November 2023

Green the land of my poem by Mahmoud Darwish

Green the land of my poem, Mahmoud Darwish ‘Green the land of my poem is green and high Slowly I tell it slowly with the grace of a seagull riding the waves on the book of water I bequeath it written down to the one who asks to whom shall we sing when salt poisons the dew?’

The Place where we are right by Yehuda Amichai

The place where we are right, Yehuda Amichai ' From the place where we are right flowers will never grow in the spring. the place where we are right is hard and trampled like a yard'

To mark Armistice Day, we are featuring poems displayed on the underground to commemorate the First World War, and touching on wars from the earliest times to the present.

Look out for our new set of Poems on the Underground on London Underground trains through November

New Poems on the Underground

Axe by Anthony Joseph

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)

In a Loaning by Seamus Heaney

‘It delights me that ‘The Loaning’ might work for you. It’s a strange wee thing, which is why I trust it, but it might be, for the travellers, ‘a puzzle-the-world.’ (Seamus Heaney writing about ‘In a Loaning’, which he wrote when recovering from a stroke).

In a Loaning by Seamus Heaney Spoken for in autumn, recovered speech Having its way again, I gave a cry: ‘Not beechen green, but these shin-deep coffers Of copper-fired leaves, these beech boles grey.’ Seamus Heaney Reprinted by permission of Faber from District and Circle (2006) Loaning: a lane (Ulster-Scots) boles: tree trunks

from Elegy for a Dead Soldier by Karl Shapiro

from Elegy for a Dead Soldier by Karl Shapiro We ask for no statistics of the killed, For nothing political impinges on This single casualty, or all those gone, Missing or healing, sinking or dispersed, Hundreds of thousands counted, millions lost. More than an accident and less than willed Is every fall, and this one like the rest. However others calculate the cost, To us the final aggregate is one, One with a name, one transferred to the blest; And though another stoops and takes the gun, We cannot add the second to the first. Karl Shapiro Reprinted by permission of University of Illinois Press from The Wild Card: Selected Poems, Early and Late (1998)

Long Exposure by Garous Abdolmalekian Translated from Persian by Idra Novey & Ahmad Nadalizadeh

Long Exposure by Garous Abdolmalekian Translated from Persian by Idra Novey & Ahmad Nadalizadeh Even after letting go of the last bird I hesitate There is something in this empty cage that never gets released Garous Abdolmalekian Translated from Persian by Idra Novey & Ahmad Nadalizadeh Reprinted by permission of Penguin from Lean Against This Late Hour (2020)

The Square of the Clockmaker by Helen Ivory

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)

Empires by Charles Simic

Empires by Charles Simic My grandmother prophesied the end Of your empires, O fools! She was ironing. The radio was on. The earth trembled beneath our feet. One of your heroes was giving a speech. ‘Monster,’ she called him. There were cheers and gun salutes for the monster. ‘I could kill him with my bare hands,’ She announced to me. There was no need to. They were all Going to the devil any day now. ‘Don’t go blabbering about this to anyone,’ She warned me. And pulled my ear to make sure I understood. Charles Simic Reprinted by permission of Faber from Selected Poems 1963-2003 (2004)

War Poems on the Underground

The Long War by Laurie Lee

The Long War by Laurie Lee 'Less passionate the long war throws its burning thorn about all men, caught in one grief, we share one wound, and cry one dialect of pain. We have forgot who fired the house, Whose easy mischief spilled first blood, Under one raging roof we lie The fault no longer understood. But as our twisted arms embrace the desert where our cities stood , Death's family likeness in each face must show, at last, our brotherhood.'

1915 I know the truth – give up all other truths! by Marina Tsvetayeva translated by Elaine Feinstein

1915 I Know the Truth - Give up All Other Truths! , Marina Tsvetayeva (1892-1941) translated by Elaine Feinstein 'I know the truth - give up all other truths! No need for people anywhere on earth to struggle. Look - it is evening, look, it is nearly night: what do you speak of, poets, lovers, generals? The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew, the storm of stars in the sky will turn to quiet. And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it. '

Maire Macrae’s Song by Kathleen Raine

Everyone Sang by Siegfried Sassoon

Everyone Sang by Siegfried Sassoon Poems on the Underground 1999 poster 'Everyone suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on - on - and out of sight. Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away ... O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.'

Song in Space by Adrian Mitchell

Song in Space, Adrian Mitchell ' When man first flew beyond the sky He looked back into the world's blue eye. Man said: What makes your eye so blue? Earth said: The tears in the oceans do'

And Now Goodbye by Jaroslav Seifert tr. Ewald Osers

World Poems on the Underground And now goodbye, Jaroslav Seifert. Poetry is with us from the start.

August 1914 by Isaac Rosenberg

August 1914 , Isaac Rosenberg 'What in our lives is burnt In the fire of this? The heart's dear granary? The much we shall miss? Three lives hath one life— Iron, honey, gold. The gold, the honey gone— Left is the hard and cold. Iron are our lives Molten right through our youth. A burnt space through ripe fields, A fair mouth's broken tooth.'

Im Osten / In the East by Georg Trakl translated by David Constantine

Im Osten / In the East , Georg Trakl, tr. David Constantine 'Like the wild organ music of the winter storm Is the dark rage of the people The crimson wave of battle, Of leafless stars. With broken brows, with silver arms Night beckons to dying soldiers. In the shadow of the autumnal ash The ghosts of the slain are sighing. A thorny wilderness girdles the town. The moon harries the terrified women From bleeding steps. Wild wolves broke through the gate.'

Lost in France by Ernest Rhys

Lost in France, Ernest Rhys ' He had the plowman's strength In the grasp of his hand. He could see a crow Three miles away, And the trout beneath the stone.'

Fratelli/ Brothers by Giuseppe Ungaretti translated by Patrick Creagh

Fratelli/Brothers, Giuseppe Ungaretti , tr. Patrick Creagh ' What regiment are you from brothers? Word trembling in the night A leaf just opening In the racked air involuntary revolt of man face to face with his own fragility Brothers Mariano 15 July 2016'

Harmonica by Michael Longley

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?'

The General by Siegfried Sassoon

The General , Siegfried Sassoon ' Good-morning, good-morning!” the General said When we met him last week on our way to the line. Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead, And we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine. “He's a cheery old card,” grunted Harry to Jack As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack. But he did for them both by his plan of attack.'

Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen

Anthem for Doomed Youth, Wilfred Owen 'What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? — Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,— The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires. What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.'

A Dead Statesman by Rudyard Kipling

A Dead Statesman, Rudyard Kipling 'I could not dig: I dared not rob: Therefore I lied to please the mob. Now all my lies are proved untrue And I must face the men I slew. What tale shall serve me here among Mine angry and defrauded young?'

Grass by Carl Sandburg

Grass by Carl Sandburg ' Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work— I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. Shovel them under and let me work. Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor: What place is this? Where are we now? I am the grass. Let me work.'

Accordionist by George Szirtes

Accordionist, George Szirtes ' The accordionist is a blind intellectual carrying an enormous typewriter whose keys grow wings as the instrument expands into a tall horizontal hat that collapses with a tubercular wheeze. My century is a sad one of collapses. The concertina of the chest; the tubular bells of the high houses; the flattened ellipses of our skulls that open like petals. We are the poppies sprinkled along the field. We are simple crosses dotted with blood. Beware of the sentiments concealed in this short rhyme. Be wise. Be good.'

Inscription for a War by A. D. Hope

Inscription for a War, A.D. Hope ' Linger not, stranger; shed no tear; Go back to those who sent us here. We are the young they drafted out To wars their folly brought about'

Passing-Bells by Carol Ann Duffy

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...'

Armistice Day by Charles Causley

Armistice Day, Charles Causley 'I stood with three comrades in Parliament Square, November her grey freights of fire unloading, '

Heroes by Kathleen Raine

Heroes, Kathleen Raine ' This war's dead heroes, who has seen them? They rise, in smoke above the burning city, Faint clouds, dissolving into sky'

Futility by Wilfred Owen

Futility, Wilfrid Owen ' Move him into the sun- Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields half-sown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow'

You can see the rest of our poems from 2023 here