John Fuller is an English poet and author, and Fellow Emeritus at Magdalen College, Oxford.
Fuller was born in Ashford, Kent, England, the son of poet and Oxford Professor Roy Fuller, and educated at St Paul's School and New College, Oxford. He began teaching in 1962 at the State University of New York, then continued at the University of Manchester. From 1966-2002 he was a Fellow and tutor of Magdalen College, Oxford; he is now Fellow Emeritus.
He has published 15 collections of poetry, including Stones and Fires (1996), Now and for a Time (2002) and the recent Song and Dance (2008). Chatto and Windus published a Collected Poems in 1996. His novel Flying to Nowhere ... more »
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John Fuller Poems
The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate: I’d like to find you in the shower And chase the soap for half an hour. I’d like to have you in my power and see you eyes dilate.
Concerto for Double Bass
He is a drunk leaning companionably Around a lamp post or doing up With intermittent concentration Another drunk's coat.
Be careful not to crush This scalloped tenement: Who knows what secrets Winter has failed to find
The butterfly, alive inside a box, Beats with its powdered wings in soundless knocks And wishes polythene were hollyhocks.
You don’t listen to what I say. When I lean towards you in the car You simply smile and turn away.
To James Fenton
The poet’s duties: no need to stress The subject’s dullness, nonetheless Here’s an incestuous address In Robert Burns’ style
From the beginning, the egg cradled in pebbles, The drive thick with fledglings, to the known last Riot of the senses, is only a short pass.
Bedfordshire A blue bird showing off its undercarriage En route between our oldest universities
Synopsis for a German Novella
The Doctor is glimpsed among his mulberry trees. The dark fruits disfigure the sward like contusions. He is at once aloof, timid, intolerant Of all banalities of village life,
God Bless America
When they confess that they have lost the penial bone and outer space is Once again a numinous void, when they’re kept out of Other Places,
Father’s opinion of savages And dogs, a gay Bloomsbury epigram: ‘The brutes may possibly have souls,’ he says, ‘But reason, no. Nevertheless, I am
Heureux ceux qui ont la clim—Corse-Matin (6.8.94) Heureux ceux qui ont la clim Pendant la grande canicule.
An Exchange between the Fingers and the ...
Fingers: Cramped, you are hardly anything but fidgets. We, active, differentiate the digits: Whilst you are merely little toe and big
All the Members of My Tribe Are Liars
Think of a self-effacing missionary Tending the vices of a problem tribe. He knows the quickest cure for beri-beri And how to take a bribe.
Comments about John Fuller
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power and see you eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like to successfully guess your weight and win you at a fte.
I’d like to offer you a flower.
I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over ...