The White Mountains

Animal cities crowded to deep time fointing and unsheeting out of the sea, flowers of the sea whose petals changed to mica where they fell. Nothing contracted from softness is alive but moves towards a region we can`t reach – That scarp, down from Sierra ice in setting light on Nevada. Our camp in the…

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On Dinosaur Point

Certain moments, hardly noticed at the time, can in retrospect seem to have had direct designs upon the future, opening up perspectives, emotional and physical, into a new space. Remembering how I began to write this book, at the back of my mind is a field of dry grass and orange-yellow Californian poppies on the…

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Poets I Go Back To

In 1968, my second year at university, I read two or three books (two of them poetry) that influenced my thinking and writing for at least two decades. Whether the influences have worn off I don`t know; maybe they never do. I go back to the actual texts quite rarely. I go back to the…

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Spring in February

This clear day, at sixteen months she slips from my hands yards off the path to the lambs. Zipped up tight in her all-in-one suit which shines silver and grey in the morning rays she wobbles out to what`s there, a space walker making her first descent. Grass on hard ground, the earth inhaling a…

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