New Poems: “But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.”

By D H Lawrence

For many of us DH Lawrence was a schoolboy hero. Who can forget sniggering in class at the mention of ‘Women In Love’ or ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’? Lawrence was a talented if nomadic writer whose novels were passionately received, suppressed at times and generally at odds with Establishment values. This of course did not deter him. At his death in 1930 at the young age of 44 he was more often thought of as a pornographer but in the ensuing years he has come to be more rightly regarded as one of the most imaginative writers these shores have produced. As well as his novels he was also a masterful poet (he wrote over 800 of them), a travel writer as well as an author of many classic short stories. Here we publish his poetry collection ‘New Poems’. Once again Lawrence shows his hand as a brilliant writer. Delving into situations and peeling them back to reveal the inner heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Copyright Group
• Release date: Sep 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781783941483

D H Lawrence

David Herbert Lawrence, (185-1930) more commonly known as D.H Lawrence was a British writer and poet often surrounded by controversy. His works explored issues of sexuality, emotional health, masculinity, and reflected on the dehumanizing effects of industrialization. Lawrence’s opinions acquired him many enemies, censorship, and prosecution. Because of this, he lived the majority of his second half of life in a self-imposed exile. Despite the controversy and criticism, he posthumously was championed for his artistic integrity and moral severity.

Book preview

D H Lawrence - New Poems

TO AMY LOWELL

For many of us DH Lawrence was a schoolboy hero. Who can forget sniggering in class at the mention of ‘Women In Love’ or ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’?   Lawrence was a talented if nomadic writer whose novels were passionately received, suppressed at times and generally at odds with Establishment values.  This of course did not deter him.  

At his death in 1930 at the young age of 44 he was more often thought of as a pornographer but in the ensuing years he has come to be more rightly regarded as one of the most imaginative writers these shores have produced. 

As well as his novels he was also a masterful poet (he wrote over 800 of them), a travel writer as well as an author of many classic short stories. 

Here we publish his poetry collection ‘New Poems’. Once again Lawrence shows his hand as a brilliant writer. Delving into situations and peeling them back to reveal the inner heart.

Index Of Contents

Apprehension

Coming Awake

From a College Window

Flapper

Birdcage Walk

Letter from Town: The Almond Tree

Flat Suburbs, S.W., in the Morning

Thief in the Night

Letter from Town: On a Grey Evening in March

Suburbs on a Hazy Day

Hyde Park at Night: Clerks

Gipsy

Two-Fold

Under the Oak

Sigh no More

Love Storm

Parliament Hill in the Evening

Piccadilly Circus at Night: Street Walkers

Tarantella

In Church

Piano

Embankment at Night: Charity

Phantasmagoria

Next Morning

Palimpsest of Twilight

Embankment at Night: Outcasts

Winter in the Boulevard

School on the Outskirts

Sickness

Everlasting Flowers

The North Country

Bitterness of Death

Seven Seals

Reading a Letter

Twenty Years Ago

Intime

Two Wives

Heimweh

Débâcle

Narcissus

Autumn Sunshine

On That Day

DH Lawrence – A Short Biography

DH Lawrence – A Concise Bibliography

APPREHENSION

And all hours long, the town

Roars like a beast in a cave

That is wounded there

And like to drown;

While days rush, wave after wave

On its lair.

An invisible woe unseals

The flood, so it passes beyond

All bounds: the great old city

Recumbent roars as it feels

The foamy paw of the pond

Reach from immensity.

But all that it can do

Now, as the tide rises,

Is to listen and hear the grim

Waves crash like thunder through

The splintered streets, hear noises

Roll hollow in the interim.

COMING AWAKE

When I woke, the lake-lights were quivering on the

wall,

The sunshine swam in a shoal across and across,

And a hairy, big bee hung over the primulas

In the window, his body black fur, and the sound

of him cross.

There was something I ought to remember: and

yet

I did not remember. Why should I? The run-

ning lights

And the airy primulas, oblivious

Of the impending bee, they were fair enough

sights.

FROM A COLLEGE WINDOW

The glimmer of the limes, sun-heavy, sleeping,

Goes trembling past me up the College wall.

Below, the lawn, in soft blue