Our tragedy has been the squashing of a caterpillar (12)
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Even the muscles of my right hand feel as I imagine a servant's hand to feel (17)
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a brain still running along the railway lines (18)
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... I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art ... (23)
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a strip of pavement over an abyss (37)
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Where is my paper knife? I must cut Lord Byron (53)
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A change of house makes me oscillate for days. And that's life; that's wholesome. (69)
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More and more do I repeat my own version of Montaigne - 'it's life that matters'. (77)
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The actual writing being now like a sweep of a brush. (79)
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Never mind. Arrange whatever pieces come your way. (85)
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partly to glut my itch ('glut' an 'itch'!) for writing. (86)
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Today, boys and girls, we’re going to look at ‘Song of the Chinchilla’ by Lisa Jarnot*. I liked the poem immediately – and I’ve given it to ...
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April Fool?
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