Ruth & Harry

A Collection of Poems

Love me when I least deserve it, because thats when I really need it. Swedish Proverb

After the lunch On Waterloo Bridge, where we said our goodbyes, The weather conditions bring tears to my eyes. I wipe them away with a black woolly glove And try not to notice Ive fallen in love. On Waterloo Bridge I am trying to think: This is nothing. Youre high on the charm and the drink. But the juke-box inside me is playing a song That says something different. And when was it wrong? On Waterloo Bridge with the wind in my hair I am tempted to skip. Youre a fool. I dont care. The head does its best but the heart is the boss I admit it before I am halfway across. Wendy Cope

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with the golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams beneath your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams... William Butler Yeats

Tea I like pouring your tea, lifting the heavy pot, and tipping it up, so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup. Or when youre away, or at work, I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip, as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips. I like the questions sugar? milk? and the answers I dont know by heart, yet, for I see your soul in your eyes, and I forget. Jasmine, Gunpowder, Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon, I love teas names. Which tea would you like? I say but its any tea for you, please, any time of day, as the women harvest the slopes for the sweetest leaves, on Mount Wu-Yi, and I am your lover, smitten, straining your tea. Wendy Cope

Parting My life closed twice before its close; It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me, So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell. Emily Dickinson

When we two are parted When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. The dew of the morning Sank chill on my brow It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame: I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame. They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell. In secret we met In silence I grieve That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? With silence and tears. Lord Byron

The Thing Not Said We need life-jackets now to float On words which leave so much unsaid How can this not sound like sophistry To justify absence from your thought, your bed? But this heamorrhaging of language Still keeps the best phrase locked in my head. Easy to talk of loneliness, of ageing, damning Those who would be Presidents and Generals of the dead. Forgetting the detail, the particular hunger Of someone you know waiting to be fed. And now I'm doing it again, drifting on words, More lines for the simple thing not said. E.A Markham

Postcards At first I sent you a postcard From every city I went to. Grsse aus Bath, aus Birmingham, Aus Rotterdam, aus Tel Aviv. Mit Liebe. Cards from you arrived In English, with many commas. Hope, you're fine and still alive, Says one from Hong Kong. By that time We weren't writing quite as often. Now we're nearly nine years away From the lake and the blue mountains, And the room with the balcony, But the heat and light of those days Can reach this far from time to time. Your latest was from Senegal, Mine from Helsinki. I don't know If we'll meet again. Be happy. If you hear this, send a postcard. Wendy Cope

To Mary I sleep with thee, and wake with thee, And yet thou art not there; I fill my arms with thoughts of thee, And press the common air. Thy eyes are gazing upon mine When thou art out of sight; My lips are always touching thine At morning, noon, and night. I think and speak of other things To keep my mind at rest, But still to thee my memory clings Like love in woman's breast. I hide it from the world's wide eye And think and speak contrary, But soft the wind comes from the sky And whispers tales of Mary. The night-wind whispers in my ear, The moon shines on my face; The burden still of chilling fear I find in every place. The breeze is whispering in the bush, And the leaves fall from the tree, All sighing on, and will not hush, Some pleasant tales of thee. John Clare

Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its colour. W.S Merwin

Seeing You Seeing you will make me sad. I want to do it anyway. We can't relive the times we had Seeing you will make me sad. Perhaps it's wrong. Perhaps it's mad. But we will both be dead one day. Seeing you will make me sad. I have to do it anyway. Wendy Cope

If I Could Tell You Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know. If we should weep when clowns put on thier show, If we should stumble when musicians play, Time will say nothing but I told you so. There are no fortunes to be told, although Because I love you more than I can say, If I could tell you, I would let you know. The winds must come from somewhere when they blow, There must be reasons why the leaves decay; Time will say nothing but I told you so. Perhaps the roses really want to grow, The vision seriously intends to stay; If I could tell you I would let you know. Suppose the lions all get up and go, And all the brooks and soldiers run away; Will time say nothing but I told you so? If I could tell you I would let you know. W.H Auden

Defining the Problem I cant forgive you. Even if I could, You wouldnt pardon me for seeing through you. And yet I cannot cure myself of love For what I thought you were before I knew you. Wendy Cope

Two Cures for Love 1. Don't see him. Don't phone or write a letter. 2.The easy way: Get to know him better. Wendy Cope

I held you in the square I held you in the square And felt the evening Re-order itself around Your smile. The dreams I could never touch Felt like your body. Your gentleness made the Night soft. And even if we didn't know Where we were going, Nor what street to take Or what bench to sit on What chambers awaited That would deliver us our Naked joy, I could feel in your spirit The restlessness for a journey Whose beauty lies In the arriving moment Of each desire. Holding you in the evening square, I sealed a dream With your smile as the secret pact. Ben Okri

Spared That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love Emily Dickinson It wasnt you, it wasnt me, Up there, two thousand feet above A New York street. Were safe and free, A little while, to live and love, Imagining what might have been The phone call from the blazing tower, A last farewell on the machine, While someone sleeps another hour, Or worse, perhaps, to say goodbye And listen to each others pain, Send helpless love across the sky, Knowing well never meet again, Or jump together, hand in hand, To certain death. Spared all of this For now, how well I understand That love is all, is all there is. Wendy Cope

A Golden Day I found you and I lost you, All on a golden day. The day was filled with sunshine, And the land was full of May. A golden bird was singing Its melody divine, I found you and I loved you, And all the world was mine. I found you and I lost you, All on a golden day, But when I dream of you, dear It is always brimming May. Paul Laurence Dunbar

She is Gone You can shed tears that she is gone or you can smile because she has lived. You can close your eyes and pray that shell come back or you can open your eyes and see all shes left. Your heart can be empty because you cant see her or you can be full of the love you shared. You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday. You can remember her and only that shes gone or you can cherish her memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back or you can do what shed want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on. Anon

Miles Away I want you and you are not here. I pause in this garden, breathing the colour thought is before language into still air. Even your name is a pale ghost and, though I exhale it again and again, it will not stay with me. Tonight I make you up, I imagine you, your movements clearer than the words I have you say you said before. Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me with a look, standing here while the cool late light dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong, but still it smiles. I hold you closer, miles away, inventing love, until the calls of nightjars interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain, into memory. The stars are filming us for no one. Carol Ann Duffy

Remember Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can go no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. Christina Rossetti

You and I My hand is lonely for your clasping, dear; My ear is tired of waiting for your call. I want you strength to help, your laugh to cheer; Heart, soul and senses need you, one and all. I droop without your full, frank sympathy; We ought to be together, you and I; We want each other so, to comprehend The dream, the hope, things planned, or seen, or wrought. Companion, comforter and guide and friend, As much as love asks love, does thought ask thought. Life is so short, so fast the lone hours fly, We ought to be together, you and I. Henry Alford

Memorials Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships In crayon or in wool, With "This was last her fingers did," Industrious until The thimble weighed too heavy, The stitches stopped themselves, And then 't was put among the dust Upon the closet shelves. A book I have, a friend gave, Whose pencil, here and there, Had notched the place that pleased him, At rest his fingers are. Now, when I read, I read not, For interrupting tears Obliterate the etchings Too costly for repairs. Emily Dickinson

The Secret I loved thee, though I told thee not, Right earlily and long, Thou wert my joy in every spot, My theme in every song. And when I saw a stranger face Where beauty held the claim, I gave it like a secret grace The being of thy name. And all the charms of face or voice Which I in others see Are but the recollected choice Of what I felt for thee. John Clare

Elegy Who'll know then, when they walk by the grave where your bones will be brittle things - this bone here that swoops away from your throat, and this, which perfectly fits the scoop of my palm, and these which I count with my lips, and your skull, which blooms on the pillow now, and your fingers, beautiful in their little rings - that love, which wanders history, singled you out in your time? Love loved you best; lit you with a flame, like talent, under your skin, let you move through your days and nights, blessed in your flesh, blood, hair, as though they were lovely garments you wore to pleasure the air. Who'll guess, if they read your stone, or press their thumbs to the scars of your dates, that were I alive, I would lie on the grass above your bones till I mirrored your pose, your infinite grace? Carol Ann Duffy

The New House Now first, as I shut the door, I was alone In the new house; and the wind Began to moan. Old at once was the house, And I was old; My ears were teased with the dread Of what was foretold, Nights of storm, days of mist, without end; Sad days when the sun Shone in vain: old griefs and griefs Not yet begun. All was foretold me; naught Could I foresee; But I learned how the wind would sound After these things should be. Edward Thomas

In Memoriam Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp'd no more-Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. Lord Alfred Tennyson

The Kaleidoscope To climb these stairs again, bearing a tray, Might be to find you pillowed with your books, Your inventories listing gowns and frocks As if preparing for a holiday. Or, turning from the landing, I might find My presence watched through your kaleidoscope, A symmetry of husbands, each redesigned In lovely forms of foresight, prayer and hope. I climb these stairs a dozen times a day And, by the open door, wait, looking in At where you died. My hands become a tray Offering me, my flesh, my soul, my skin. Grief wrongs us so. I stand, and wait, and cry For the absurd forgiveness, not knowing why. Douglas Dunn

The Haunter He does not think that I haunt here nightly: How shall I let him know That whither his fancy sets him wandering I, too, alertly go? Hover and hover a few feet from him Just as I used to do, But cannot answer the words he lifts me Only listen thereto! When I could answer he did not say them: When I could let him know How I would like to join in his journeys Seldom he wished to go. Now that he goes and wants me with him More than he used to do, Never he sees my faithful phantom Though he speaks thereto. Yes, I companion him to places Only dreamers know, Where the shy hares print long paces, Where the night rooks go; Into old aisles where the past is all to him, Close as his shade can do, Always lacking the power to call to him, Near as I reach thereto! What a good haunter I am, O tell him, Quickly make him know If he but sigh since my loss befell him Straight to his side I go. Tell him a faithful one is doing All that love can do Still that his path may be worth pursuing, And to bring peace thereto. Thomas Hardy

How can I forget? That farewell voice of love is never heard again, Yet I remember it and think on it with pain: I see the place she spoke when passing by, The flowers were blooming as her form drew nigh, That voice is gone, with every pleasing tone Loved but one moment and the next alone. Farewell the winds repeated as she went Walking in silence through the grassy bent; The wild flowers they neer looked so sweet before Bowed in farewells to her theyll see no more. In this same spot the wild flowers bloom for the same In scent, hue, shape, ay, even name. Twas here she said farewell and no one Yet has ever so sweet spoken How can I forget? William Cartwright

Haworth I'm here now where you were. The summer grass under my palms is your hair. Your taste is the living air. I lie on my back. Two juggling butterflies are your smile. The heathery breath of the moor's simply your smell. Your name sounds on the coded voice of the bell. I'll go nowhere you've not. The bleached dip in a creature's bone's your throat. That high lark, whatever it was you thought. And this ridged stone your hand in mine, and the curve of the turning earth your spine, and the swooning bees besotted with flowers your time. I get up and walk. The dozing hillside is your dreaming head. The cobblestones are every word you said. The grave I kneel beside, only your bed. Carol Ann Duffy

What should have been:

Close Lock the door. In the dark journey of our night two childhoods stand in the corner of the bedroom watching the way we take each other to bits to stare at our heart. I hear a story told in sleep in a lost accent. You know the truth. Undress. A suitcase crammed with secrets bursts in the wardrobe at the foot of the bed. Dress again. Undress. You have me like a drawing, erased, coloured in, untitled, signed by your tongue. The name of a country written in red on my palm, Unreadable. I tell myself where I live now, but you move in close till I shake, homeless, further than that. A coin falls from the bedside table, spinning its heads and tails. How the hell can I win. How can I lose. Tell me again. Love won't give in. It makes a hired room tremble with the pity of bells, a cigarette smoke itself next to a full glass of wine, time ache into space, space, wants no more talk. Now it has me where I want me, now you, you do. Put out the light. Years stand outside on the street looking up to an open window, black as our mouth which utters its tuneless song. The ghosts of ourselves, behind and before us, throng in a mirror, blind, laughing and weeping. They know who we are. Carol Ann Duffy