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Penelope Shuttle
Katrina Naomi
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the poet
Penelope Shuttle lives in Cornwall, and recently published her 13th collection Lyonesse – an Observer Poetry Book of the Month – and her pamphlet Covid/Corvid, a collaboration with Alyson Hallett. Recipient of an Eric Gregory Award and a Cholmondeley Award, Penelope was shortlisted for both the T S Eliot Prize and The Forward Prizes for Redgrove’s Wife. She is president of the Falmouth Poetry Group, founded in 1972 by her late husband, the poet Peter Redgrove. Her radio poem set in Falmouth, Conversations on a Bench, was broadcast on BBC Radio 4 in March 2020. Penelope is a contributor to BBC Radio 3’s The Verb, and is currently at work on a new collection, History of the Child.
the poems
one day you said you felt
unable to bear even little
things of this life
but mild clouds hold you
drawn water settling in the pail holds you
the old walnut’s
cracked and serviceable trunk
these parched purple and white autumn cyclamen
circling its gnarly foot hold you
the sapling at breast height
the wing that’s folded in
mild clouds drawn water
they bear everything for you
Noah’s notes
(preliminary)
there’s meaning in the various colours of doves
the blood of a he-goat is so hot it can dissolve diamonds
the spider is an aerial worm that feeds on air
a drink made from the tears of a stag cures heartache
bees are the very smallest of birds, born from the bodies of oxen
the cat is a shadow animal, the Bible has never believed in cats
the eagle will not converse with falconers
but a she-wolf will take communion from a priest
the blue-eyed phoenix lives on a diet of dragons
hunting dogs are just as beautiful as the tallest medieval horses, the destriers,
or the soul when it is first spied as some tiny thing, a maggot or a grub
when the starling speaks in French, you must listen
the hare may not always be a Christian
the moth found on a young boy’s kimono sleeve brings sorrow
hawks stare at one another without moving their eyes,
this is how their young are conceived
the dragonfly never stops working on the twelve volumes of his memoirs
the pig takes mercy on the vineyard, and is the world’s best wet-nurse
the he-wolf must be tricked into sleep, then bound
with a rope made from the sound of an ant’s footfall,
the breath of a fish and the spittle of a bird
the snake is the best dollmaker you could ever wish for
the elephant! he takes up so much room, he won’t tolerate the crocodile
he’s so wise, how can I forbid him?
the three-toed sloth is nothing but a bundle of leaves,
and so is the brown-throated sloth
with her iron jaw and massive clitoris
the beauteous hyena is no more and no less than a Queen
The lion is the strangest of messengers, with his Tsar’s face,
the chakra of his tail
give him your full compliance
the swan bids the rain leave off with a swirl of her meekly-shaped wings
the oriole is an unimportant bird but proud as a hornet
the winter-sleeper ignores the moon, and the two little toads
only the mouse comes in with the blessing of God
reforming the calendar
january turns the other cheek
february pulls the moon through the hole in its heart
march blows such fine fanfares
he’s crowned Trumpet-Major of the Trees
april’s a dark horse
in may the roses are great with child
june wears a hairshirt of gorse
july considers the lilies
or glides in the longboat of light
august has the gift of tongues
september blames no one but herself
october paints doors to war rooms red
november sucks blood from the world’s wrist
and december? he hides his light under a bushel
Publishing credits
one day you said you felt unable to bear
even little things of this life / reforming the calendar:
exclusive first publication by iamb
Noah's notes (Preliminary): The Poetry Review (Vol. 106, No. 4)