The Poetry of Camden Town actually makes a difference in the "real" World.

Just before I went off on my holidays, I was at the regular monthly poetry event held by Camden-Lumen Poetry where I was proud to have one of my poems included in the latest anthology published in aid of the truly worthwhile charity, Cold Weather Shelter for the Homeless. Every month poets, some famous, some not, get together to read their work in the church (United Reform Church, 1 Buck Street, London, NW1 8NJ) where, during the winter, some of London's homeless actually find a bed for the night, partly due to the cash raised by poetry. It's a wonderful mix of poetry that actually, amazingly, raises real money for a very practical cause.

The anthology,  Genius Floored: Whispers in Smoke, the second that has included one of my poems, is published by Soaring Penguin Press  http://www.soaringpenguinpress.com/ so you can buy yourself a copy if you'd like to support the charity and get to read some excellent poetry. No I'm not talking about myself because I'm honoured to appear between the glossy covers of this book with distinguished poets such as Anne Stevenson, Fleur Adcock, Dannie Abse, Peter Phillips, Sue Guiney and the organiser and editor of this collection, the indomitable Ruth O'Callaghan. It's always a thrill to get poetry into print, so I'm very happy to be able to add this new book to the other anthologies that contain my work.

Edward Thomas' Adlestrop one hundred years on: rural England before the First World War.

One hundred years ago today, 24th June, 1914, a train stopped for a few minutes at a small country station in the Gloucestershire village of Adlestrop. Sitting in one of the carriages was the poet Edward Thomas (1878 - 1917). The window was open and the sounds of an English summer's day played uninterrupted for a few moments before the train moved on.

 Edward Thomas marked the moment with a poem, Adlestrop, and it has come to stand as a poignant and, maybe, unintended encapsulation of the England that would never be quite the same again only a couple  months later.

The very name Adlestrop conjures up the kind of English summer's day that is often so tranquil and beautiful that it is almost painful. Now, of course, it will always be associated with Edward Thomas' poem and with the loss of a particular but possibly mis-remembered England, after the beginning of the First World War which would also claim the life, in 1917, of Edward Thomas himself.

Sitting here this morning in my Lewes house, the window is open, the sun is shining and, yes, a blackbird is singing. I couldn't help but think of this poem on its centenary. Maybe all was not lost in that terrible conflict.

Edward Thomas (1878 - 1917)

Adlestrop

Yes, I remember Adlestrop --
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop -- only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.


Edward Thomas 24/06/1914

Adlestrop Church

Richard Burton (1925 - 1984)

Here is beautiful voiced Richard Burton reading Adlestone: