Notes on the poems

Woman on a Bus: Exactly what it says.

India: India was a semi-stray cat who lived in a house where I once had a student bedsit. Somebody had brought her as a kitten a couple of years earlier and abandoned her when he moved on.  She survived on charity, scavenging, theft and a little bit of hunting. In the end, Ruth rescued her and gave her a proper home. And she grew fat for the first time...

There are Women in this Poem: I had just written a poem in which a pretty young woman had a walk-on part as a magician's assistant. This one was clearly meant to redress a balance. Philip Larkin read it and said he liked it – probably my closest brush ever with literary fame.

And Now Here is the Shipping Forecast: At the time I wrote this, North and South Utsire hadn't yet joined the forecast community, and Fitzroy was still called Finisterre. (I'm saying that just for the mavens). In case you can't tell, I'd also just finished a degree majoring in history of religion and psychology.

Emerald Pays a Visit to the Toilet: Self-explanatory – though, with hindsight, probably too apologetic. Ah well.

Coming From: Inspired by a story in 'Zen Flesh, Zen Bones' by Paul Reps. I also liked the one about the Zen master who, when the day came on which he had predicted his own death, dictated a poem to his disciples. Before the end of the poem, he paused. The disciple who was transcribing it said: Master, we are one line short. Instead of adding the final line, the master gave a conquering roar and was gone. Great jokers, those Zen masters.

When She Melts: No further comment.

Hymn of a Bird: My mum liked this one when I read it aloud to her.

Untitled Poem: No further comment.

Raven's Eschatology: When I first read this at a poetry workshop I was attending at the time, someone asked why I thought it was worth writing, as Ted Hughes had already covered the ground, and far better. But I think it has something to say that is really not Ted Hughes at all. More Sigmund Freud, in fact.

Let Those with Wings Fly: Inspired in – and set in – New Walk, Leicester. I've always been a bit in love with flying, and most things that can fly on their own. But, yes, I was also thinking about those big questions again.

The General Theory of Relativity Ch XXVII: A long car journey back from Wales in the rain. Perhaps also betrays an interest in the scientific view on those same big questions...

The Eve: Our cats seemed so cute. Fritz's last act on Earth was to kill a newly fledged baby sparrow. And Tensing used to love the wildlife programs on TV – especially the ones with little fluttering birds and mammals. She never did learn why she couldn't find them round the back of the box.

Still Crashing in the Same Car: A true story from when I was a teenager. At the time I wrote it, several years afterwards, I was thinking of Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan. Now it seems to fit with Tony Blair and George Bush, though the geriatric link is obviously more tenuous. But that whole image is borrowed from Timothy Leary, anyway, and that certainly seems to go with the acid theme.

Always a New Beginning: My dad had died a couple of years earlier, and I was still trying to come to terms with that. It surprised me, as it was the first poem I wrote for a little over a decade, and it came out of the blue. Then for a bit I thought I could only write about the death of a parent – which seems a bit limited and self-indulgent as a poetic obsession. I think I've got over that now, too.

Orphan on a Bike (in an English Countryside): The picture used as a background for the graphic version of this was taken by my father shortly after he met my mother, in 1937 or thereabouts. It would have been a Sunday, because it's hard to imagine they both got time off work any other day of the week. They met when he was a patient in Aberdeen Royal Infirmary – she was a nurse and he was having most of his thyroid removed. I once asked her – as you do – what had first attracted her to him, and she said: I thought he was cheeky.

Above the City: A wrapping up of some images that first began to ferment in my mind back in the 1970s, but didn't get written down till the new millenium. As I've got older, I seem to do more wrapping up, and reappraising, like this. I suppose that's because the farther you get through the journey, the more perspective you have on where you have been. And where you are going. But it's probably also just how long it takes some thoughts to clarify...

Swimlanes: The supposed distant origin of some of the people in this poem is maybe a distraction from the real point.

Crossing that Line: A second try at this theme. I think I finally did sort out what my dad's life meant for me.

Swimming with Women: Wendy gave me the title for this one. And she is there in the water with me, too.