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| Pierre Roy Boris Anrep in his Studio, 65 Boulevard Arago 1949 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
THE GIFT
Of the frail promises that lovers live on,
I shall not make one. Instead
You shall inherit my bare room
And my hard bed;
And the view from my high uncurtained window,
The sky whereon the moon is set
Like tinfoil, and an ancient tree
Whose boughs have never blossomed yet.
– Bette Richart (1949)
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| William Roberts Cantering to the Post 1949 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Barbara Hepworth Project for Waterloo Bridge: The Hills 1947 oil, crayon and watercolor on paper Tate Gallery |
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| Barbara Hepworth Project for Waterloo Bridge: The Valleys 1947 oil, crayon and watercolor on paper Tate Gallery |
TO MR. MUSCLES
Desire must touch first the spirit.
Who can be fooled by Paris's dimpled knees?
Who would not sleep in Vulcan's bed
Could he match her the jewel
In the eye of the robin,
Or meet her on the mesa of her mirth?
What is of the flesh only
Is heavy and rests there
Like a diamond on a dowager
Its value obvious but its meaning none.
– Inez Boulton (1947)
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| Wyndham Lewis Portrait of Nigel Tangye 1946 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Frank Dobson Nude 1946 drawing Tate Gallery |
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| Cedric Morris Iris Seedlings 1943 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
COWARD
You, weeping wide at war, weep with me now.
Cheating a little at peace, come near
and let us cheat together here.
Look at my guilt, mirror of my shame.
Deserter, I will not turn you in,
I am your trembling twin.
Afraid, our double knees lock in knocking fear.
Running from the guns, we stumble upon each other.
Hide in my lap of terror; I am your mother.
Only two, and yet our howling can
encircle the world's end.
Frightened, you are my only friend.
And frightened, we are everyone.
Someone must make a stand.
Coward, take my coward's hand.
– Eve Merriam (1943)
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| Duncan Grant Portrait of Vanessa Bell (at Charleston) 1942 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| James Pryde A Fantastic Gateway before 1941 gouache, watercolor Tate Gallery |
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| Victor Pasmore Lamplight (during the Blackout) 1941 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
MEMORY
Cities are walled. It is a cruel land
And private as a dream. Nothing alive
Will grow there, yet great ghostly acres thrive
On a sound, an odor: one blown pinch of sand
Erects a cape, and soon the seas arrive.
But nothing alters there. Beyond return,
Joys lost, like meteors, cross the indifferent night
And fall away. While fixed, nailed to the sight,
Sharp as midsummer stars, that blind and burn,
Most distant moments lend their chilling light.
Retired as the face of one who died,
The landscape lies. The structures, being old,
Keep griefs too awkward for one life to hold;
The rooms are many-mirrored, not for pride.
Yet there delight blooms in remorseless cold.
– Babette Deutsch (1941)
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| Stanley Spencer Daphne 1940 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| William Nicholson Mushrooms 1940 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Clive Branson Still Life 1940 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Duncan Grant Girl at the Piano (Angelica at Charleston) 1940 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
from STANZAS IN MEDITATION
Full well I know that she is there
Much as she will she can be there
But which I know which I know when
Which is my way to be there then
Which she will know as I know here
That it is now that it is there
That rain is there and it is here
That it is here that they are there
They have been here to leave it now . . .
– Gertrude Stein (1940)
Poems from the archives of Poetry (Chicago)