THE LAST DAY OF ANOTHER HOME HOLIDAY

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1. WELCOME HOME ‘Leeds welcomes you’ in flowers Garlanding the white stuccoed tower Of City Station: red on green As poetry’s demon seizes me, Upending all ordures of order. ‘Haworth Moor, Haworth Moor’ Echoes and re-echoes under the Dark Arches Where the Aire gurgles and swirls In eddies of Jack the Ripper, cloud-hopping Jumping Jack Flash but Jack’s […]...
2. A Statesman's Holiday I lived among great houses, Riches drove out rank, Base drove out the better blood, And mind and body shrank. No Oscar ruled the table, But I’d a troop of friends That knowing better talk had gone Talked of odds and ends. Some knew what ailed the world But never said a thing, So I […]...
3. Summer Holiday When the sun shouts and people abound One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of bronze And the iron age; iron the unstable metal; Steel made of iron, unstable as his mother; the tow- ered-up cities Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster. Roots will not pierce the heaps […]...
4. I never saw a Moor I never saw a Moor I never saw the Sea Yet know I how the Heather looks And what a Billow be. I never spoke with God Nor visited in Heaven Yet certain am I of the spot As if the Checks were given...
5. 158. Song-The Bonie Moor-hen THE HEATHER was blooming, the meadows were mawn, Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn, O’er moors and o’er mosses and mony a glen, At length they discover’d a bonie moor-hen. Chorus.-I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men, I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men; Take some on the […]...
6. PULLED FROM A LIFE SOME LEAVES Pulled from a life some leaves in evergreen Or dressed like fragrant crinoline draped Over shadows by di Chirico, stolen From a station where trains never run And set up in a tableau in the parsonage at Haworth The three sisters with Chekovian overtones Stood round the table where their mirrored forms Await the blast […]...
7. Letter Home New Orleans, November 1910 Four weeks have passed since I left, and still I must write to you of no work. I’ve worn down The soles and walked through the tightness Of my new shoes calling upon the merchants, Their offices bustling. All the while I kept thinking My plain English and good writing would […]...
8. At Home When I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much-frequented house: I passed the door, and saw my friends Feasting beneath green orange boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; They sang, they jested, and they laughed, For each was loved of each. I […]...
9. A Holiday The Wife The house is like a garden, The children are the flowers, The gardener should come methinks And walk among his bowers, Oh! lock the door on worry And shut your cares away, Not time of year, but love and cheer, Will make a holiday. The Husband Impossible! You women do not know The […]...
10. Welcome Home Unaware of my crime They stood me in the dock. I was sentenced to life…. Without her. Strange trial. No judge. No jury. I wonder who my visitors will be....
11. My Holiday I love the cheery bustle Of children round the house, The tidy maids a-hustle, The chatter of my spouse; The laughter and the singing, The joy on every face: With frequent laughter ringing, O, Home’s a happy place! Aye, Home’s a bit of heaven; I love it every day; My line-up of eleven Combine to […]...
12. THE OLD STRAIGHT TRACK Runs to no compass point But starts within the human heart Where travellers in twos may go As for a while it winds beside A man-made road then veers aside We met at a cross-roads once and journeyed Together for a while across a moor And then on horseback sadly you waved adieu....
13. The Old Stone Cross A statesman is an easy man, He tells his lies by rote; A journalist makes up his lies And takes you by the throat; So stay at home’ and drink your beer And let the neighbours’ vote, Said the man in the golden breastplate Under the old stone Cross. Because this age and the next […]...
14. Alpine Holiday He took the grade in second – quite a climb, Dizzy and dangerous, yet how sublime! The road went up and up; it curved around The mountain and the gorge grew more profound. He drove serenely, with no hint of haste; And then she felt his arm go round her waist. She shrank: she did […]...
15. The Peacock What’s riches to him That has made a great peacock With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey, And desolate Three Rock Would nourish his whim. Live he or die Amid wet rocks and heather, His ghost will be gay Adding feather to feather For the pride of his eye....
16. Home From Abroad Far-fetched with tales of other worlds and ways, My skin well-oiled with wines of the Levant, I set my face into a filial smile To greet the pale, domestic kiss of Kent. But shall I never learn? That gawky girl, Recalled so primly in my foreign thoughts, Becomes again the green-haired queen of love Whose […]...
17. A Home Song I read within a poet’s book A word that starred the page: “Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage!” Yes, that is true; and something more You’ll find, where’er you roam, That marble floors and gilded walls Can never make a home. But every house where Love abides, And Friendship […]...
18. Exmoor Lost aboard the roll of Kodac- Olor that was to have super- Seded all need to remember Somerset were: a large flock Of winter-bedcover-thick- Pelted sheep up on the moor; A stile, a church spire, And an excess, at Porlock, Of tenderly barbarous antique Thatch in tandem with flower- Beds, relentlessly pictur- Esque, along every […]...
19. I Don't Feel At Home Where I Am I don’t feel at home where I am, Or where I spend time; only where, Beyond counting, there’s freedom and calm, That is, waves, that is, space where, when there, You consist of pure freedom, which, seen, Turns that Gorgon, the crowd, to stone, To pebbles and sand. . . where life’s mean- Ing lies […]...
20. Memorabilia I Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you? And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems, and new? II But you were living before that, And you are living after, And the memory I started at – My starting moves your laughter. III I […]...
21. To Friends At Home TO friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost The gracious old, the lovely young, to May The fair, December the beloved, These from my blue horizon and green isles, These from this pinnacle of distances I, The unforgetful, dedicate....
22. A little while, a little while A little while, a little while, The weary task is put away, And I can sing and I can smile, Alike, while I have holiday. Why wilt thou go, my harassed heart, What thought, what scene invites thee now? What spot, or near or far, Has rest for thee, my weary brow? There is a […]...
23. The rest home professor piebald (the oldest man in the home) was meek At the same time ribald He clothed his matter (so to speak) In latin and (was it) greek It caused no great offence To nobody did it make sense To make a rude joke In languages nobody spoke Once he’d changed the word agenda At […]...
24. Longings for Home O MAGNET-SOUTH! O glistening, perfumed South! My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me! O dear to me my birth-things-All moving things, and the trees where I was born-the grains, plants, rivers; Dear to me my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow, distant, over […]...
25. The Hock-cart, or Harvest Home To the Right Honourable Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland Come, sons of summer, by whose toil We are the lords of wine and oil; By whose tough labours, and rough hands, We rip up first, then reap our lands. Crown’d with the ears of corn, now come, And to the pipe sing Harvest Home. Come forth, […]...
26. REQUIESCAM (May I lie in peace) Let there be grass and trees to blow And fold me in their shadow Branches to shake and leaves Turn brown, fall and lie fallow. Let there be moorlands swept by wind And raked by rain, purple splashes of heather In autumn and sturdy boulders our forefathers Carved their names […]...
27. APOLOGIES FOR ABSENCE Sorry, Neil Oram (with an orange in my pocket) I can’t make, your loch-side commune by bonny Drummadrochit. Sorry Brenda Williams, I can’t share your park bench protest near the Royal Free At sixty I need a fire and slippers, -4 outside just isn’t me. Sorry, Chris Torrance, I can’t make your Welsh eyrie Just […]...
28. A Letter Home (To Robert Graves) I Here I’m sitting in the gloom Of my quiet attic room. France goes rolling all around, Fledged with forest May has crowned. And I puff my pipe, calm-hearted, Thinking how the fighting started, Wondering when we’ll ever end it, Back to hell with Kaiser sent it, Gag the noise, pack up […]...
29. Home I came back late and tired last night Into my little room, To the long chair and the firelight And comfortable gloom. But as I entered softly in I saw a woman there, The line of neck and cheek and chin, The darkness of her hair, The form of one I did not know Sitting […]...
30. Sestina I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow, To the short day and to the whitening hills, When the colour is all lost from the grass, Though my desire will not lose its green, So rooted is it in this hardest stone, That speaks and feels as though it were a woman. And […]...
31. Home Thoughts THE SEA rocks have a green moss. The pine rocks have red berries. I have memories of you. Speak to me of how you miss me. Tell me the hours go long and slow. Speak to me of the drag on your heart, The iron drag of the long days. I know hours empty as […]...
32. Loitering with a Vacant Eye Loitering with a vacant eye Along the Grecian gallery, And brooding on my heavy ill, I met a statue standing still. Still in marble stone stood he, And stedfastly he looked at me. “Well met,” I thought the look would say, “We both were fashioned far away; We neither knew, when we were young, These […]...
33. The Widow's Home Close on the margin of a brawling brook That bathes the low dell’s bosom, stands a Cot; O’ershadow’d by broad Alders. At its door A rude seat, with an ozier canopy Invites the weary traveller to rest. ‘Tis a poor humble dwelling; yet within, The sweets of joy domestic, oft have made The long hour […]...
34. The Bonnie Sidlaw Hills Bonnie Clara, will you go to the bonnie Sidlaw hills And pu’ the blooming heather, and drink from their rills? There the cranberries among the heather grow, Believe me, dear Clara, as black as the crow. Chorus Then, bonnie Clara, will you go And wander with me to and fro? And with joy our hearts […]...
35. Easter, 1916 I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the head Or polite meaningless words, Or have lingered awhile and said Polite meaningless words, And thought before I had done Of a mocking tale or a gibe […]...
36. A Stone Is Nobody's A man ambushed a stone. Caught it. Made it a prisoner. Put it in a dark room and stood guard over it for the Rest of his life. His mother asked why. He said, because it’s held captive, because it is Captured. Look, the stone is asleep, she said, it does not know Whether it’s […]...
37. Who Goes Home? In the city set upon slime and loam They cry in their parliament ‘Who goes home?’ And there comes no answer in arch or dome, For none in the city of graves goes home. Yet these shall perish and understand, For God has pity on this great land. Men that are men again; who goes […]...
38. 216. Song-Duncan Davison THERE was a lass, they ca’d her Meg, And she held o’er the moors to spin; There was a lad that follow’d her, They ca’d him Duncan Davison. The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh, Her favour Duncan could na win; For wi’ the rock she wad him knock, And aye she shook the […]...
39. MARGINALIA Here is a silence I had not hoped for This side of paradise, I am an old believer In nature’s bounty as God’s grace To us poor mortals, fretting and fuming At frustrated lust or the scent of fame Coming too late to make a difference Blue with white vertebrae of cloud forms Riming the […]...
40. Pictures of Home In the red-roofed stucco house Of my childhood, the dining room Was screened off by folding doors With small glass panes. Our neighbors The Bertins, who barely escaped Hitler, Often joined us at table. One night Their daughter said, In Vienna Our dining room had doors like these. For a moment, we all sat quite […]...