Miss Corfield, Miss Corfield, we’re destined as one

You a wood nymph, I a woodworkers son.

We both vibrate airwaves of Radio 4

You live and vivacious! I dead as a door.

With nasal enhancement and vamp-throated quirk

You take mundane news and you set it to work

Stirring old men, from straw hat to galoshes

Till backward and forth, my sawdust-blood slo...

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The Moon feels naught in futile circling

far off in bland acceptance of our plight;

while in that feeble light we half-blind stray

to situations shunned in light of day.

Her beams afford us sight attenuate

allowing indiscretions - thought and deed

and poets then, that cold dead orb invest

with subtle attributes no whit possessed.

As folly nightl...

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Do not go easy into that cruel plight,

Life-latency should, combination, stay;

Rage, rage against the prying of the light.

Though cells, prior to conjoin, accrue no right,

Un-right usurped un-bid, entreats that they

Do not go easy into that cruel plight.

Wild sperm who caught and shot the ovum’s flight,

And learned too late, now grieving on your ...

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(To be read in Heaney’s ‘reading voice’.)

My chisel’s cold appraisal

Blunt as an English Master’s stare

Probes the poem for its pith.

Non sequiturs stacked neatly

Drying in a metaphoric sun

Supported by a splay of beams.

Redundancy is everywhere

Making the poet poorer than Midas

Who dare not spend a penny

Lest the golden flow shoul...

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