Biography of Tony Jolley
I'm a University Lecturer who loves teaching, but who is beginning to find that the yen to write from the heart for a non-academic readership is more important than to write from the head for a narrow academic audience of cognoscenti. That said, I have started my own business in France: 'Tonyversity' (www.tonyversity.com) doing management and English coaching for business people and finessing of English translations. Am presently building a personal poetry website called 'Tonyverses' (www.tonyverses.com) but it is slow work!
I used to play guitar and write music in my early years and had, until recently, thought that the muse of my youth was lost to me. She isn't. She took me by the hand and led me home to a place where there is no barrier between the heart and the page anymore.
I no longer have an office. It has become a study, a library, a haven where small miracles happen every day between nib and nap.
Oh, and did I mention... at long, long last, I love and am truly loved.
Tony Jolley's Works:
Let the Dust Wait (2004)
The Light of The Shade (2006) Forward Press [me plus 9 other poets in an anthology]
Tony Jolley Poems
Fire On Your Finger
Fire on your finger, Fire in your eye, Fire in your spirit, Fire that won’t die.
(red) Indian Summer
Today you’d have been a happy-go-lucky girl: A teenager up to your eyes in make-up and Maths, Chatting on MSN and mobile, Reading chick-lit
Your Left Hand
...For my daughter, upon watching her play piano and finding melodies of a beauty so far out of my reach... Your left hand looked a lot like mine – but it wasn’t. Your left hand moved a little like mine – but with far greater grace
The Story Of A Life Lost In The Telling
Reflection It didn’t look good, that barely recognisable reflection – Didn’t look at all like it should.
Your Call Is Important To Us [ye...
….Ah, no, not us, I'm afraid… [Trans: for 'I'm afraid' read 'hallelujah! ', What did Douglas Adams call it? –
Pavements And Partings
The pavement waters parted… No need for a Moses: On one side an old man
About Your Skin
What is it about your skin? I touch you and it is as natural as breathing, As right as being That I don’t even have to think about it.
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, Loaded with significance, Charged with a memory of a reality
It lay incongruous: At an angle oblique to its own belonging, Languishing lonely between retreating tide And the blind feet of the Good Friday beach brigade
Don’t understand deliberate hurt. Just don’t. Never did.
How The Moments Come
Strange. Strange how the moments come; Those moments upon which one’s world turns.
'The Glorious Dead'
The cenotaph sighs Under weight of the words: A marble-white marker Bridging two worlds.
No foregone conclusions No faites accomplis No ducking of decisions No get-out-of-jail-frees;
The Flesh Of Heaven
The Vosges are blue: A function of moisture in the air and refracted sunlight. Not yesterday evening they weren't.
The Answer's 'No'.
No where you are not there
No moment you are not present
No time you are not mine
No thought where you’re not sought
No step ever taken where you are forsaken
No single sensation:
No tears, no elation
No sleeping, no waking
No giving, no taking