Poems of the Week from 2022

Poem of the Week: December 31st

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.'

Poem of the Week: December 24th

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''

Poem of the Week: December 17th

Paisley by Jo Clement ' With India’s hand on the loom I untwist a paisley square from round my neck: red, green and gold threads repeat almonds some call figs, figs the Welsh call pears and pears you might call teardrops. Shook onto the grass, I smooth out Kashmir -- so close to silk – over the fault line made of my body: feet in England, head in Scotland, a heart elsewhere.' Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from Outlandish (2022)

Poem of the Week: December 10th

Crow by Cyril Wong ' How does one begin to drink the sky? By tasting its tears, of course, the crow realised. Yet why does it remain so full – a pitcher of blue without end?' Reprinted by permission of Math Paper Press from Animal Season (2020)

Poem of the Week: December 3rd

Vesper for my mother by Kerry Shawn Keys ' Next to the grapes to the side of the house, the mother with the disappearing bones showed me the flowers opening at dusk, perfuming the silence. See, they unfold the dark to make music with the moths. She stepped inside. Far off, the yellowing moon crocheted its starry nightgown into her shadow.' Reprinted by permission of the author Kerry Shawn Keys ( 2020)

Poem of the Week: November 26th

Ode to the West Wind by P. B. Shelley 'O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes; O Thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill: Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear! '

Poem of the Week: November 19th

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?'

Poem of the Week: November 12th

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)

Poem of the Week: November 5th

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'

Poem of the Week October 29th

Dew, Kwame Dawes ' This morning I took the dew from the broad leaf of the breadfruit tree, and washed the sleep from my eyes.

Poem of the Week: October 22nd

I am Becoming My Mother, Lorna Goodison ' Yellow/brown woman fingers smelling always of onions My mother raises rare blooms and waters them with tea'

Poem of the Week: October 15th

Sun a-shine, rain a-fall, Valerie Bloom 'Sun a-shine, rain a-fall, The Devil an' him wife cyan 'gree at all, The two o'them want one fish-head, The Devil call him wife bonehead, She hiss her teeth, call him cock-eye, Greedy, worthless an 'workshy, While them busy callin' name, The puss walk in, sey is a shame To see a nice fish go to was'e, Lef' with a big grin pon him face.'

Poem of the Week: October 8th

Benediction, James Berry 'Thanks to the ear that someone may hear Thanks to seeing that someone may see'

Poem of the Week: October 1st

I Sing of Change Niyi Osundare I sing of the beauty of Athens without its slaves Of a world free of kings and queens and other remnants of an arbitrary past

Poem of the Week: September 24th

African Poems on the Underground: Season, Wole Soyinka. Rust is ripeness, rust And the wilted corn- plume

Poem of the Week: September 17th

For the Life of This Planet, Grace Nichols ‘ The way the red sun surrenders its wholeness to curving ocean bit by bit. The way curving ocean gives birth to the birth of stars in the growing darkness, wearing everything in its path to cosmic smoothness’

Poem of the Week: September 10th

Wedding by Alice Oswald 'From time to time our love is like a sail and when the sail begins to alternate from tack to tack, it’s like a swallowtail and when the swallow flies it’s like a coat; and if the coat is yours, it has a tear like a wide mouth and when the mouth begins to draw the wind, it’s like a trumpeter and when the trumpet blows, it blows like millions… and this, my love, when millions come and go beyond the need of us, is like a trick; and when the trick begins, it’s like a toe tip-toeing on a rope, which is like luck; and when the luck begins, it’s like a wedding, which is like love, which is like everything.'

Poem of the Week: September 3rd

Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802 ,William Wordsworth 2009 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!'

Poem of the Week: August 27th

'No Man is an Island' by John Donne from meditation 17, Devotions upon Emergent Occasions 'No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.'

Poem of the Week: August 20th

Ditches by Jessica Traynor ' So many songs I could sing you, spread fields of lavender for you to crush in your fists. But there are things more potent than the peaches and plums in your story books, there are shadows in the ditch that know your name. Sit with me – I’ll teach you theirs.' Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from Pit Lullabies (2022)

Poem of the Week August 13th

Under the Greenwood Tree by William Shakespeare (from As You Like It) 'Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' th' sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.' Poems on the Underground 1996 Poster

Poem of the Week August 6th

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)

Poem of the Week July 30th

Viv, Faustin Charles Like the sun rising and setting Like the thunderous roar of a bull rhino Like the sleek, quick grace of a gazelle,

Poem of the Week: July 23rd

Dei Miracole by Lemn Sissay ' The spirit of structure can’t be foreseen, For somewhere between The architecture and the dream More than the sum of its parts Somehow, somewhere, the heart.' Copyright Listener by Lemn Sissay, 2008. First published in Great Britain by Canongate Books Ltd.

Poem of the week: July 16th

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas ' Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'

Poem of the Week: July 9th

Carole Satyamurti , Ourstory ' Let us now praise women with feet glass slippers wouldn't fit; not the patient, nor even the embittered ones who kept their place'

Poem of the Week: July 2nd

To Emilia V - by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) 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... Manuscript reproduced by permission of the Bodleian Library University of Oxford, MS. Shelley Adds. e.8, p.154 Poems on the Underground

Poem of the Week: June 25th

World Poems on the Underground: Birch Canoe, Carter Revard. Red men embraced my body's whiteness, cutting into me carved it free,

Poem of the Week: June 18th

Saturday Morning by Hugo Williams (b.1942) 'Everyone who made love the night before was walking around with flashing red lights on top of their heads - a white-haired old gentleman, a red-faced schoolboy, a pregnant woman who smiled at me from across the street and gave a little secret shrug, as if the flashing red light on her head was a small price to pay for what she knew. ' Reprinted by permission of Faber from Dock Leaves (1994) Poems on the Underground The British Library (Zweig Programme) London Arts Board. Design Tom Davidson.

Poem of the Week: June 11th

Indian Cooking, Moniza Alvi ' The bottom of the pan was a palette - paprika, cayenne, dhania haldi, heaped like powder - paints. Melted ghee made lakes, golden rivers. The keema frying, my mother waited for the fat to bubble to the surface. Friends brought silver - leaf .I dropped it on khir - special rice pudding for parties. I tasted the landscape, customs of my father's country - its fever on biting a chilli.'

Poem of the Week : June 4th

A Picture for Tiantian's fifth birthday by Bei Dao (b. 1949)Translated by Bonnie S. McDougall and Chen Maiping 'A Picture for Tiantian's fifth birthday Morning arrives in a sleeveless dress apples tumble all over the earth my daughter is drawing a picture how vast is a five-year-old sky your name has two windows one opens towards a sun with no clock-hands the other opens towards your father who has become a hedgehog in exile taking with him a few unintelligible characters and a bright red apple he has left your painting how vast is a five-year-old sky' Tiantian, the nickname given to the poet's daughter, is written with two characters which look like a pair of windows. Written in exile after Tienanmen Square Reprinted from Old Snow (Anvil, 1992)

Poem of the Week: May 28th

Spacetime by Miroslav Holub (b. 1923) Translated by David Young and Dana Habova 'When I grow up and you get small,/ then - (In Kaluza's theory the fifth dimension is represented as a circle associated with every point in spacetime) - then when I die, I'll never be alive again? Never. Never never? Never never. Yes, but never never never? No... not never never never, just never never. So we made a small family contribution to the quantum problem of eleven-dimensional supergravity.'

Poem of the Week: May 21st

IDYLL by U.A. Fanthorpe (b. 1929) ' Not knowing even that we're on the way, Until suddenly we're there. How shall we know? There will be blackbirds, in a late March evening Blur of woodsmoke, whisky in grand glasses, A poem of yours, waiting to be read; and one of mine; A reflective bitch, a cat materialised On a knee. All fears of present and future Will be over, all guilts forgiven. Maybe, heaven. Or maybe We can get so far in this world. I'll believe we can. '

Poem of the Week : May 14th

Coltsfoot and Larches by David Constantine (b. 1944) ' I love coltsfoot that they Make their appearance into life among dead grass: Larches, that they Die colourfully among sombre immortals.' Poems on the Underground Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe from Collected Poems (2004) © David Constantine

Poem of the Week: May 7th

The Sunflower by Eugenio Montale (1889-1981) English version by Jeremy Reed ' Portami il girasole ch'io lo trapianti nel mio terreno bruciato dal salino, e mostri tutto il giorno agli azzurri specchianti del cielo l'ansieta del suo volto giallino. Tendono alla chiarita le cose oscure, si esauriscono i corpi in un fluire di tinte: queste in musiche. Svanire e dunque la ventura delle venture. Portami tu la pianta che conduce dove sorgono bionde trasparenze e vapora la vita quale essenza; portami il girasole impazzito di luce. Bring me the sunflower and I'll transplant it in my garden's burnt salinity. All day its heliocentric gold face will turn towards the blue of sky and sea. Things out of darkness incline to the light, colours flow into music and ascend, and in that act consume themselves, to burn is both a revelation and an end. Bring me that flower whose one aspiration is to salute the blond shimmering height where all matter's transformed into essence, its radial clockface feeding on the light.' Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe from the Coastguard's House by Eugenio Montale, English versions by Jeremy Reed (1990). Italian text by permission of Arnoldo Mondadori Editore.

Poem of the Week: April 30th

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.'

Poem of the Week: April 23rd

Miracle by Yannis Ritsos Translated by Rae Dalven 'A man, before going to bed, put his watch under his pillow. Then he went to sleep. Outside the wind was blowing. You who know the miraculous continuity of little motions, understand. A man, his watch, the wind. Nothing else.'

Poem of the Week: April 16th

Full Moon & Little Frieda by Ted Hughes 'A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket - And you listening. A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch. A pail lifted, still and brimming - mirror To tempt a first star to a tremor. Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm wreaths of breath - A dark river of blood, many boulders, Balancing unspilled milk. 'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!' The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work That points at him amazed.'

Poem of the Week: April 9th

Poem of the Week: April 2nd

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?'

Poem of the Week: March 26th

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. '

Poem of the Week: March 19th

POETRY LA POESIA by Pablo Neruda (1904-73) translated by Alastair Reid ' La Poesía Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde salió, de invierno o río.... And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when, no, they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence, but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there I was without a face and it touched me.'

Poem of the Week: March 12th

A song for England, Andrew Salkey. Poems on the Underground poster 1991 'An' a so de rain a-fall An' a so de snow a-rain An' a so de fog a-fall An' a so de sun a-fail An' a so de seasons mix An' a so de bag-o'-tricks But a so me understan' De misery o' de Englishman.

Poem of the Week: March 5th

My children by Choman Hardi I can hear them talking, my children fluent English and broken Kurdish. And whenever I disagree with them they will comfort each other by saying: Don't worry about mum, she's Kurdish. Will I be the foreigner in my own home? '

Poem of the Week: February 26th

Upwards (for Ty Chijioke) after Christopher Gilbert by Raymond Antrobus ' The last place the sun reaches in my garden is the back wall where the ivy grows above the stinging nettles. What are they singing to us? Is it painless to listen? Will music soothe our anxious house? Speech falls on things like rain sun shades all the feelings of having a heart. Here, take my pulse, take my breath, take my arms as I drift off ' Reprinted by permission of Picador from All the Names Given (2021)

Poem of the Week: February 19th

from Ode to the West Wind by Percy Bysshe Shelley 'Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened Earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?'

Poem of the Week: February 12th

On a General Election by Hilaire Belloc 'The accursed power which stands on Privilege (And goes with Women, and Champagne and Bridge) Broke — and Democracy resumed her reign: (Which goes with Bridge, and Women and Champagne).'

Poem of the Week: February 5th

New Year 1933 by Lu Xun (1881 - 1936) Translated by W.J.F. Jenner, Calligraphy by Qu Lei Lei 'The general sits safe on his cloud - wrapped peak While thunderbolts slaughter the humble in their hovels. Far better to live in the International Settlement ,Where the clacking of mahjong heralds the spring .' Chinese Poems on the Underground

Poem of the Week: January 29th

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.'

Poem of the Week: January 22nd

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.’

Poem of the Week: January 15th

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.'

Poem of the Week: January 8th

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''

Poem of the Week: January 1st

Promise by Jackie Kay: Remember, the time of year when the future appears like a blank sheet of paper a clean calendar, a new chance. On thick white snow you vow fresh footprints then watch them go with the wind’s hearty gust. Fill your glass. Here’s tae us. Promises made to be broken, made to last.'