A poem by Robin Houghton

I've long been a fan of Robin Houghton's poetry, which is why I'm very pleased she'll be reading with us at Rogue Strands on 28th November (see Facebook page here, etc, etc...). Moreover, today's poem provides us with an excellent example of what makes her work different.

This piece invokes thematic tensions - inner and outer, open and closed, animate and inanimate, city and country - and ramps them up via a subtle control of line endings and stanza breaks. All these qualities contribute to a deceptively profound, implicit meditation on life in one of the biggest capitals in the world...

30 St Mary Axe

Sun boots up from the ArcelorMittal

Orbit, swings a low arc to Wembley –

no place to hide when you're

this high.

The temperature inside is set fair. Inner

and outer airs kept apart. No-one

feels a draught or needs to breathe

in the city.

On rainy days you look from below

and it’s gone in a trick of the eye, enough

to tremble hearts, turn heads to check

for St Paul’s.

Its stories are etched from diamonds,

a thousand or more – its panes unable

to open, unlikely to break: strong

as a threat

so no-one inside may throw stones,

or listen for the honking of Barnacle geese

flying east in a V, or mistake the sky

for sea.

(An earlier version of this poem was first published in Brittle Star).