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PostPosted: Fri Sep 10, 2010 4:13 pm 
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Careful, Mike - it can be addictive! Well done for getting up there.
And I still laugh at the Owl and the Pussycat meeting!


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PostPosted: Tue Sep 14, 2010 10:35 pm 
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November night, Edinburgh

The night tinkles like ice in glasses.
Leaves are glued to the pavement with frost.
The brown air fumes at the shop windows,
Tries the doors, and sidles past.

I gulp down winter raw. The heady
Darkness swirls with tenements.
In a brown fuzz of cottonwool
Lamps fade up crags, die into pits.

Frost in my lungs is harsh as leaves
Scraped up on paths. – I look up, there,
A high roof sails, at the mast-head
Fluttering a grey and ragged star.

The world’s a bear shrugged in his den.
It’s snug and close in the snoring night.
And outside like chrysanthemums
The fog unfolds its bitter scent.

Norman MacCaig


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PostPosted: Wed Sep 15, 2010 9:17 am 
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Location: Sussex Coast
You're not selling a move north to me, Marion! :wink: I love the simile of the first line.

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PostPosted: Wed Sep 15, 2010 6:00 pm 
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I like

The brown air fumes at the shop windows,
Tries the doors, and sidles past.

and the grey ragged star at the mast head of the sailing roof.

You'll have to come north to see how real this poem is!


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PostPosted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 12:05 pm 
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Location: Sussex Coast
It does resonate somewhat with my impressions from reading Alasdair Gray's Lanark - if comparisons between Edinburgh and Glasgow don't offend too much! :wink:

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PostPosted: Thu Sep 16, 2010 5:50 pm 
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Don't tell anyone I said so, but they are both great cities!


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PostPosted: Thu Sep 23, 2010 11:10 pm 
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Another piece by performance poet Taylor Mali

Text
http://www.taylormali.com/index.cfm?webid=31

Performance

http://www.taylormali.com/index.cfm?webid=31


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PostPosted: Fri Sep 24, 2010 7:52 am 
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Love that guy.

http://www.taylormali.com/index.cfm?webid=9

A particualrly good one from an English teacher's point of view.


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PostPosted: Sat Sep 25, 2010 8:55 pm 
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Ah, yes - the curse of the rising terminal. I always blame 'Neighbours' for it!


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PostPosted: Fri Oct 01, 2010 9:28 pm 
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Grown-up

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?


Edna St Vincent Millay


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PostPosted: Sun Oct 03, 2010 12:28 pm 
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Days

What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

Philip Larkin


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PostPosted: Thu Oct 07, 2010 9:38 am 
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Location: Sussex Coast
Maud, where are you Maud?
With your long dresses and peachcream complexion;
In what cage did you hang that black bat night?
What took place in the garden? Maud, it is over,
You can tell us now.

Still lyrical but much used, you wander about the suburbs
Watching the buses go past full of young happy people,
Wondering where the garden is, wherever can it be,
And how can it be lost. Maud, it's no use.

Can it be that you got yourself lost
And are living with an out of work musician,
You share a furnished room and have an old wireless
That tells you the latest bad news.
What's happening Maud?

...

- from "Come in the City Maud" by Brian Patten

@National poetry day

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PostPosted: Thu Oct 07, 2010 3:58 pm 
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Location: Barnsley, England
For those who don't listen to it, Jeremy VIne on BBC Radio 2 is including National Poetry Week in his lunchtime show and a couple of poems are read out each day. Might be worth checking out on the web-site.

The master class and the text of the poems commissioned for the show (and read out, os only 4 to date) are here:http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/shows/jeremy-vine/poetry/

If you're in the UK, you can listen again to the shows on iPlayer and the latest shows are linked here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/shows/jeremy-vine/

The poetry is in the last half hour (ish) of the show.

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 08, 2010 5:12 pm 
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This looks good:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/tv-and-radio/ ... song-lunch

Emma Thopson
Alan Rickman
Christopher Reid

Can't go far wrong surely!

BBC2 tonight 9pm


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PostPosted: Thu Oct 14, 2010 11:40 pm 
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Easter, 1944


A cold one. My father, home
briefly on leave, took me a promised walk.
My sister came too, holding hard to my hand.


There was a wind thrashed bare branches, made wires howl,
the flat, grey sky held no hope of sun. He was
strange to us and we did not talk.


In Lane End spinney he pointed to an old
tin bath half-hidden among weeds. I didn't tell
him a tramp would sleep there, scaring little girls.


Trudging back, he spoke of walks we'd take
"When I am home for good." But
I swerved from him, would not see his face.


There are dreams now in which I am kept to a road
under a lowering sky and I can't tell
which way the children took or when they left.


Father, forgive my dry, incurious eyes.


John Lucas


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