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The bed we loved in was a spinning world
— Carol Ann Duffy
poet, writer, professor, author, playwright, university teacher
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The bed we loved in was a spinning world
Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head, warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood.
Somewhere on the other side of this wide nightThe room is turning slowly away from the moon.
Not a red rose or a satin heart.I am trying to be truthful.
Here.a wobbling photo of grief.
Light gatherer. You fell from a staryou squeal at and fly in.
I cannot say where you are. Unreachablein the air, even if souls are stars.
As anyone who has the slightest knowledge of my work knows, I have little in common with Larkin, who was tall, taciturn and thin-on-top, and unlike him I laugh, nay, sneer, in the face of death. I will concede one point: we are both lesbian poets.
I grew up in a bookless house - my parents didn't read poetry, so if I hadn't had the chance to experience it at school I'd never have experienced it. But I loved English, and I was very lucky in that I had inspirational English teachers, Miss Scriven and Mr. Walker, and they liked us to learn poems by heart, which I found I loved doing.
What do I havethe death of love?
When you have a child, your previous life seems like someone else's. It's like living in a house and suddenly finding a room you didn't know was there, full of treasure and light.
There'll be what you might call a moment of inspiration – a way of seeing or feeling or remembering, an instance or a person that's made a large impression. Like the sand and the oyster, it's a creative irritant. In each poem, I'm trying to reveal a truth, so it can't have a fictional beginning
Six hours like this for a few francs.at such an image of a river-whore. They call it Art.
This is the word tightrope. Now imagineThe word applause is written all over him.
One saw I was alive. Loosenedthis from acts of torture now. They shot her in the eye.
The moment of inspiration can come from memory, or language, or the imagination, or experience - anything that makes an impression forcibly enough for language to form.
I grew up in a bookless house - my parents didn't read poetry, so if I hadn't had the chance to experience it at school I'd never have experienced it. But I loved English, and I was very lucky in that I had inspirational English teachers, Miss Scriven and Mr. Walker, and they liked us to learn poems by heart, which I found I loved doing.
bees are the batteries of orchards, gardens, guard them.
Christmas is taken very seriously in this household. I believe in Father Christmas, and there's no way I'd do anything to undermine that belief.
If I felt, in the event of a royal wedding, inspired to write about people coming together in marriage or civil partnership, I would just be grateful to have an idea for the poem. And if I didn't, I'd ignore it.
