Bedroom 1

Poetry

I suspect that I have always been most attracted to poetry that is closer to music. I like rhythm, sonority and declamation above conceptual argument, visual appeal and private self-reference … although, of course, if the poet manages all these simultaneously his name is probably Shakespeare. Over the years I have penned (or word processed) hundreds of poems. Scores of celebratory cards contain my doggerel that is sent to bemused friends and family. But most of my poems have been a working through of ideas and feelings that were never intended for public view.

There were some that escaped. I did enter a couple in poetry competitions and, to my surprise, won both. The first, The Last Time, won the school poetry prize and the preponderance of audio imagery was remarked upon (I was spending up to 6 hours a day practising the violin in those days). Moorland Ferns was written after one of the many walks my wife and I made in the countryside.

Please feel free to peruse the little books of poetry that I am leaving in this room.

Click on an area of the image above, listed in the key to the right, to learn more…

Shoah

I suppose I have always been aware that a determining influence of my consciousness occurred just before I was born. These poems reflect my constant feeling that there is this intangible shadow behind me, permanently obscured, over which I could have had no influence. Click here to read