Widower, The, 65
Will of November, The, 283
Winter Oat-Flies, 157
Without Eyes, 20
Wood, The, 180
Wooden Pipes, 334
Wooden Wheat, 292
Young and Pregnant Spiritualist, The, 294
Young Women with the Hair of Witches and No Modesty, 100
Youthful Scientist Remembers, The, 102
Zoe’s Thomas, 335
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
The page references in this index correspond to the printed edition from which this ebook was created. To find a specific word or phrase from the index, please use the search feature of your ebook reader.
A bee in the library, 406
A blackthorn winter. The trees lighter, 354
A boggy wood as full of springs as trees, 103
A coppice of strobing pillars and a young deer running, 382
A dry brown bush feathered with mosquitoes, 144
A floating green palace: the public park, 164
A footprint in snow is not more impermanent, 3
A ghost of a mouldy larder is one thing: whiskery bread, 31
A great longhaired hog, glistening with the dew, 193
A great white ear floating in the sky listening. I say, 237
A Guinness erect on the bar, 449
A horse dips his nose into dry shadow, 309
A is for ash, which is primary trash, 148
A large transparent baby like a skeleton in a red tree, 179
A moth settled on the side of a bottle, 264
A neat sunlit room, 384
A pocket Moonbible by the lacy shore, 231
A scarecrow, enlaced in bridals, 46
A scarecrow in the field, 320
A shower of swords from the sword tree, 165
A smile painted red, 407
A smoky sunset. I dab my eyes, 61
A spiderweb stretched between the trunks, 38
A sudden rose-garden in the bedroom, 460
A swan stretching, 428
A valley full of doctor apples, 252
A warm tawny street. Houses buried in trees, 90
A water-sprinkler seen in the seaward meadow, 437
A waterfall in a vaporous glade, 467
A wineglass overflowing with thunderwater, 215
A young leggy cat, so glossy black, 335
Acres of the sky having, 434
Actor robed for a bravura role, 154
After a day’s clay my shoes drag like a snail’s skirt, 102
Ah, I thought just as he opened the door, 55
All the flies are reading microscopic books, 145
An autumn bluebottle, 264
An impure, 301
Apple-trees coralled behind, 417
Argus, in a pulse of waves, 380
As the ear of the wheat, the cone, 292
At Mrs Tyson’s farmhouse, the electricity is pumped, 53
At the climax of the illuminated, 379
At work his arms wave like a windmill, 36
Ate mackerel last night, 382
Attend to the outer world, 58
Because of Falmouth, 403
Black cat sitting in the scotch mist, 285
Blackening the white garments, 459
Born with a little cap of slime, his caul, 183
Bride and doll, 151
Buzz-saw cry of the gannet, 478
By mere breathing, she sees her own shape, 294
Carriages sealed, and marked ‘reserved’, 246
Caught in a fold of living hills he failed, 14
Cloth woven on a loom whose spindle-weights, 190
Clouds and mountains were invited, both the conscious, 275
Coat over arm I step off the moss-silenced stairs, 30
Darkness is a power. She haunts with power, 124
Dawn, his first day, 131
Dearly beloved. I should say, Friends, 70
Death as pure loss, or immutability, 277
Dipping into the Tate, 315
Down the small path to the winding marsh, 299
Dreaming of a dog, whose nostrils, 243
Eating on the edge of death, 450
Elderly and most, 435
Even the bicycle-oil smelt of daffodils, 215
Father led me behind some mail-bags, 388
Final things walk home with me through Chiswick Park, 37
Fluid pianism. It was as if, 476
For a moment take into your two hands, 380
Frog-leap plops into the sandy water, 184
Generations of black snowflakes, frail and durable, 157
God says ‘Death’ in a gentle voice, 187
Grown-up idiot, see the slow-motion of him, 68
Hard rubber in its silk sheath like a nightie, 312
Having immured his new bride, 83
He is very impressive. I am very impressed by him, 133
He knew a clergyman he could say anything to, 398
He stands under a bright sky, 227
He switched on the electric light and laughed, 100
He was a good husband to his family, 4
He was eight when he started earning, 232
He was hounded from one bride-chamber, 373
He was lean, fast-moving, 470
Her bronze hair beaten into a bearded face looking backwards, 209
Her dress rushed and glistened as she went, 183
Her great thoroughfare, 359
Her menstruation has a most beautiful, 333
He’s been somewhere far away for ten minutes, 47
His dead-white face, 316
His name translated meant, 463
Humming water holds the high stars, 109
I am a gardener, 74
‘I am afraid for the meat’, 107
I am frightened. It makes velvet feel too tall, 109
I chuck my Bible in the parlour fire, 241
I don’t want to play, 17
I feared the miracle, 440
I feel emptied by the thunderstorm. She, 406
I have always loved water, and praised it, 100
I know a curious moth, that haunts old buildings, 142
I lay in an agony of imagination as the wind, 11
I love the cold: it agrees with me, 45
I must raise a teashop in this place with my own two hands, 195
I poured the dry sand, 454
I rainwalked to Annalee in Lower Lodestone, 375
I regard the wet brown eyes in the stubbled mask, 185
I see a man and that man is myself, 53
I sent her into the wine-glass to listen, 121
I shift my shape into a shirt, and that, 348
I sit in the hot room and I sweat, 63
I throw a pebble in the lake, 438
I toast Browning, 417
I walk on the waste-ground for no good reason, 27
I want a dew-keen scythe, 60
I want it not to go wrong. I want nothing to go wrong, 106
I was putting a bandage of cobweb on the sudden cut, 181
In the bellies of the soft bronze flies, 333
In the bright light which is the sun’s excrement, 201
In the deep of the sea, a dandruff of plankton, 204
In the Hall of Saurians, the light worked the bones, 310
In the house of the Reverend Earth and Dr Waters, 105
In the month called Bride, 146
In the rainshower, 477
In those glad days when I had hair, 274
Is like the bow window, 452
It is like living in a transistor with all this radio, 319
It is the garden, 302
It is the terrible Jesus, 163
Jabez Dog felt very rich. Smells among the gorse, 179
Leaves on their wooden shelves, 265
Lights in the mist branching across the water, 279
My father at the bonfire, 444
My friend was gone. The sob wouldn’t come, 101
My grey-ba
rked trees wave me in, 30
My parents went down to the river to drink, 46
My soapy meditation in my still-colliding bathtub, 186
My teeth are very bad, but I am not to be blamed for that, 91
My uncle Sam Lines always seemed, 136
Neither the house nor the rooms, 35
None of the visitors from teeming London streets, 216
Now here I am, drinking in the tall old house, alone, 57
Now, the spires of a privet fork from the hedge, 32
‘Now, we’re quite private in here’, 39
On the stoneware platter, a peach of bloom, 204
On the twentieth of this November, 471
One who goes to and fro in summer, 357
Orpheus’ swimming torn-off head, 373
Palpitations – the moth-beats, 395
People sailing down the river, 228
Pepper and salt stubble, little, 459
Rain marks cold coins in the water, 292
Rapid brothy whispers in the bed, 97
Rising above the fringe of silvering leaves, 33
Sea, great sleepy, 322
Seagull, glittering particle, climbing, 195
See shells only as seawater twining back, 270
See! the Woman is coming, 218
Several hot days, 280
Sex as solid prayers, 451
She believes she has died, 283
She has six-dimensional laughter, 127
She is in love with the canoe-faces of horses, 409
She offered the liqueur glass of Grenadine, 205
She serves me my round plate of porridge, 410
Shiny waterbeetles, 475
Shirokov reported, 429
Shut away here in Cornwall, 245
Since the flamen dialis was not supposed, 347
Sleep-feather, the sleep-feather, 268
Slow-working in the slaughterhouse, 411
Slut, her muddy fingers leave a track, 62
So I take one of those thin plates, 17
So it leaps from your taps like a fish, 386
Somebody rolls a great window open, 165
Splinters of information, stones of information, 96
Stamped with authority, a scholar, 3
Suddenly in this dream I was printer’s ink, 60
Suddenly, it is autumn, 220
Talonheaded with obsidian glances, 167
That bird upon the birch branch stirs my ear, 12
That day in the Interpreter’s house, in one of his Significant Rooms, 95
That is a human skeleton under the cataract, 385
The aerodynamics of the hold of the house, 287
The artillery-men wait upon the big gun, 238
‘The Avenue of the Giants,’ he said calmly, 168
The beefarm on her sloping meadows, the sweet, 372
The birds can’t soar because all the breath, 353
The birds squabbled and fell silent, 327
The blind girl points at a star, 267
The brown light of God all around, 360
The butterflies pause to sip at nectar, 376
The central heating buzzes, 337
The change of life in her, 338
The clouds of luminous mist from the sea, 334
The cool seriousness, 399
The cool tankard engraved in wriggle-work, 207
The courtesan with a taper guides, 288
The dainty skeletals of feet, 421
The death of my mother, it, 343
The dentist-conjurers, 442
The dew, the healing dew, that appears, 284
The dog must see your corpse. The last thing that you feel, 141
The Duke of Burgundy, who represents, 300
The dynamite doctors, 337
The ferns, they dip and spread their fronds, 56
The fishmonger staring at the brass band, 314
The fly is yellowed by the sun, 29
The grass-sipping Harvestmen, smelling, 206
The grave of the careless lady who swallowed pips, 189
The great batholith under the soil, 311
The great reservoir, 469
The greatest possible touch, to bathe, 329
The hands in the womb, 334
The iron ships come in with hellish music, 309
The King’s Head, chopped off, 418
The late houses are built over the early caves, 251
The legibility of the evening, 303
The lightning flashes, 331
The little Christmas tree asserts, 468
The little girl riding the fallen tree like a spindly horse, 208
The lobster leans, and taps on the glass, 152
The long esparto of the nether world, 249
The long grass searches the wind, 14
The lovely shimmering skins of water, 182
The millionth leaf blowing along the path, 283
The moon is the mansion of the mighty mother, 188
The Mothers elect to keep their hair, 282
The mountainous sand-dunes with their gulls, 99
The Old Woman resembles a fairy-tale princess, 358
The Parrot of Warlock’s Wood, 321
The pornographic archives guarded by bees, 192
The pug-nosed bluebottle butts my window, 184
The Quiet Woman; the pub where men sat suckling, 304
The reservoir great as the weight, 354
The river green as its trees that stand, 259
The roads are long metallic, 452
The rouged fruits in, 234
The Saint has multiplied her limbs, 462
The scent in pulses blowing off her beds, 59
The secret that was her marvellous beauty, 248
The serpent was more naked than any beast, 347
The shell the skeleton of all the waves, 396
The shipwright’s beauty, who butchers the forest, 263
The shower withheld matures to thunder, 317
The sire of branches and air, 222
The skin-of-the-earth-shining, 473
The skull formed in bliss, judging by its grin, 151
The sky is dead. The sky is dead. The sky is dead, 56
The small wind of a fly’s wing stirs my thumb, 13
The soft modelling for hours, 289
The spider combs her beard, 340
The spider creaking in its rain-coloured harness, 217
The spider in her draughty great halls, 427
The spider of the wainscot, 336
The stone church whitewashed for navigation, 136
The summer before last I saw my vision, 134
The summer mice are fat as butter, 328
The terrace is said to be haunted, 27
The tidal wave, 434
The tide of my death came whispering like this, 10
The train’s brakes lowing like a herd of cattle at sunset, 191
The trees were dark as bears, and moved disturbingly, 397
The two suns, 403
The unclean and desperate interlopers, 420
The vast brown shallows planted with seaweed, 203
The Virgin Mary gave birth to Dionysus, who said, 132
The warship glides in like a malicious buffet of cutlery, 222
The water-psychiatrist: the plumber, 272
The waves break on the shore with a scent, 278
The weather, opening and closing, 355
The wet wings of birds into the air, 63
The whirling pole bound up in linen, 235
The white pillar of water throws itself, 188
The wind blows furiously through the laurel grove, 202
The woman in the besmutched dress, 143
The wood ticking like a water-clock, 180
The wooden desks, the wooden stools, 353
The young spiritualist giving birth, 349
Their bodies all uncanny slime and light, 239
There are windows, little sliding traps, 145
&nb
sp; There is a churchy rock, 225
There is a door opening on, 121
There is a fragrant and spiky small tree, 396
There is dead wood in this author, 126
There was a siege of dreams, 404
These are the huge old, 440
They are not sheep on our hills, but rain-bringers, 125
They come flickering down the lane, 412
They do not need the moon for ghostliness, 28
They have smoothed their mounds down, 224
They tell of thunder picked up on the teeth, 383
Thigh-deep in black ringlets, 158
This is an impossible event, 318
Thunder over lake, a beating, 411
To endeavour by drinking to condense, 304
To pass by a pondbrink, 29
Today, to begin with, she will do without eyes, 20
Touching my tongue, 476
Two barmaids play by squirting beer, 300
Two photographs stand on the dresser, 16
Warming his buttocks on the hot stone at his master’s threshold, 34
Water is bad for him, much too exciting, 229
Water makes her way, accustomed, 219
We are glad to have birds in our roof, 9
We cannot hear the voice, 472
We had a fine place to come, 28
Well, in good time you came and gave it, God, 65
What a child fears most, 371
What are you doing?, 21
When he was dug up his bones were found covered, 185
When I stroke her arms, 339
Where did the voice come from? I hunted through the rooms, 15
Where we have come to now, pausing on our walk, 10
While eating a crisp ice-cold lettuce at Pod’s Kitchen, 194
With a supple action, 371
Working in a little tent, 443
Yawning, yawning with grief all the time, 65
Your moon ties a dark, 166
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781448130177
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Jonathan Cape 2012
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Copyright © Peter Redgrove 2012
Peter Redgrove has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
Neil Roberts has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of the Introduction and Notes
Collected Poems Page 42