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Harold Feil Jones is a New Zealander, educated at Cambridge University, where he was awarded an Exhibition to read English. His poetry has been widely published in UK and NZ literary journals. He has been a prize-winner in national UK and NZ poetry competitions, and, as a lyricist, in the UK Songwriting Contest, the largest such event in the world. A selection of his work in AUP New Poets Four (Auckland University Press, 2011), drew the UK review, “this excellent poet, a kind of Ted Hughes crossed with Bukowski,” with a further selection, Curriculum Vitae (Xlibris, 2014), reviewed in NZ as “downright incredible.” His work has won the acclaim of pre-eminent critics and poets: among them, Al Alvarez, “I like the elegance and control, the drive to say something rather than just to cut a fashionable figure," and Ted Hughes, “I hear a real voice, a real movement of mind cutting through resistances.” In the US his poems appear in Merion West and VoegelinView.

Logos

Christmas Eve Put aside tonight recognition, the obvious Surroundings, of this word - branding of things – And return to the beginning, to the birth Of all…

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Remembrance

Burial The still, calm silence of the morning Breaks into hammering – hard, Sharp and ringing – metal on metal: Somewhere in a neighbouring garden I guess…

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Above Troy

From here you look down On the whole spit that divides The harbour from the coast, And see the long ocean beach, The littleness of buildings In…

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Litter: A Poem

A small, billowing, clear plastic bag With a press-strip closure – one Strip yellow, the other blue – now Open-mouthed, accompanies me, Tumbling beside my footfalls For…

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On Foot

Who is this, or what, whose weightless Shadow, walking, runs ahead, then Trails, on the asphalt, grass, concrete, Now this gravel I press underfoot? Who and what?…

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Birdsong

It’s about this time of the morning - As now - the blackbirds and The thrushes start their songs: And one, I see, a thrush, sits High…

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Travel: A Poem

The birds that traverse the garden – Emerging to sight above the hedge, The silvery magnolia tree, the rose Branches splayed against the sky – From east…

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Made in Italy: A Poem

There is this room. There are the paintings, Family photographs standing in their frames, Sofas, cushions – books, magazines, coasters On the table – the little Italian…

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