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Poem by Alan Buckley

Eyewear is very glad to feature Alan Buckley (pictured) this week.

Buckley was brought up in Merseyside, and now lives in Oxford. His poems have been published in a wide range of magazines since 2005, including Magma, Smiths Knoll and Orbis. I was glad to include a poem of his on the forthcoming Oxfam CD, Life Lines 2.

He is currently one of two poets running the Live Literature Programme at HMP Grendon in Buckinghamshire, as reported recently in The Guardian.

An English version

So I was there, in the kitchen smashing garlic
and frizzling prawns for my signature dish,
while you sat in the living room, carefully picking
out chords for a song, with your silver-nailed fingers.
Your voice, jellying the flat walls with Arabic,
fracturing scales; so true I could feel the swish
of sand on my feet. I didn't know, but already
I'd fallen in love with you. Then there was history,

but not condensed. In this version, Odysseus
sailed past Sirenum Scopuli hundreds of times, endured
the honeying torment, until he could drop the ridiculous
stuff with the rope and the mast, and the songs were simply enjoyed.
I'm meeting you for lunch. I put on your latest CD.
I'll ask after your husband. We'll gossip, drink Earl Grey tea.

poem by Alan Buckley
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