on the Underground I Sing of Change Niyi Osundare I sing of the beauty of Athens without its slaves

Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh

George Szirtes reads Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh

Newcastle Poetry Festival Poets

Fleur Adcock: Immigrant January 1987

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

Listen to Immigrant read by Fleur Adcock

Carolyn Forche: The Visitor October 1987

The Visitor, Carolyn Forché ' In Spanish he whispers there is no time left. It is the sound of scythes arcing in wheat, the ache of some field song in Salvador. The wind along the prison, cautious as Francisco's hands on the inside, touching the walls as he walks, it is his wife's breath slipping into his cell each night while he imagines his hand to be hers. It is a small country. There is nothing one man will not do to another'

Carol Ann Duffy: Words, Wide Night January 1992

Words, Wide Night, Carol Ann Duffy 'Somewhere on the other side of this wide night and the distance between us, I am thinking of you. The room is turning slowly away from the moon. This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear. La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross to reach you. For I am in love with you and this is what it is like or what it is like in words'

Fred D’Aguiar: Mama Dot June 1997

Mama Dot, Fred D’Aguiar ' Born on a sunday in the kingdom of Ashante Sold on monday into slavery Ran away on tuesday cause she born free Lost a foot on wednesday when they catch she Worked all thursday till her head grey Dropped on friday where they burned she Freed on saturday in a new century'

Carol Ann Duffy: Prayer 1,000 Years of Poetry in English October 1999

Prayer, Carol Ann Duffy 1999 poster, Poems on the Underground 1,000 Years of Poetry in English 'Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself. So, a woman will lift her head from the sieve of her hands and stare at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift. Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth enters our hearts, that small familiar pain; then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth in the distant Latin chanting of a train. Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales console the lodger looking out across a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls a child's name as though they named their loss. Darkness outside. Inside, the radio's prayer - Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.'

Carol Ann Duffy: Passing-Bells War Poems on the Underground October 2011

Passing-Bells, Carol Ann Duffy ' That moment when the soldier's soul passed through his wounds, slipped through the staunching fingers of his friend then, like a shadow, ran across a field to vanish, vanish, into empty air...'

Imtiaz Dharker: Carving World Poems on the Underground February 2012

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

Listen to Carving read by Imtiaz Dharker

Jackie Kay: Promise Autumn 2021

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

Jackie Kay: George Square November 2022

George Square by Jackie Kay ' My seventy-seven-year-old father put his reading glasses on to help my mother do the buttons on the back of her dress. ‘What a pair the two of us are!’ my mother said, ‘Me with my sore wrist, you with your bad eyes, your soft thumbs!’ And off they went, my two parents to march against the war in Iraq, him with his plastic hips, her with her arthritis, to congregate at George Square, where the banners waved at each other like old friends, flapping, where they’d met for so many marches over their years, for peace on earth, for pity’s sake, for peace, for peace.' Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from Darling: New & Selected Poems (2007)

Anthony Joseph: Axe Autumn 2023

Axe by Anthony Joseph My father, God bless his axe. He grooved deep in pitch pine. He spun his charm like bachelor galvanise in hurricane. Once I saw him peep through torrential rain like a saint at a killing. And when the wind broke his cassava trees, and the water overcame his eight-track machine, and his clothes were swept away in the flood, his Hail Mary fell upon a fortress of bone. So he crossed his chest with appointed finger and hissed a prayer in glossolalic verse. He may grand-charge and growl but he woundeth not, nor cursed the storm that Papa God send to wash away the wish of him and every dream he built. Anthony Joseph Reprinted by permission of Bloomsbury from Sonnets for Albert (2022)

Kayo Chingonyi : Clearance Spring 2023

Clearance by Kayo Chingonyi ' Your worldly possessions are gathering dust in a storage unit off Goodmayes High Road. No one will take the dressing table. What need have we for these ornaments, old textbooks, the wedding dress you never wore?' Kayo Chingonyi Reprinted by permission of Chatto & Windus from A Blood Condition (2021)

Diana Anphimiadi: Bond Spring 2023

Bond by Diana Anphimiadi translated by Natalia Bukia-Peters and Jean Sprackland ' The honey heather has dried up in my voice, the lullaby ivy in my throat. When I leave, your words follow – you are mine! You know I’ll always come back. I watch the migrating birds - their sign in the sky – and think of the old proverb: go, and your homeland goes with you; return, and it’s lost forever. I leave, and the house is empty without you. I switch off the golden fish as I go though I’d rather keep them flickering – on the ceiling, in the deep sea – for your return' Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from Why I No Longer Write Poems (2022)

Marjorie Lotfi: Packing for America Spring 2024

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.

Listen to Packing for America read by Marjorie Lotfi

World Poetry Day recordings

A Trojan horse in Trafalgar Square George Szirtes ‘We stood in Trafalgar Square completely covered in pigeons but looking all too pleased to find such wholehearted acceptance. We were the boys of the awkward squad, growing at an angle.’

George Szirtes reads his poem A Trojan Horse in Trafalgar Square

Disillusionment of Ten O’ Clock, Wallace Stevens ' The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, Or yellow with blue rings. None of them are strange, With socks of lace And beaded ceintures. People are not going To dream of baboons and periwinkles. Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches tigers In red weather.'

George Szirtes reads disillusionment of 10 O Clock by Wallace Stevens

Thankyou London Underground, John Hegley ‘Tufnell Park and Camden Town Where Air Raid huddles laid them down.’

Thankyou London Underground read by John Hegley

A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns Poems on the Underground 1992 poster 'O my Luve's like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve's like the melodie That’s sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will love thee still, my Dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry. Till a’ the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun: O I will love thee still, my Dear, While the sands o’ life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve! And fare thee weel, a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile!'

mtiaz Dharker reads a Red Red Rose by Robert Burns

Still Life with Sea Pinks and High Tide, Maura Dooley 'Thrift grows tenacious at the tide's reach. What is that reach when the water is rising, rising?'

Maura Dooley reads Still life with Sea Pinks and High Tide

dreamer, Jean Binta Breeze 'roun a rocky corner by de sea seat up pon a drif wood yuh can fine she gazin cross de water a stick eena her han tryin to trace a future in de san'

dreamer by Jean Binta Breeze read by Valerie Bloom

Rising, Jean Binta Breeze having some summers gone dug out that old tree stump that darkened my garden having waited without planting (for it was impossible then to choose the growth) having lost the dream but not the art of healing having released the roots of pain into content I now stir the skies

Rising by Jean Binta Breeze read by Valerie Bloom

Listen to the rest of the Poems on the Underground Recordings

Poems from April 2024