scriveners WRITERS AN ABERGAVENNY

Has written poetry since performing poetry at a school concert aged 7. A reading at Abergavenny Castle led to an invitation to publish from The Collective Press. The volume ' A PLACE TO STAND '     ( nearly sold out ) followed and another is promised soon. He says that his writing recovered from studying English literature at College and a year working in India. Research into the life and work of Sidney Keyes and a brief but important period with a monastic community led on to teaching ( EFL and primary ) It also included service in ILEA's Division 5, where his Bengali would have been more useful if everyone hadn't laughed so much at his accent. Marriage, and the birth of a child, led to his departure from urban smoke for the mountains of Wales. Teaching included work with Glillian Clarke and Ric Hool in the Gwent Writing Squad alongside young writers. Illness led to early retirement in 1997 and self employment, offering computer services and developing a publishing imprint, Three Peaks Press ( Web site at Http:p3p.org ).
    His publications include, A PLACE TO STAND ( 1995, The collective Press ) and in anthologies, THE WISDOM OF THE CROCODILES & OF SAWN GRAIN ( Collective Press ) His work has also appeared in publications viz., The Tablet, The Merton Journal, Spirituality, Times Educational Supplement, Education, amongst others. He is also a member of the ' Writers on Tour' scheme ( See home page link to The Welsh Academi )
    Critics have said of his work: " This is a clear and powerful voice...... " ( Rowan Williams) " The lines are honed so diligently............... " ( The Observer ) " An exciting confluence of of the spiritual and the day-to-day." ( David Scott )

Nirmal Hriday

Literally means " Place of the Pure Heart "
It is the name of The Home for the Dying in
Calcutta, run by the Missionaries of Charity.

The stench of excrement
Clenches my throat,
Metal bowls and mugs,
Scrubbed clean with ashes
And shreds of coconut,
Glints in the sunlight
That hangs in shafts.
In the morning, the van;
The night's wrapped corpses
Are lugged outside.
The sick fret and moan,
Or lie still, and smile.
The day is ordinary things:
Water, medicine, talk, washing.
The work of a warn threshold.
On the wall by the stove
where the dhall bubbles
Is a simple cross
And Two words: " I thirst."