Muntjac: a poem by Will Burns

28 September 2017 // Poetry

On this, National Poetry Day, feast your eyes on a new number from Caught by the River Poet-in-Residence Will Burns: It was February and in late snow I turned from the river towards the hills where, along the ridgetop, the fir tips tore themselves into the vapourish sky. I walked where I thought I remembered […]

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February: a poem by Will Burns

31 May 2017 // Poetry

I could forget it all on evenings like this– your names, addresses, even our relations. Everything could be taken from me by the lights of the city in this kind of weather. The process has something to do with the buildings, but there is also the matter of all the people. How many there are… […]

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Afterwards: a poem by Will Burns

31 March 2017 // Poetry

My mother’s last days were the end of a winter that had become only rolling blackout into blackout— a time I had no hold on. All news held a kind of dread but ours, when it came, felt like coming to. A dimness in an old room, a sense of certain things in absence. Two […]

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Swallowing: a poem by Will Burns

12 March 2017 // Poetry

Like the banks we valued ourselves only as a future, neglected to peg anything to the day that was coeval with our action— the true day that crops up as a raid on memory. How long do you suppose we measured familial intake in rows of poplar trees (as our borders), the length of hands […]

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Out of Doors: a poem by Will Burns

11 November 2016 // Poetry

We knew sun-up as mosquito time playing itself out in a damp wood and the madness, really, of a dawn chorus being taped. Our field recordings made so we might never lose a thing. Later, emptying his house, I found the tape machine. Hit the play button and watched the glossy acetate spool through the […]

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