The cord carol ann duffy
Out of Fashion: An Anthology of Poems by Carol Ann DuffyIn Out of Fashion Carol Ann Duffy selects the best and freshest contemporary poets and asks them in turn to select their favourite poem, from another time or culture, which looks at how we dress, or undress, how we cover up or reveal. In these vibrant poems, we are shown how clothes, fashion and jewelry are both a necessity and a luxury. The result is a vital and entertaining dialogue between the two arts of poetry and fashion and between poets from the past and the present.
The true love poet
She is a professor of contemporary poetry at Manchester Metropolitan University , and was appointed Britain's Poet Laureate in May ,  resigning in She is the first woman, the first Scot, and the first openly gay poet to hold the position. Eliot Prize. Her poems address issues such as oppression, gender, and violence in an accessible language that has made them popular in schools. The family moved to Stafford , England, when Duffy was six years old. Her father worked for English Electric.
(for Ella) / They cut the cord she was born with / and buried it under the tree / in the heart of the Great Forest / when she was exactly the length / of her mother's.
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It was the spring of and I was sitting on my workroom floor reading my way through a small avalanche of typescripts for an anthology of new British poetry I had been asked to edit by PEN, the international association of poets, essayists, and novelists. Wading through the 2, pieces of stuff resembling verse they had provided for me was not my idea of a good way to spend an April weekend, but then I opened the hundredth-and-something envelope, unfolded the neatly typed pages, and read this:. It was the first stanza of a poem entitled "Dear Norman", lines that immediately impressed me with their sober magic, the way they said extraordinary things in what sounded like a level tone of voice. I liked the definite rhythm that still managed to sound like someone talking, and the way the lines avoided rhyme while still managing to imply by their controlled assonantal music that there was a reason for its absence. Hooked, I read on:. I remember repeating that last quoted line aloud to myself, enjoying both the sound of it and as it were the taste of it, the way the words shaped themselves in the mouth and on the tongue.
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