a British poet, playwright, and novelist.
Life and career
Simon Armitage was born in Marsden, West Yorkshire. Armitage first studied at Colne Valley High School, Linthwaite, Huddersfield and went on to study geography at Portsmouth Polytechnic. He was a post-graduate student at Manchester University where his MA thesis concerned the effects of television violence on young offenders. Until 1994 he worked as Probation Officer in Greater Manchester. He was awarded an Honorary Doctor of Letters in 1996 from the University of Portsmouth. He then lectured on creative writing at the University of Leeds, the University of Iowa and the Manchester Metropolitan University. In ... more »
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Simon Armitage Poems
I Say I Say I Say
Anyone here had a go at themselves for a laugh? Anyone opened their wrists with a blade in the bath? Those in the dark at the back, listen hard. Those at the front
I Am Very Bothered
I am very bothered when I think of the bad things I have done in my life. Not least that time in the chemistry lab when I held a pair of scissors by the blades
About His Person
Five pounds fifty in change, exactly, a library card on its date of expiry. A postcard stamped,
And if it snowed and snow covered the drive he took a spade and tossed it to one side. And always tucked his daughter up at night And slippered her the one time that she lied.
It Ain't What You Do, It's What It Does ...
I have not bummed across America with only a dollar to spare, one pair of busted Levi's and a bowie knife. I have lived with thieves in Manchester.
Here on the Hard, you're welcome to pull up and stay; there's a flat fee of a quid for parking all day. And wandering over the dunes, who wouldn't die
The sun comes like a head through last night's turtleneck. A pigeon in the yard turns tail and offers me a card. Any card.
Just how it came to rest where it rested, miles out, miles from the last farmhouse even, was a fair question. Dropped by hurricane or aeroplane perhaps for some reason,
I was pegging out your lime-green dress; you were hoping the last of the sun might sip the last few beads of drip-dry water from its lime-green hem.
The Golden Toddy
We hunted, swept the planet pole to pole to capture a glimpse of that rare species. Through a thermal lens we spotted a shoal,
It is not through weeping, but all evening the pale blue eye on your most photogenic side has kept its own unfathomable tide. Like the boy
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I Say I Say I Say
Anyone here had a go at themselves
for a laugh? Anyone opened their wrists
with a blade in the bath? Those in the dark
at the back, listen hard. Those at the front
in the know, those of us who have, hands up,
let's show that inch of lacerated skin
between the forearm and the fist. Let's tell it
like it is: strong drink, a crimson tidemark
round the tub, a yard of lint, white towels
washed a dozen times, still pink. Tough luck.
A passion then for watches, bangles, cuffs.
A likely story: you were lashed by brambles
picking berries from the woods. Come clean, ...