With Our Great Pleasure

Thanks to Mr P for sending me back to Hardy.  Here are three of my favourites. As far as the first is concerned, walking in Bradford city centre when I was in my early twenties, I experienced the shock as I glanced into a shop window and recognised my Dad's face walking along with me.  That was not such a welcome recognition as when once much later, after his death, he walked alongside me in a dream and his loving presence was extremely welcome and needed. If you have not heard of read 'The Ruined Maid' you might not know just how funny Hardy can be. HEREDITY I am the family face;  Flesh perishes, I live on,  Projecting trait and trace  Through time to times anon,  And leaping from place to place  Over oblivion.  The years-heired feature that can  In curve and voice and eye  Despise the human span  Of durance -- that is I;  The eternal thing in man,  That heeds no call to die  I AM THE ONE I am the one whom ringdoves see           Through chi

Thank you Jill for sending another Sheenagh Pugh poem. Much appreciated! TWO MILES BELOW Two miles below the light, bacteria live without sun, thrive on sulphur in a cave of radioactive rock, and, blind in the night of the ocean floor, molluscs that feed only on wood wait for wrecks. White tubeworms heap in snowdrifts around hydrothermal vents, at home in scalding heat. Lichens encroach on Antarctic valleys where no rain ever fell. There is nowhere life cannot take hold, nowhere so salt, so cold, so acid, but some chancer will be there, flourishing on bare stone, getting by, gleaning a sparse living from marine snow, scavenging light from translucent quartz, as if lack and hardship could do nothing but quicken it, this urge to cling on in the cracks of the world, or as if this world itself, so various, so not to be spared as it is, were the impetus never to leave it. Sheenagh Pugh From Short Days, Long Shadows (Seren, £9.99) Sheenagh Pugh

Last week's edition of  'Poetry Please'  collected together poems about children read out during 'Children in Need' day on Radio Four.  There were smashing readings from Ian McKellan ('Timothy Winters' by Charles Causley), Seamus Heaney, Sylvia Plath, Philip Pullman and many others including several children. I think they should also have included  'Poem for Connie' by Chloe Evans . Best of all of the readings I loved Maxine Peake's reading of 'This Be the Worst', the balancing pastiche to Philip Larkin's notorious 'This Be the Verse' - a reminder of what all parents would want to do if sometimes they fall short. This Be the Worst They tuck you up, your mum and dad, They read you Peter Rabbit, too. They give you all the treats they had And add some extra, just for you. They were tucked up when they were small, (Pink perfume, blue tobacco-smoke), By those whose kiss healed any fall, Whose laughter doubled any j

The practice of medicine is difficult, sometimes overwhelmingly so.  When medical students or young doctors came to the end of their time with me I would give them a photocopy of this poem to remind them that they will never be left alone in their labours, confusion and  feelings of helplessness. There are always allies, often in the shadows, but powerful and benevolent.  All they demand is to be recognised and invited in. I swear by the music I swear by the music of the expanding universe and by the eloquence of the good in all of us that I will excite the sick and the well by the severity of my kindness to a wholeness of purpose. I shall apply my knowledge, curiosity, ignorance and ability to listen. I shall co-operate with wondering practitioners in the arts and sciences, with all those who care for people's bodies and souls, so that the whole person in relationship shall be kept in view, their aspirations and their unease. The secrets of the universal min

I wish I had been able to see this poem in full colour, but I still think it works in black and white?         FIREWORK POEMS (commissioned by the Salisbury Festival to be displayed in fireworks)        I         FASTER AND FASTER,        THEY VANISH INTO DARKNESS        OUR YEARS TOGETHER        II        WRITE IT IN FIRE ACROSS THE NIGHT        SOME MEN ARE MORE OR LESS ALL RIGHT And as a little extra... Being Boring 'May you live in interesting times.' Chinese curse If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say Except that the garden is growing. I had a slight cold but it's better today. I'm content with the way things are going. Yes, he is the same as he usually is, Still eating and sleeping and snoring. I get on with my work. He gets on with his. I know this is all very boring. There was drama enough in my turbulent past: Tears and passion - I've used up a tankful. No news is good news, a

I am not entirely sure that it is Wendy's poem but definitely in her style, voice and subjects. Corrections please if I am wrong... AS WELL AS THE BIBLE AND SHAKESPEARE...? You are what                          I would choose                                                                                          for companion in the desert.                                                You would know the way out,                                                Think providently about water.                                                in the solicitor's office.                                                you would have generous answers                                                to disagreeable contingencies.                                                on the motorway.                                                In your presence                                                I shouldn't notice tailbacks.