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
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
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.'
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
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?
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
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'.
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.
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
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.
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.
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
who smiled at me from across the street
and gave a little secret shrug,
as if the flashing red light on her head
was a small price to pay for what she knew.