The New Criterion
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Poems

March 1996

Verse

by Charles Tomlinson

The pause at the turn, however infinitesimal,

 
Is there to ensure we do not run ahead

Of the heartbeat, the knowledge in the blood

That will not be hurried beyond a present good

Before it has fed on it. Where are you going

And towards what beyond, asks the pulsation

To which everything is bound: time to return

To the paced-out path for those who raced it.


Charles Tomlinsons most recent volumes are Selected Poems (New Directions) and Jubilation (Oxford)
more from this author


This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 14 March 1996, on page 31
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