Carol Ann Duffy

“Better off dead than giving in; not taking what you want.”

“In the convent, y'all,I tend the gardens,watch things grow,pray for the immortal soulof rock 'n' roll. They call meSister Presley here,The Reverend Motherdigs the way I move my hipsjust like my brother. Gregorian chantdrifts out across the herbsPascha nostrum immolatus est...I wear a simple habit,darkish hues, a wimple with a novice-sewnlace band, a rosary,a chain of keys,a pair of good and sturdyblue suede shoes. I think of itas Graceland here,a land of grace.It puts my trademark slow lopsided smileback on my face. Lawdy.I'm alive and well.Long time since I walkeddown Lonely Streettowards Heartbreak Hotel.- Elvis's Twin Sister”

“Went to the Zoo, I said to Him- Something about that chimpanzee over there reminds me of you.”

“The bed we loved in was a spinning world of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seaswhere we would dive for pearls. My lover’s wordswere shooting stars which fell to earth as kisseson these lips; my body now a softer rhymeto his, now echo, assonance; his toucha verb dancing in the centre of a noun.Some nights, I dreamed he’d written me, the beda page beneath his writer’s hands. Romanceand drama played by touch, by scent, by taste.In the other bed, the best, our guests dozed on,dribbling their prose. My living laughing love -I hold him in the casket of my widow’s headas he held me upon that next best bed.- Anne Hathaway”

“Beauty is fame.”

“Like the sand and the oyster, it's a creative irritant. In each poem, I'm trying to reveal a truth, so it can't have a fictional beginning.”

“Poets deal in writing about feelings and trying to find the language and images for intense feelings.”

“No jewel hold a candle to the cuckoo spit hung from the blade of grass at your ear. No chandelier see you better lit than here.”

“I like to use simple words, but in a complicated way.”

“You have me like a drawing, erased, coloured in, untitled, signed by your tongue.”

“What will you do now with the gift of your left life?”

“I like pouring your tea, liftingthe heavy pot, and tipping it up,so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup.Or when you’re away, or at work,I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip,as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips.I like the questions – sugar? – milk? –and the answers I don’t know by heart, yet,for I see your soul in your eyes, and I forget.Jasmine, Gunpowder, Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon,I love tea’s names. Which tea would you like? I saybut it’s any tea for you, please, any time of day,as the women harvest the slopesfor the sweetest leaves, on Mount Wu-Yi,and I am your lover, smitten, straining your tea.- Tea”

“The Latin names of plants blur like belief.”

“The stars are filming us for no one.”

“She stood upon a continent of ice, which sparkled between sea and sky, endless and dazzling, as though the world kept all its treasure there; a scale which balanced poetry and prayer.”