Terminal Pursuits

A new poem

Anthony Thwaite

Walking the boundaries as day by day
Light ebbs away;
Sorting out papers, collecting kindling-wood;
Trying to make good
What’s left, not knowing when the time will be
All these will have left me.

Waking to guess again the time there is,
What fixities
Mark out the rigid boundaries I walk,
By which I talk
As if the whole remaindered drift of days
Freezes, and somehow stays.

Watching the curtains as the light breaks through
Just as if it knew
The day was brilliant and would stay like this,
Its energies
Nudging me forward to go in pursuit
Of that untasted fruit.

An autumn note

“For many, the end of this uneasy year cannot come quickly enough”

An ordinary killing

Ian Cobain’s book uses the killing of Millar McAllister to paint a meticulous portrait of the Troubles

Greater—not wiser

John Mullan elucidates the genius of Charles Dickens
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