FABER (U.K.) POETS ~

 

Great Ships

Great ships like trees in the

back yard, under the star

paths; navigators of the

night.  From the top-mast of my

high windows, I observe the

currents, and the

winds I know by their

smell.  Tonight it's the

east wind, cold and

uneasy. Lost cats

crouch in the branches.

The yew berries have all

been trampled onto the

ground.  My husband is curled up

in his bunk - his shift is the early

mornings.  But I am the night watcher.

I call the stars to me and I

name them, each and every one, in

Arabic.

_____________________________

Dorothy Molloy

The Poems of Dorothy Molloy

Faber & Faber  2021

Empathy Class

To demonstrate, the instructor told the group

to try and kiss each other all at the same time.

We tried, but there was no way of telling

if we were making simultaneous contact.

No matter how lovely it felt — our faces

gently knocking — we couldn't be sure

we were all kissing each other. OK.  So

you see my point?  We had to admit we did.

_______________________

Jack Underwood

A Year in the New Life

Faber & Faber, 2021 

Walking the Land

In the days before the auction of the farm

that cold March of 1962,

I led potential buyers through the fields,

showing them the bounds and listening

to their evaluation of the soil.

The good land was to the front of the house:

the Gate Field; Jackson's; the Western Field;

the Stone Field where the standing stone

had been bulldozed into the quarry.

The Cottage Field stretched to the east,

by the lazy-bed ridges of the Well Field

where the dog bounded to greet you,

his hope-filled eyes dazzling.

To the north was the Screen Field and the Furzy Glen

where we had seen long-eared owls

winging mystically through the twilight.

Below the pink spreading hawthorn in Murt's Field

was the Guttery Gap into the Quarry Field

that led to Dominic's Inch where we used to gather

frail mushrooms in the dawn along the river.

But none of these were considerations

that weighed much with the shrewd and thoughtful men

who were pondering a bid for our farmland.

_____________________

Bernard O'Donoghue

The Anchorage

Faber & Faber, 2025

WENDY COPE ~

At 3 a.m.

the room contains no sound

except the ticking of the clock

which has begun to panic

like an insect, trapped

in an enormous box.

Books lie open on the carpet.

Somewhere else

you're sleeping

and beside you there's a woman

who is crying quietly

so you won't wake.

On a Train

The book I've been reading

rests on my knee.  You sleep.

It's beautiful out there —

fields, little lakes and winter trees

in February sunlight,

every car park a shining mosaic.

Long, radiant minutes,

your hand in my hand,

still warm, still warm.

To My Husband

If we were going to die, I might

Not hug you quite as often or as tight,

Or say goodbye to you as carefully

If I were certain you'd come back to me.

Perhaps I wouldn't value every day,

Every act of kindness, every laugh

As much, if I knew you and I could stay

For ever as each other's other half.

We may not have too many years before

One disappears to the eternal yonder

And I can't hug or touch you any more.

Yes, of course that knowledge makes us fonder.

Would I want to change things, if I could,

And make us both immortal? Love, I would.

____________________________________

Wendy Cope

Collected Poems

Faber 2024

VICTORIA ADUKWEI BULLEY ~

 

There You Are

There you are

this cold day

boiling the water on the stove

pouring the herbs into the pot

hawthorn, rose;

buying the tulips

& looking at them, holding

your heart in your hands at the table

saying please, please, to nobody else

here in the kitchen with you.

How hard, how heavy this all is.

How beautiful, these things you do,

in case they help, these things you do

which, although you haven't said it yet,

say that you want to live. 

RACHAEL ALLEN ~

Crying girl

in the canopy

branch held

unstable

a face drawn

pendant-

shaped, from

the bark

marks

how like

a tree is

a woman

crumbling

with age

conversations

inaudible

without a

stethoscope

to the forest

floor and

even then

we whisper.

____________________

Rachael Allen

Kingdomland

Faber & Faber, 2019

RE-READING ALEKSANDAR RISTOVIC ~

from Whores



With me is a railroad man

in a railroad uniform,

with a railroad whistle and pocket watch,

and a railroad cap.



He talks about trains,

the express, the cannonball.

He remembers a girl

he left behind on the train.



Before he lies down

he turns off the lamp.

Outside, falling snowflakes

mingle with electric sparks.



Asleep he holds me

by my breasts,

still wearing his wool socks

with a toe sticking out of each one.



In the morning he runs

across the tracks.

He loses his cap.

He finds his cap.






~






With me is a man

who talks too much,

talks about everything,

so he sees nothing.



The washpan with red

and blue roses,

or the frog in the pan

with twelve baby frogs.



Sees neither my left

nor my right shoulder,

nor my cheeks caked

with thick powder.



Sees neither my thing,

nor his thing,

babbling so much he forgets

why he came.



I stuck a finger

under his tongue

and my finger stayed

in his mouth.






~






With me is a young woman

who loves only women.

She smokes unfiltered cigarettes,

sways while she walks,



pays for my services

in foreign currency.

Her breasts are still

just two drops of honey,



she uses a whip,

sips ghastly concoctions.

We dream of each other,

exchange places.



When I wake, I see beside me,

my own funny childlike face

with buck teeth

and high cheek bones.



At night, a beard and a mustache

grow on her. In the morning,

she is again herself,

neither better nor worse than she is.






~






With me is a long-legged,

long-eared stallion.

His other horsy virtues

I won't even mention.



He bolted from under

his master's whip.

He's tired of high-class mares,

he wants only me.



He strokes me with his head

and his tufted mane.

He's happy when I ride him

naked, wearing only boots.



His eye is human

and so is his impatience

and his well-developed

sense of humor.



He eats blue-tinted sugar cubes

out of my hand.

In some respect, he's a man.

In others, just a horse.






~






With me is a grinning

skeleton,

when he walks, the bones

make a racket.



At times he loses

some small bone,

so we look for it

among the bedding.



Expertly, I fit

the missing bone between two others

It's tiring work,

but it gives me pleasure.



At times, he tries to drink

from my glass.

The way the wine puddles on the floor

makes him truly miserable.



If he had any nerves,

he'd lose them in bed

having to listen

to the rattle of his bones.






~






With me is the God

of all gods.

I have no other god

but him.



Without fuss

he kisses me everywhere;

on my head, on my forehead,

on my undone hair,



on my mouth while I speak,

in my armpits,

on my wet tits,

on my left and on my right knee,



inside my lungs, in my heart,

in my bowels,

in both kidneys,

and in my full and in my empty gut.



With great art he handles

the venerable tool.

God is truly within me,

or any other girl like me.




____________________
Devil's Lunch
Aleksandar Ristovic
selected poems
translated by Charles Simic

I'm always returning to Ristovic.

There is a accent mark over the "c"

I can't do it, but I do it with a pen in hand.

And again Charles Simic at the helm.

They should give him a prize for his

decades of work as translator, always

sizzling, and maybe they have.

The only prizes I pay attention to now

are the birthdays of our two

granddaughters, the rest

is filigree.

I also adore this edition

and design from Faber & Faber.

Did you know there was only one Faber?

ALICE OSWALD ~

River





in the black gland of the earth

the tiny inkling of a river



put your ear to the river you hear trees

put your ear to the trees you hear the widening

numerical workings of the river



right down the length of Devon,

under a milky square of light that keeps quite still



the river slows down and goes on



with storm trash clustered on its branches

and paper unfolding underwater

and pairs of ducks swimming over bright grass among flooded    
     willows



the earth's eye

looking through the earth's bones



carries the moon carries the sun but keeps nothing





______________

Alice Oswald
Woods etc.
Faber & Faber
2005