![]() ![]() ![]() The Tuesday Poets are an international group who try to post a poem every Tuesday and take turns to edit the main website. He was a friend of Rupert Brooke and Edwin Muir and he's currently labelled a 'Georgian' poet and rather overlooked. Wilfred Gibson isn't much known now, but he was born in Hexham, near where I live in England, and, though he left as an adult and went to London, he spent most of his life writing about Northumberland (check out The Kielder Stone). ![]() My cousin Jean had to learn it by heart for school and I remember one summer holiday when she kept repeating it over and over - can't read the poem now without hearing her fourteen year old voice reciting it. So, when it came to choosing a Tuesday Poem, this one came instantly to mind. Can't sleep, don't feel like eating, don't have the energy to do anything, except in the middle of the night when it's cooler. Those big, white, blundering bulks of death,ĭrowning in the intense heat that is covering Italy at the moment, I keep thinking of ice and polar bears and cool places. Plunged headlong down with flourished heels ![]()
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