Biography of Fleur Adcock
Kareen Fleur Adcock (known as Fleur Adcock) (born 10 February 1934) is a New Zealand poet and editor, of English and Northern Irish ancestry, who has lived much of her life in England.
Adcock was born in Auckland, but spent the years between 1939 and 1947 in the UK. Her sister is the novelist Marilyn Duckworth. She studied Classics at the Victoria University of Wellington, graduating with a M.A.. She worked as an assistant lecturer and later an assistant librarian at the University of Otago in Dunedin until 1962. She was married to two famous New Zealand literary personalities. In 1952 she married Alistair Campbell, (divorced 1958). Then in 1962 she married Barry Crump, divorcing in 1963.
In 1963, Adcock returned to England and took up a post as an assistant librarian at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London until 1979. Since then she has been a freelance writer, living in East Finchley, north London. She has held several literary fellowships, including the Northern Arts Literary Fellowship in Newcastle upon Tyne and Durham in 1979-81.
Adcock's poetry is typically concerned with themes of place, human relationships and everyday activities, but frequently with a dark twist given to the mundane events she writes about. Formerly, her early work was influenced by her training as a classicist but her more recent work is looser in structure and more concerned with the world of the unconscious mind.
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Fleur Adcock Poems
After they had not made love she pulled the sheet up over her eyes until he was buttoning his shirt: not shyness for their bodies- those
Leaving the Tate
Coming out with your clutch of postcards in a Tate gallery bag and another clutch of images packed into your head you pause on the steps to look across the river
And then there's the one about the old woman who very apologetically asks the way to Church Lane, adding 'I ought to know:
The spuggies are back - a word I lifted from Basil Bunting and was never entirely sure how to pronounce, having only seen it in print, in Briggflatts,
The Man Who X-Rayed An Orange
Viewed from the top, he said, it was like a wheel, the paper-thin spokes raying out from the hub to the half-transparent circumference of rind, with small dark ellipses suspended between.
But it's diluted with sky, not water, the aerial plankton on which they sup. Our solitary pipistrelle flickers over her chosen suburban quarter,
The Belly Dancer
Across the road the decorators have finished; your flat has net curtains again after all these weeks, and a ‘To Let' sign.
Get you, with your almain rivetts (latest fad from Germany), and your corselet, and your two coats of plate! How much harness
If you liked them, how your heart might have lifted to see their neat trapezium shapes studding the wall like a newly landed flight of jet ornaments, the intensity of their black
At The Crossing
The tall guy in a green T-shirt, vanishing past me as I cross in the opposite direction, has fairy wings on his shoulders:
And then there's the one about the old woman
who very apologetically asks the way
to Church Lane, adding 'I ought to know:
I've lived there since the war'. So you go with her.
This comes with variations, usually leading
(via a list of demented ancestors)
to calculations of how much time you've got
before you're asking the way to your own house.