If there is poetry in my book about the sea, it is not because I deliberately put it there, but because no one could write truthfully about the sea and leave out the poetry.
I once flew in my dreams.
Then I read a book
that taught me how to control it.
hard pretzels curved to the shape
of life’s perilous twists
Andrew tells us . there will be . all the usual . English songbirds . bluetits . robins . blackbirds . and the rest . but also . a backdrop . of seabirds . which is unique . and there will be . a sense of space
Swirling, confident, those sax notes stretch and blow
above the drums, full of his blue notes,
fifty years ago, new as now.
One evening, as the monks sang and played the harp, Caedmon slipped away. He knew no songs. Thus embarrassed, he spent the night sleeping with the animals. In his dream, “someone”, Bede says, approached Caedmon, and asked him to sing of the beginning of all things.