{ Gerard Manley Hopkins: No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief. }

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing—
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked ‘No ling-
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief’.

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne’er hung there. Nor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

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Gerard Manley Hopkins = greater than thou.

{ Helen Dunmore: Privacy of Rain. }

Privacy of Rain
by Helen Dunmore

Rain. A plump splash
On tense, bare skin.
Rain. All the May leaves
Run upward, shaking.

Rain. A first touch
At the nape of the neck.
Sharp drops kick the dust, white
Downpours, shudder
Like curtains, rinsing
Tight hairdos to innocence

I love the privacy of rain.
The way it makes things happen
On verandahs, under canopies
Or in the shelter of trees
As a door slams and a girl runs out
Into the black-wet leaves.

By the brick wall an iris
Sucks up the rain
Like intricate food, its tongue
Sherbetty, furred.

Rain. All the May leaves
Run upward, shaking
On the street bud-silt
Covers the windscreens.

{ Edwin Morgan: One Cigarette. }

One Cigarette
by Edwin Morgan

No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.

{ Doctor Who, 5xsomething, Vampires etc. }

( three things about Vampires in Venice. )

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Also, I watched Ashes to Ashes last night and felt utterly wrecked. So. Yes.

{ "I know you. I see you." }

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( minor comment. )