Alan Payne

Sep 20, 2024 | yorkshiretimes.co.uk | Rory Waterman |Katrina Naomi |Douglas Dunn |Alan Payne

artsParta Quies Good-Night; ensured release,Imperishable peace,Have these for yours,While sea abides, and land,And earth’s foundations stand,And heaven endures. When earth’s foundations flee,Nor sky nor land nor seaAt all is found,Content you, let them burn:It is not your concern;Sleep on, sleep sound. Parta Quies: ‘Rest is won’.

Sep 9, 2024 | yorkshiretimes.co.uk | Rory Waterman |Katrina Naomi |Douglas Dunn |Alan Payne

artsBeing PresentNot every night, but most, when I call,and you haven’t remembered what we’ve talked about,I go on loop to see the half-hour out:‘So, did you listen to the footy?’ ‘No’ –surprise in your voice – ‘no, somehow I forgot.’‘What’s been on the radio? What was dinner?’You rarely know the answers. Or the questions. Or that you’ve known the things that keep you there.

Sep 6, 2024 | yorkshiretimes.co.uk | Katrina Naomi |Douglas Dunn |Alan Payne

sportsOpinion"I think I might stay by the lake today", I said. It was very warm, with a slight breeze blowing off Como. The prospect of an hour’s drive to a sweltering Monza looked less appealing as the sun crept towards its apogee and holidaymakers milled about the close-knit bars and glittering waterfront of Argegno with animated gusto.

Aug 26, 2024 | yorkshiretimes.co.uk | Katrina Naomi |Douglas Dunn |Alan Payne |Ian Duhig

artsIf Katrina Naomi’s rich brocade of ‘sea’ poems is by no means the first collection to embrace a subject of such compelling intractability, then it is certainly the most extraordinary. Wide-angled, committed to the everything, and to the willed nothing of oceanic abandonment, Battery Rocks holds up a mirror to the sea off Penzance as it shapes and is shaped by the perceptions of those who immerse themselves in its dark waters on a daily basis.

Aug 25, 2024 | yorkshiretimes.co.uk | Douglas Dunn |Alan Payne |Ian Duhig |Don Paterson

artsModern LoveIt is summer, and we are in a houseThat is not ours, sitting at a tableEnjoying minutes of a rented silence,The upstairs people gone. The pigeons lullTo sleep the under-tens and invalids,The tree shakes out its shadows to the grass,The roses rove through the wilds of my neglect.