Poem
Peter Riley
Wirksworth
Wirksworth
Wirksworth
Now I put 500 books into cardboard boxesAnd the boxes into the back of the car hoping
Springs and axle will take the weight
Then walk out across the town, the fox’s
Lair gaily tarnisht today in winter light
The cubist garden, stone walls sloping
With and across. Walk to a purpose and wait
For that pause in the business and shopping
When a spark of world falls and locks
Itself behind the ear, a sky-connected fate
Capsule, small as a bee’s sting, groping
Down the spine in search of a heart, down the throat
In search of a voice to say you make an art
Of these days among people, your prime state.
© 1997, Peter Riley
From: Snow has settled [...] bury me here
Publisher: Shearsman Books, Plymouth
From: Snow has settled [...] bury me here
Publisher: Shearsman Books, Plymouth
Peter Riley
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1940)
Peter Riley must now count as one of our ‘senior poets’, with a large back-catalogue of publications, but he occupies a strange position in contemporary English letters, due in no small part to the sheer range of his work. In some respects, this range, and his interests, rule him out of contention for a number of critics, and it would be fair to say that he probably annoys as many critics from ...
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Wirksworth
Now I put 500 books into cardboard boxesAnd the boxes into the back of the car hoping
Springs and axle will take the weight
Then walk out across the town, the fox’s
Lair gaily tarnisht today in winter light
The cubist garden, stone walls sloping
With and across. Walk to a purpose and wait
For that pause in the business and shopping
When a spark of world falls and locks
Itself behind the ear, a sky-connected fate
Capsule, small as a bee’s sting, groping
Down the spine in search of a heart, down the throat
In search of a voice to say you make an art
Of these days among people, your prime state.
From: Snow has settled [...] bury me here
Wirksworth
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