White Nights - Jenkins
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Long After The little smoke-black steamer, wet with spray, You went aboard, bound for England, home And Blighty . . . The screws were churning up white foam As you stood shivering on deck, she in a cloak That clung wetly to her shoulders--the colour of dirt Or mourning--and the hat, battered straw, Without a ribbon or a feather, that, If she were rich, she would throw away; That she must wear and wear until it's dust Or she is. Round her neck she wore The handkerchief with which she waved goodbye for good.

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Produktbeschreibung
Long After The little smoke-black steamer, wet with spray, You went aboard, bound for England, home And Blighty . . . The screws were churning up white foam As you stood shivering on deck, she in a cloak That clung wetly to her shoulders--the colour of dirt Or mourning--and the hat, battered straw, Without a ribbon or a feather, that, If she were rich, she would throw away; That she must wear and wear until it's dust Or she is. Round her neck she wore The handkerchief with which she waved goodbye for good.
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Autorenporträt
Alan Jenkins was born in Surrey in 1955 and has lived for most of his life in London. He studied at the University of Sussex and has worked for the Times Literary Supplement since 1981, first as poetry and fiction editor, then as deputy editor. He was also a poetry critic for The Observer and the Independent on Sunday from 1985-1990, and has taught creative writing in the USA, London and Paris.