Poems by M.R. Peacocke
M.R. Peacocke writes: “I was born in London in 1930, but life really began for me when we went to Devon for a family holiday in 1939; war broke out and we stayed in the county. Animals, both wild and domesticated, walking on my own and writing were already what mattered to me most.
I was sent to an academic boarding school which funnelled me to Oxford; then there was teaching, marriage, bringing up two sons and two daughters, more teaching, and a liberating counselling training in middle life followed by work in the children’s cancer unit of a major hospital.
In 1985 I started afresh by moving alone to a hill farm in Cumbria which I am learning to work as a smallholding. My writing, which had gone to ground long before, began again.”
At Manavgat the old man set his foot
in the waterfall on some invisible ledge,
let in his basket and stood, his arm blanched
by pounding yellows. Rags of his hair streamed out;
till, balancing himself back, he grinned and showed us,
in the depth of his frail, a fish.
I see now: the art is, to endure
the bellow of falling water; to root in;
to be hungry enough.
Price £4.50 per copy post free
Cover illustration: ‘Dip’ by Alan Stones
Publication: JUNE 1988 (64 pages laminated paperback)