Biography of Malcolm Evison
Born 1944 in Canterbury. Educated Bede Grammar School, Sunderland 1956-60. University of Hull 1972-75. Urban Theology Unit, Sheffield 1976-77.
Currently resides in Harrogate, North Yorkshire.
Perpetual student of Philosophy and Theology. Prolific poetry output in the 1960's, published in various periodicals and 'performed' at various readings in London. Sometime chair of Harrogate Poetry Workshop. When I took up painting (http: //malspaintings.bravehost.com/main.html) , once more, in the 1980's the poetic muse seemed to desert me. The dry period followed one where the muse had become far too effusive and, to coin a sculptural metaphor, the effort of chipping away at a stone to find the innate form became too arduous.
Since 2003, I have been undergoing a journey through (and hopefully out of) ME/CFS - many stages of which are reflected in my blog which can be found at:
My main websites can be found at https: //www.facebook.com/pages/Malcolm-Evison-watercolours-poetry/103977771726? ref=hl
and http: //www.scribd.com/mal2411
Write now out of necessity - when the words grasp me - rather than desire.
Malcolm Evison's Works:
'The Stillness Moves' [Outposts: 1970] - now available as a free download at http: //www.scribd.com/doc/74691582/The-Stillness-Moves
Malcolm Evison Poems
The Old Man
They hang; a heavy weightlessness, like long forgotten memories seeking renewal. The man sits, beside the window, looking
Observing the precarious existence of household plants
A Spun Illusion
A few slender lines of spider silk stretch
God spoke – I dare not listen. I could not face
Wrapped futilely in the realm of beauty sleep – dawn rarely dawns on me.
That day you found time’s precipice and never faltered –
The Yo-Yo Man
Whirling, it made the day seem shorter than all other days had been.
Lines Beside The Garden Pond
I sway, as if to breathe the passing breezes tail - the water sighs
Seeking a concrete image to convey a pre-stressed thought I lay foundations
Time past time yet to be Discovered. I gaze out Across the hills, the scene changes
Too late, even to sell himself. The air is silent. Distinct servility
Wearing the anguish of old age like some military honour, he follows the cortege.
Impromptu For Jack
Not so much a moment but all time, the steady refrain
Listening To Mahler [ A Response In Six ...
1 Have I lost the need to weep
That day you found
and never faltered –
to plunge beyond
or else traverse
the tremulous ridge path –
each spelt out welcome