Alison Croggon

(1962 - / Transvaal / South Africa)

Alison Croggon Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
1. Love: After The Triumph Of Death 5/24/2012
2. Here 5/24/2012
3. A History Of Rain 5/24/2012
4. I Will Stop Writing 5/24/2012
5. Good Friday 5/24/2012
6. The Visitor 5/24/2012
7. Sonnet: Thoreau In Chernobyl 5/24/2012
8. What I Am Saying 5/24/2012
9. Nocturne 5/24/2012
10. On The Death Of God 5/24/2012
11. Extracts From Antigone 5/24/2012
12. Great Aunts 5/24/2012
13. Possible Elegies 5/24/2012
14. Iseult 5/24/2012
15. Ode 5/24/2012
16. Owl Song 5/24/2012
17. Working Note – On Lyric 5/24/2012
18. Working Note – On Lyric 5/24/2012
19. Divinations 1 5/24/2012
20. Divinations 3 5/24/2012
21. Divinations 4 5/24/2012
22. A Requiem 5/24/2012
23. From Beowulf 5/24/2012
24. (untitled) 5/24/2012
25. A Digression 5/24/2012
26. Medea 5/24/2012
27. Child's Play 5/24/2012
28. Silence 5/24/2012
29. Lamps 5/24/2012
30. November Burning 5/24/2012
31. The Branch 5/24/2012
32. (untitled 2) 5/24/2012
33. It Is Easy To Forget Me 5/24/2012
34. Homage To Mr. Pound 5/24/2012
35. In The Hour Of Dogs 5/24/2012
36. The Duino Elegies: The Ninth Elegy 5/24/2012
37. The Duino Elegies: The Eigth Elegy 5/24/2012
38. The Duino Elegies: The Seventh Elegy 5/24/2012
39. The Duino Elegies: The Fifth Elegy 5/24/2012
40. The Duino Elegies: The Fourth Elegy 5/24/2012
Best Poem of Alison Croggon

Goodnight, Sweet Prince...

Such possessions as gore me pontificate from corners.
I am no longer solid but a speech of butterflies.
How it spills, when all is said and done:
It is hard to see virtue in the cold matter
Staining the floor - frills, cups, leaves, arquebuses,
Bile - the gross litters of meaning - the new king
Knitting up this mess in his brainless sinews,
Mere presence the answer to everything, the golden
Halo of a new dawn impressing all the peasants.

Read the full of Goodnight, Sweet Prince...

The Branch (Translation)

Branch I pick up from the edge of the woods
Only to abandon you at the world’s end,
Hidden among stones, in the shelter
Where the other path invisibly begins

(For each earthly instant is a crossroads
Where, as summer dies, our shadow
Runs to its other land in the same trees,
And only rarely in another year

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