Peter Wood
Peter has been committed to poetry since schooldays
when some poems were sent by a teacher to F.R. Leavis
and received unexpectedly sympathetic comment. As a
student he was published in collections sponsored by
the late Robin Skelton and took part in Robin's poetry
readings. Contributed literary criticism to Miron Grindea's
Adam International Review. Reviewed occasionally for
the Dublin Review and even more occasionally for the
TLS. He worked for 17 years as a journalist in Fleet
Street including a period on The
Times mainly covering
education and industrial training. He later moved into
eastern Europe during the Cold War to freelance on
foreign trade, becoming fascinated by the horrors of
the GDR and undertaking numerous journeys through the
Wall. Interests include rock climbing, mountaineering,
Ruskin and Wittgenstein. Lives on the edge of the Lake
District and when last seen was falsely reported to
be ageing. Enjoys controversy.
To Leucippus at Miletus
We had left, Leucippus,
but no one leaves.
All is contained;
though elsewhere, we stayed,
and were the same.
Here is where we find ourselves
and that we are different,
arranging foliage,
quartered among high winds,
seeking placement
on the territory. Here
where the soil is good,
the art variable, weather
enters our minds
like a spirit of dissolution,
casting us aside
in a strangeness
no mirror can catch.
If only we could break the code
we might be home again.
© 2008
Salt Publishing Limited 
