“For a year I have observed a family of mute swans. I haven’t see them every day, or even every week, but I have watched them at regular intervals throughout one year of their lives on the river Ely, in Cardiff.”
by Gillian Clarke
“It seems to have begun with Bendigeidfran, his rhythmic syllables, the imprint of his huge foot on the shore...”
by Gillian Clarke
Eight poems for a desert island! Impossible.
by Gillian Clarke
“War. Radios. The sea. A fox. Stone animals on a castle wall. I can’t say what came first...”
by Gillian Clarke
Banc Sion Cwilt
by Gillian Clarke
The Reading and Writing Life of a Family
by Gillian Clarke
“Kites falling on flesh. Out of a blue sky, one by one, coming in from all points over the mountains...”
by Gillian Clarke
“October, and in between marigold days, autumn has been taking itself apart. Every dawn there is more sky, and fewer leaves....”
by Gillian Clarke
“I’ve been reading about stone. I’m amazed all over again to be reminded that, apart from water, it is wind that wears stone away.”
by Gillian Clarke
“Snow in April. Blossom on the blackthorn - first petals on leafless hedges. A fizz of curdled frogspawn in the pond; lambs; wool caught on old brambles.”
by Gillian Clarke
