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“... Pilgrimage On that dreamy late afternoon the bushes alive with cabbage whites Tom led me down the tangled pathway between the mysteries of back gardens and the top of the railway bank where we were not supposed to play. At last he pointed out a clearing a sandy dip in the bank and there it lay a long fat turd. It was Neil, Tom said. Neil did it. Other children had arrived so we all gathered round in a wide circle to study it and it seemed to stare at us burnished rich brown almost kingly as if the sun enjoyed it too – an offering from a pale quiet boy ...”

“... that day was the emerald green and cobalt in the lower pane of a window, Ss Giovanni e Paolo ... Moniza Alvi, unlike Stephen Romer, has charm. As Tchaikovsky did with melody, she relies on it to get her out of difficulties. These poems are simple, a little undeveloped, dusted in detail. Several of her best-known poems like ‘I would like to be a dot in ...”