Poems on the Underground Audiobook

A selection of 72 Poems on the Underground originally recorded on tape and published as a Cassell Audiobook in 1994 presented here alongside the poems in their poster form, as displayed on the tube.

The poems are read by Gerard Benson and Cicely Herbert, joined by nine more poets reading their own and other poems from the programme. there are poems here for every taste, every mood, from every age, in a delightful, varied and often surprising collection

Poems on the Underground Audiobook

London Poems on the Underground recordings

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 3,1808 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

Love Poems on the Underground

Her Anxiety , W.B. Yeats 'Earth in beauty dressed Awaits returning spring. All true love must die, Alter at the best Into some lesser thing. Prove that I lie. Such body lovers have, Such exacting breath, That they touch or sigh. Every touch they give, Love is nearer death. Prove that I lie.'

Her Anxiety by W.B. Yeats read by Cicely Herbert

Sonnet 29, William Shakespeare 'When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.'

Sonnet 29 by William Shakespeare read by James Berry

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, Edna St Vincent Millay ' What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain. Under my head till morning; but the rain. Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh.Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.'

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed by Edna St Vincent Millay read by Fleur Adcock

William Blake, The Sick Rose 'Oh Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm , Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.'

The Sick Rose by William Blake read by Adrian Mitchell

Western Wind, Anon, before 1500 ' Western wind when wilt thou blow the small rain down can rain Christ If my love were in my arms and I in my bed again'

Western wind when wilt thou blow, Anon read by Gerard Benson

from The Song of Solomon, The King James Bible (1611) ' My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my Love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over, and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. '

from The Song of Solomon The King James Bible read by Valerie Bloom

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by W. B. Yeats (1865 - 1939) Poems on the Underground 1993 'Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by W.B. Yeats read by Cicely Herbert

SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part by Michael Drayton (1563-1631) 'Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part Nay, I have done: you get no more of me, And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free, Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou mightst him yet recover. '

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part by Michael Drayton read by Adrian Mitchell

So We'll Go No More A-Roving by Lord Byron Poems on the Underground 1996 'So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And Love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.'

So We’ll Go No More A-Roving by Lord Byron read by Gavin Ewart

The Flaw in Paganism by Dorothy Parker ( 1893-1967) ' Drink and dance and laugh and lie, Love, the reeling midnight through, For tomorrow we shall die! (But, alas, we never do.)'

The Flaw in Paganism by Dorothy Parker read by Cicely Herbert

Come. and be my baby ,Maya Angelou 'The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that'll burn Some people wrap their lives around a cocktail glass And you sit wondering where you're going to turn. I got it. Come. And be my baby. Some prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrow But others say we've got a week or two The paper is full of every kind of blooming horror And you sit wondering what you're gonna do. I got it. Come. And be my baby.'

Come. And be my baby by Maya Angelou read by Valerie Bloom

People and Places

'The world is too much with us' by William Wordsworth (1770-1850) ' The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The Winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. ' Poems on the Underground The British Council. The British Library (Zweig Programme). Designed by Tom Davidson.

The world is too much with us by William Wordsworth read by Gerard Benson

I Am by john Clare ( 1793-1864) ' I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes, They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost, And yet I am- and live, with shadows tossed Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life nor joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems; And e'en the dearest , that I loved the best, Are strange—nay, rather stranger than the rest. I long for scenes where man has never trod, A place where woman never smiled or wept, There to abide with my creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling and untroubled where I lie; The grass below—above the vaulted sky.'

I Am by John Clare read by Cicely Herbert

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?'

A Dead Statesman by Rudyard Kipling read by Gerard Benson

Handbag , Ruth Fainlight ' My mother's old leather handbag, crowded with letters she carried all through the war. The smell of my mother's handbag: mints and lipstick and Coty powder. The look of those letters, softened and worn at the edges, opened, read, and refolded so often. Letters from my father. Odour of leather and powder, which ever since then has meant womanliness, and love, and anguish, and war.'

Handbag by Ruth Fainlight read by Ruth Fainlight

I am Becoming My Mother by Lorna Goodison Poems on the Underground Poster 2004 'I Am Becoming My Mother Yellow/brown woman fingers smelling always of onions My mother raises rare blooms and waters them with tea her birth waters sang like rivers my mother is now me My mother had a linen dress the colour of the sky and stored lace and damask tablecloths to pull shame out of her eye. I am becoming my mother brown/yellow woman fingers smelling always of onions.'

I am Becoming My Mother by Lorna Goodison read by Valerie Bloom

Aunt Jennifer’s Tigers, Adrienne Rich ' Aunt Jennifer's tigers prance across a screen, Bright topaz denizens of a world of green. They do not fear the men beneath the tree; They pace in sleek chivalric certainty. Aunt Jennifer's finger fluttering through her wool Find even the ivory needle hard to pull. The massive weight of Uncle's wedding band Sits heavily upon Aunt Jennifer's hand. When Aunt is dead, her terrified hands will lie Still ringed with ordeals she was mastered by. The tigers in the panel that she made Will go on prancing, proud and unafraid.'

Aunt Jennifer’s Tigers by Adrienne Rich read by Fleur Adcock

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?'

The Leader by Roger McGough read by Roger McGough

X J Kennedy, To Someone Who Insisted I Look Up Someone I rang them up while touring Timbuctoo, Those bosom chums to whom you're known as 'Who?'

To Someone Who Insisted I Look Up Someone by X.J. Kennedy read by Fleur Adcock

This Is Just To Say , William Carlos Williams Poems on the Underground Poster 1992 'I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold'

This is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams read by Christopher Logue

Spike Milligan, Teeth 'English Teeth, English Teeth! Shining in the sun a part of British heritage aye, each and every one.'

Teeth by Spike Milligan read by Gavin Ewart

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.

A song for England by Andrew Salkey read by Valerie Bloom

Lady 'Rogue' Singleton, Stevie Smith 'Come, wed me, Lady Singleton, And we will have a baby soon And we will live in Edmonton Where all the friendly people run.'

Lady ‘Rogue’ Singleton by Stevie Smith read by Adrian Mitchell

Milton Kessler, Thanks Forever ' Look at those empty ships floating north between south-running ice like big tulips in the Narrows under the Verrazano toward the city harbour.'

Thanks Forever by Milton Kessler read by Christopher Logue

Eavan Boland, The Emigrant Irish Poems on the Underground 1992 ' Like oil lamps we put them out the back, of our houses, of our minds. We had lights better than, newer than and then a time came, this time and now we need them. Their dread, makeshift example. They would have thrived on our necessities. What they survived we could not even live. By their lights now it is time to imagine how they stood there, what they stood with, that their possessions may become our power: Cardboard. Iron. Their hardships parcelled in them. Patience. Fortitude. Long-suffering in the bruise-coloured dusk of the New World. And all the old songs. And nothing to lose.' .''

The Emigrant Irish by Eavan Boland read by Fleur Adcock

Celia Celia and Goodbye, 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'

Goodbye by Adrian Mitchell read by Adrian Mitchell

The Boundary Commission by Paul Muldoon (b.1951) ' You remember that village where the border ran Down the middle of the street, With the butcher and baker in different states? Today he remarked how a shower of rain Had stopped so cleanly across Golightly's lane, It might have been a wall of glass That had toppled over. He stood there, for ages, To wonder which side, if any, he should be on. '

The Boundary Commission by Paul Muldoon read by Fleur Adcock

The Coming of Grendel from BEOWULF (10th century or earlier) translated by Gerard Benson 'Now from the marshlands under the mist-mountains Came Grendel prowling; branded with God`s ire. This murderous monster was minded to entrap Some hapless human in that high hall. On he came under the clouds, until clearly He could see the great golden feasting place, Glimmering wine-hall of men. Not his first Raid was this on the homeplace of Hrothgar. Never before though and never afterward Did he encounter hardier defenders of a hall.'

The Coming of Grendel from Beowulf read by Gerard Benson

Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh (b. 1950)' Sometimes things don't go after all, from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail, sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well. A people sometimes will step back from war; elect an honest man; decide they care enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor. Some men become what they were born for. Sometimes our best efforts do not go amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to. The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.' Reprinted by permission of Seren Books from Selected Poems (1990) © Sheenagh Pugh 1990 100 Poems on the Underground

Sometimes by Sheenah Pugh read by Wendy Cope

Benediction, James Berry 'Thanks to the ear that someone may hear Thanks to seeing that someone may see Thanks to feeling that someone may feel Thanks to touch that one may be touched Thanks to flowering of white moon and spreading shawl of black night holding villages and cities together'

Benediction by James Berry read by James Berry

Everything Changes

Everything Changes, after Brecht Alles wandelt sich ,Cicely Herbert ‘ Alles wandelt sich. Neu beginnen Kannst du mit dem letzten Atemzug. Aber was geschehen, ist geschehen. Und das Wasser Das du in den Wein gossest, kannst du Nicht mehr herausschütten. Was geschehen, ist geschehen. Das Wasser Das du in den Wein gossest, kannst du Nicht mehr herausschütten, aber Alles wandelt sich. Neu beginnen Kannst du mit dem letzten Atemzug. Everything changes. We plant trees for those born later but what’s happened has happened, and poisons poured into the seas cannot be drained out again. What’s happened has happened. Poisons poured into the seas cannot be drained out again’, but everything changes. We plant trees for those born later.'

Everything Changes by Cicely Herbert read by Cicely Herbert

The Trees ,Philip Larkin 1997 poems on the Underground poster 'The trees are coming into leaf Like something almost being said; The recent buds relax and spread, Their greenness is a kind of grief. Is it that they are born again And we grow old? No, they die too. Their yearly trick of looking new Is written down in rings of grain. Yet still the unresting castles thresh In fullgrown thickness every May. Last year is dead, they seem to say, Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.'

The Trees by Philip Larkin read by Wendy Cope

Living, Denise Levertov ' The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer. The wind blowing, the leaves shivering in the sun, each day the last day.'

Living by Denise Levertov read by Ruth Fainlight

Rainforest, Judith Wright 'The forest drips and glows with green. The tree-frog croaks his far off song. His voice is stillness, moss and rain drunk from the forest ages long.'

Rainforest by Judith Wright read by Roger McGough

Dog Days, Derek Mahon 'When you stop to consider The days spent dreaming of a future And say then, that was my life.' For the days are long - From the first milk van To the last shout in the night, An eternity. But the weeks go by Like birds; and the years, the years Fly past anti-clockwise Like clock hands in a bar mirror.'

Dog Days by Derek Mahon read by Gerard Benson

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley 'I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings: Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.'

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley read by Gavin Ewart

Holy Sonnet, John Donne 'Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor death, nor canst thou kill me'

Holy Sonnet by John Donne read by Adrian Mitchell

from A Shropshire Lad by A.E. Housman 'Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again.'

‘Into my Heart an Air that Kills’ by A.E. Housman read by Cicely Herbert

Ariel's Song (from The Tempest), William Shakespeare ( 1564-1616) Illustration by Arthur Rackham Poems on the Underground Poster 1993 Poster 'Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made: Those are pearls that were his eyes, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich, and strange: Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell- Hark! now I hear them, Ding-dong, bell.'

Ariel’s Song by William Shakespeare read by Christopher Logue

Where Go The Boats? by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-94) ' Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating -Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill. Away down the river, A hundred miles or more, Other little children Shall bring my boats ashore .' Illustrations by A.H. Watson from A Child's Garden of Verses Collins 1946 Poems on the Underground The British Council. The British Library (Zweig Programme). designed by Tom Davidson

Where Go the Boats? by Robert Louis Stevenson read by Cicely Herbert

Birds and Beasts, Stars and Planets

Up in the Morning Early by Robert Burns 1759-1796 ' Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, I'm sure it's winter fairly. Up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early; When a' the hills are wi' snaw, I'm sure it's winter fairly. The birds sit chittering in the thorn, A' day they fare but sparely; And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, I'm sure it's winter fairly. Up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early; When a' the hills are wi' snaw, I'm sure it's winter fairly. '

Up in the Morning Early by Robert Burns read by Gerard Benson

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.'

Sun a-Shine, rain a-fall by Valerie Bloom read by Valerie Bloom

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''

A 14-year old Convalescent Cat in the Winter by Gavin Ewart read by Gavin Ewart

Old English Riddle, Anon, Tr. Gerard Benson 'A moth, I thought, munching a word. How marvellously weird! a worm Digesting a man's sayings - A sneakthief nibbling in the shadows At the shape of a poet`s thunderous phrases - How unutterably strange! And the pilfering parasite none the wiser For the words he has swallowed.'

Old English Riddle from The Exeter book read by Gerard Benson

The Tyger, William Blake 'Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes! On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?'

The Tyger by William Blake read by James Berry

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.’

The Twa Corbies Anon read by Gerard Benson

The Silver Swan, Anon ( c. 1600) Poems on the Underground 1992 'The silver swan, who living had no note, When death approached unlocked her silent throat, Leaning her breast against the reedy shore, Thus sung her first and last ,and sung no more: Farewell all joys, O death come close mine eyes, More goose than swans now live, more fools than wise'

The Silver Swan Anon read by Christopher Logue

I have a gentil cock (anon), Poems on the Underground 1,000 years of poetry in English 'I have a gentil cock croweth me day he doth me risen early my matins for to say I have a gentil cock comen he is of great his comb is of red coral his tail is of jet'I have a gentil cock comen he is of kind his comb is of red sorrel his tail is of inde his legs be of azure so gentil and so small his spurs are of silver white into the wortewale his eyes are of crystal locked all in amber and every night he percheth him in my lady`s chamber'

I have a gentil cock Anon read by Gerard Benson

The Lobster Quadrille, Lewis Carroll ' 'Will you walk a little faster?' said a whiting to a snail, 'There's a porpoise close behind us, And he's treading on my tail. See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance! They are waiting on the shingle - will you come and join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance? 'You can really have notion how delightful it will be When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!' But the snail replied, 'Too far, too far!' and gave a look askance- Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance. 'What matters it how far we go?' his scaly friend replied. 'There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. The further off from England the nearer is to France - Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance. Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?'

The Lobster Quadrille by Lewis Carroll read by Gavin Ewart

Stars & Planets by Norman MacCaig read by Roger McGough

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.'

Full Moon & Little Frieda by Ted Hughes read by Adrian Mitchell

Delay, Elizabeth Jennings, 1988 Poems on the Underground poster ‘The radiance of the star that leans on me Was shining years ago. The light that now Glitters up there my eyes may never see, And so the time lag teases me with how Love that loves now may not reach me until Its first desire is spent. The star's impulse Must wait for eyes to claim it beautiful And love arrived may find us somewhere else.'

Delay by Elizabeth Jennings read by Roger McGough

Snow, Edward Thomas ' In the gloom of whiteness, In the great silence of snow, A child was sighing and bitterly saying: Oh, They have killed a white bird up there on her nest,'

Snow by Edward Thomas read by Gavin Ewart

The Loch Ness Monster's Song, Edwin Morgan 'Sssnnnwhuffffll? Hnwhuffl hhnnwfl hnflhfl? Gdroblboblhobngbl gbl gl g g g g glbgl'

The Loch Ness Monster’s Song by Edwin Morgan read by Gerard Benson

The Poet Speaks

Lines from Endymion, John Keats A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Lines from Endymion by John Keats read by Cicely Herbert

And Yet The Books, Czeslaw Milosz ' And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings, That appeared once, still wet As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn, And, touched, coddled, began to live In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up, Tribes on the march, planets in motion. “We are, ” they said, even as their pages Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame Licked away their letters. So much more durable Than we are, whose frail warmth Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes. I imagine the earth when I am no more: Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant, Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley. Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born, Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.'

And Yet the Books by Czeslaw Milosz red by Gerard Benson

Wet Evening in April by Patrick Kavanagh 'The birds sang in the wet trees And I listened to them it was a hundred years from now And I was dead and someone else was listening to them. But I was glad I had recorded for him The melancholy.'

Wet Evening in April by Patrick Kavanagh

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.'

Everyone Sang by Siegfried Sassoon read by Adrian Mitchell

You took away all the oceans and all the room, Osip Mandelstam ' You took away all the oceans and all the room. You gave me my shoe-size in earth with bars around it.'

You took away all the oceans and all the room by Osip Mandelstam read by Ruth Fainlight

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. '

1915 I know the truth – give up all other truths! by Marina Tsvetayeva read by Cicely Herbert

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer , John Keats 1989 Poster Poems on the Underground ' Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific - and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise - Silent, upon a peak in Darien.'

On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer by John Keats read by Gerard Benson

The Uncertainty of the Poet, Wendy Cope 'I am a poet. I am very fond of bananas. I am bananas. I am very fond of a poet. I am a poet of bananas. I am very fond. A fond poet of 'I am, I am'- Very bananas. Fond of 'Am I bananas? Am I?'-a very poet. Bananas of a poet! Am I fond? Am I very? Poet bananas! I am. I am fond of a 'very.' I am of very fond bananas. Am I a poet?'

The Uncertainty of the Poet by Wendy Cope read by Wendy Cope

ONE ART by Elizabeth Bishop (1911-79) 'The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. - Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. '

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop read by Ruth Fainlight

If I could tell you by W. H. Auden (1907 - 73) ' Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know. If we should weep when clowns put on their show, If we should stumble when musicians play, Time will say nothing but I told you so. There are no fortunes to be told, although, Because I love you more than I can say, If I could tell you I would let you know. The winds must come from somewhere when they blow, There must be reasons why the leaves decay; Time will say nothing but I told you so. Perhaps the roses really want to grow, The vision seriously intends to stay; If I could tell you I would let you know. Suppose the lions all get up and , And all the brooks and soldiers run away; Will Time say nothing but I told you so? If I could tell you I would let you know. '

If I Could Tell You by W.H. Auden read by Cicely Herbert