I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At ten o'clock our neighbours drove me home.
In the porch I met my father crying -
Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,
Saying that now you are not as you were
When you had changed from the one who was all to me,
But as at first, when our day was fair.
We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod,
- They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
Carol Ann Duffy is a time traveller.
Duffy posseses a Wildean flair for the 'bon mot' for the vibrant, pithy phrase that ensnares the moment - here the 'glamorous hell' exhilarates as it makes all would be lovers enjoy their sense of be
If the 'naked name of love' speaks out of the raw acknowledgement that the 'you' has become the anchoring horizon of each day, then Duffy here articulates the emotional nettedness of attraction where
This would make an excellent transformation text! Imagine recreating this text as a letter from Mrs Lazarus to a problem page editor.
Reading through the opening to Carol Ann Duffy's recent laureate poem 'Last Post' I am aware of the difference between the 'breath' of Owen's poem 'Dulce et Decorum est 'and that of Duffy's new writi
I have been looking at this poem again and am struck by the importance of location in the poem.
Gillian Clarke's autumnal exploration of the bleak territory of death has a strongly Hardyesque aspect, with the overwhelming sense of grim inevitability and despair.
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