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By Tom Raworth

Poet Tom Raworth has remained steadfastly self reliant of literary models, events, and cliques all through a poetic profession spanning 50 years. As When is the 1st choice of Raworth’s writing to deal with the total scope and variety of his paintings, from the 1st poem he ever shared with someone outdoor his kinfolk, “You have been donning Blue,” to his so much lately released poem, “Surfing the Permafrost via Methane Flares.” the gathering comprises prose paintings and notational items that have been deliberately ignored of his Collected Poems, in addition to poems that have been basically released in small magazines or as ephemeral playing cards and broadsides. a few items seem in right, definitive models for the 1st time.

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Additional resources for As When: A Selection

Sample text

Each night round the orange dial of the wireless. or innocence. oh renaissance. a dutch island where horses pull to launch the lifeboat. we are specifically ordered that there shall be no fast cars. where can we go when we retire? it was their deduction we were afraid of so shall we try just once more? nothing is too drastic when it comes to your son, eleanor. and nothing works in this damn country. no, it’s not a bit like home. 9 YOU’VE RUINED MY EVENING/YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE i would be eight people and then the difficulties vanish only as one i contain the complications in a warm house roofed with the rib-cage of an elephant i pass my grey mornings re-running the reels and the images are the same but the emphasis shifts the actors bow gently to me and i envy them their repeated parts, their constant presence in that world i would be eight people each inhabiting the others’ dreams walking through corridors of glass framed pages telling each other the final lines of letters picking fruit in one dream and storing it in another only as one i contain the complications and the images are the same, their constant presence in that world the actors bow gently to each other and envy my grey mornings i would be eight people with the rib-cage of an elephant picking fruit in a warm house above actors bowing re-running the reels of my presence in this world the difficulties vanish and the images are the same eight people, glass corridors, page lines repeated inhabiting grey mornings roofed with my complications only as one walking gently storing my dream 10 NOW THE PINK STRIPES now the pink stripes, the books, the clothes you wear in the eaves of houses i ask whose land it is an orange the size of a melon rolling slowly across the field where i sit at the centre in an upright coffin of five panes of glass there is no air the sun shines and under me you’ve planted a quick growing cactus COLLAPSIBLE behind the calm famous faces knowledge of what crimes?

The heroin i take is you and that is sentimental. which is not sex but something more subversive 12 7. too far. look back. you’ve missed the point 8. the end yes the sun i love came through the window and the last rays were in the park 13 THESE ARE NOT CATASTROPHES I WENT OUT OF MY WAY TO LOOK FOR corners of my mouth sore i keep licking them, drying them with the back of my hand bitten nails but three i am growing skin frayed round the others white flecks on them all no post today, newspapers and the children’s comic, i sit in the lavatory reading heros the spartan and the iron man flick ash in the bath trying to hit the plughole listen to the broom outside examine new pencil marks on the wall, a figure four the shadows, medicines, a wicker laundry basket lid pink with toothpaste between my legs i read levi stra origina quality clo leaning too far forward into the patch of sunlight 14 GITANES where do all the cigarette ends go?

We are specifically ordered that there shall be no fast cars. where can we go when we retire? it was their deduction we were afraid of so shall we try just once more? nothing is too drastic when it comes to your son, eleanor. and nothing works in this damn country. no, it’s not a bit like home. 9 YOU’VE RUINED MY EVENING/YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE i would be eight people and then the difficulties vanish only as one i contain the complications in a warm house roofed with the rib-cage of an elephant i pass my grey mornings re-running the reels and the images are the same but the emphasis shifts the actors bow gently to me and i envy them their repeated parts, their constant presence in that world i would be eight people each inhabiting the others’ dreams walking through corridors of glass framed pages telling each other the final lines of letters picking fruit in one dream and storing it in another only as one i contain the complications and the images are the same, their constant presence in that world the actors bow gently to each other and envy my grey mornings i would be eight people with the rib-cage of an elephant picking fruit in a warm house above actors bowing re-running the reels of my presence in this world the difficulties vanish and the images are the same eight people, glass corridors, page lines repeated inhabiting grey mornings roofed with my complications only as one walking gently storing my dream 10 NOW THE PINK STRIPES now the pink stripes, the books, the clothes you wear in the eaves of houses i ask whose land it is an orange the size of a melon rolling slowly across the field where i sit at the centre in an upright coffin of five panes of glass there is no air the sun shines and under me you’ve planted a quick growing cactus COLLAPSIBLE behind the calm famous faces knowledge of what crimes?

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