poetry

"Its maps, they say, are in our minds already:
How else could we adventure in that country
So sure of...

A group of six ordinary people, led by a project worker from the outreach charity The Reader, is reading aloud together a mid-17th century love lyric by Robert Herrick. What can this – poetry, and old-fashioned poetry at that – have...

There was an elderly psychiatrist, whose life hadn’t made him wise

And then a neuroscientist, who had trouble with his eyes.

Several new psychologists wished to come along

And all the undergraduates who said “Surely these guys can’t be wrong!”

 ...

It’s 4.18am, and where are you? Are you one of the lucky oblivious, or are your crowding thoughts keeping you awake? In Let Them Eat Chaos, Kate Tempest drops you from distant space into teeming humanity, guiding you ghost-like through the minds of seven people. They...

Picture the scene – a dark stage with a single spotlight shining down on one microphone. A woman, of around 20 years old, dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt, stands to the mic. She erupts into poetry, flooding the audience with truths and confessions, her inner most fears...

"Its maps, they say, are in our minds already:
How else could we adventure in that country
So sure of paths we never walked upon?

I listen to the children, not yet three,
Dancing out the tongue's deep mystery,
Threading the maze of meaning and...

And to feel that the light is a
rabbit-light
In which everything is meant for you… The grass is full
And full of yourself.
(From Wallace Stevens’ poem
‘A Rabbit as King of the Ghosts’)

Over...

Here in the UK, Thursday 8 October 2015 is National Poetry Day. Poetry is close to our hearts on The Psychologist, so we thought we would take a look back at some relevant archive material. 

- In 2015, we ran...

A Wonder World for Enid

Enid, these are for you.
My wish: that you had a wonder world in front of your paled eyes,
Scenes so wonderful that you felt,
simply, joy.
Garden memories of...

"Its maps, they say, are in our minds already:
How else could we adventure in that country
So sure of paths we never walked upon?

I listen to the children, not yet three,
Dancing out the tongue's deep mystery,
Threading the maze of meaning and...