Hugo Williams (1942 / Windsor, United Kingdom)
Biography of Hugo Williams
Hugo Williams Poems
I wonder will I speak to the girl sitting opposite me on this train. I wonder will my mouth open and say, 'Are you going all the way
I phone from time to time, to see if she’s Changed the music on her answerphone. 'Tell me in two words,' goes the recording, 'what you were going to tell in a thousand.'
The evening advances, then withdraws again Leaving our cups and books like islands on the floor. We are drifting, you and I, As far from another as the young heroes
You paused for a moment and I heard you smoking on the other end of the line. I pictured your expression, one eye screwed shut against the smoke
Everyone who made love the night before was walking around with flashing red lights on top of their heads-a white-haired old gentlemen, a red-faced schoolboy, a pregnant woman
How do you think I feel when you make me talk to you and won't let me stop till the words turn into a moan?
When I'm lying awake, listening to rain hammering on the roof, the phrase comes back to me, our code for 'Let's get out of here'.
Whether it was putting in an extra beat, or leaving one out, I couldn't tell. My heart seemed to have forgotten everything it ever knew
1 Are you still Chinese yellow? Are your blinds still drawn
Along These Lines
And so you cry for her, and the poem falls to the page As if it knew all along that what we make of ourselves we take From one another's hearts - tearing and shouting until we learn How awkwardly, upstairs and behind shut doors we are born
They must be checking our location on the map, taking leave of their loved ones, asking the way to our house.
During An Absence
Now that she has left the room for a moment to powder her nose, we watch and wait, watch and wait, for her to bring back the purpose into our lives.
The smell of ammonia in the entrance hall. The racing bike. The junk mail. The timer switch whose single naked bulb allowed us as far as the first floor.
Are you still Chinese yellow?
Are your blinds still drawn
against prying eyes on the tops of buses?
How well I remember you,
perched beside a traffic-light
on the corner of Ladbroke Grove,
our tree-house lookout post,