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“Keep clear of lifts” the sign dictates uncompromising in a dismal station, not – “Keep clear when the lift is moving”, “Don’t leave your luggage by the lift”, “No access to unauthorised personnel”, or even, “Beware this lift – it bites”. but – world without end, KEEP CLEAR OF LIFTS. Don’t succumb to that flight of fancy – you’re
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In memory of my old friend, the late Canon Gerald Hudson You’re older this time, driving more erratic, eyes more bloodshot. We talk and read and talk again. Not everything is said. We’ve shared our pilgrimage for years; When it’s good-bye, how will we know? Your memories are of Larkin and of Keyes, your peers
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A woman broke an alabaster jar, Emptied it over the head of a prophet. She wept. Her tears fell on his feet. A woman enraptured drank his words. Her sister, cumbered with too much serving, Complained, but nothing could move her. A woman afflicted with seven devils Loved the prophet for his healing, Came to
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Marie had sex with Arthur once in Bow. The doctor spoke. He prophesied a birth. Friends tried to cheer her up: you never know, Your Arthur might be back some time – although Who cares? There’s other men, there’s not a dearth. Marie had sex with Arthur once in Bow. She wondered why she fell for
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The best account of the story of Heloise and Abelard, the inspiration behind this poem, remains Helen’s Waddell’s Peter Abelard. Unhappy Heloise, as long as though breathest It is decreed thou must love Abelard. SHE HEARS WHAT HAS BEFALLEN HIM So to her confines there comes a horseman, Riding by night and in haste, To
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I would be my touchstone, Unearth my waiting heart Which is my own still centre, The source where springs the soul. False starts, mistakes, rebuffs Erode, as waves against a rock, To make my surface smooth And mould me to my shape. Come lap against me, waves, Refine but don’t destroy me, For I would
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When I came to say good-bye that night, Already you were drifting off Beyond the realms of speech and sight Or any common sight. Your cough At last was silent; eyes half-closed, Unseeing, yet I knew you heard, Felt my kiss, without a word Consented to let go. I dozed, And slept for half an
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We must be still and still moving Into another intensity For a further union, a deeper communion. (East Coker, T.S. Eliot) You wake to hear a chuckling stream Below a timbered house, and bird song Through the latticed windows; then cross The dewy garden to the light-soaked Silence, where time passes and is still. The
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The Mistress of Novices in Kathryn Hulme’s The Nun’s Story capturing some of the difficulties of life in community: ‘Once, long ago, I too found the community life a pure agony. I suffered, knowing that my forced participation could never be pleasing to God. I struggled to overcome this. I thought about the Christ who
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Virginia Rounding: Author, editor, proofreader, indexer 