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| Prunella Clough Cooling Tower II 1958 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Barbara Hepworth Forms (West Penwith) 1958 oil on hardboard Tate Gallery |
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| William Scott Ochre Still Life 1958 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
On The Subject of Poetry
I do not understand the world, Father.
By the millpond at the end of the garden
There is a man who slouches listening
To the wheel revolving in the stream, only
There is no wheel there to revolve.
He sits in the end of March, but he sits also
In the end of the garden; his hands are in
His pockets. It is not expectation
On which he is intent, nor yesterday
To which he listens. It is a wheel turning.
When I speak, Father, it is the world
That I must mention. He does not move
His feet nor so much as raise his head
For fear he should disturb the sound he hears
Like a pain without a cry, where he listens.
I do not think I am fond, Father,
Of the way in which always before he listens
He prepares himself by listening. It is
Unequal, Father, like the reason
For which the wheel turns, though there is no wheel.
I speak of him, Father, because he is
There with his hands in his pockets, in the end
Of the garden listening to the turning
Wheel that is not there, but it is in the world,
Father, that I do not understand.
– W.S. Merwin, from The Dancing Bears (Yale University Press, 1954)
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| Victor Pasmore Spiral Motif in Green, Violet, Blue and Gold - The Coast of the Inland Sea 1950 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Terry Frost Winter 1956 Yorkshire 1956 oil on board Tate Gallery |
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| Terry Frost Black and White Movement 1952 oil on board Tate Gallery |
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| Sandra Blow Space and Matter 1959 oil on hardboard Tate Gallery |
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| Lilian Holt Tajo Ronda 1956 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Ivon Hitchens Woodland Vertical and Horizontal 1958 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
Pantoum
Eyes shining without mystery,
Footprints eager for the past
Through the vague snow of many clay pipes,
And what is in store?
Footprints eager for the past,
The usual obtuse blanket.
And what is in store
For those dearest to the king?
The usual obtuse blanket
Of legless regrets and amplifications
For those dearest to the king.
Yes, sirs, connoisseurs of oblivion,
Of legless regrets and amplifications,
That is why a watchdog is shy.
Yes, sirs, connoisseurs of oblivion,
These days are short, brittle; there is only one night.
That is why the watchdog is shy,
Why the court, trapped in a silver storm, is dying.
These days are short, brittle; there is only one night
And that soon gotten over.
Why, the court, trapped in a silver storm, is dying!
Some blunt pretense to safety we have
And that soon gotten over
For they must have motion.
Some blunt pretense to safety we have:
Eyes shining without mystery
For they must have motion
Through the vague snow of many clay pipes.
– John Ashbery, from Some Trees (Yale University Press, 1956)
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| Roger Hilton January 1957 1957 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Russell Drysdale War Memorial 1950 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Josef Herman Three Miners 1953 oil on panel Tate Gallery |
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| Anthony Whishaw Corrida 1955-56 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |
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| Judit Reigl Guano 1958-62 oil on canvas Tate Gallery |