Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
Carol Ann Duffy
The collection of poems by Carol Ann Duffy entitled ‘The World’s Wife’ was first published in 1999 and presents stories, myths, fairy tales and characters in Western culture from the point of view of women. Much of literature through the ages and even today is patriarchal, presenting the world from...
At childhood’s end, the houses petered out
Into playing fields, the factory, allotments
Kept, like mistresses, by kneeling married men
The silent railway line, the hermit’s caravan
Till you came at last to the edge of the woods
It was there that I first clapped eyes on the wolf
He stood in a clearing, reading his verse out loud
In his wolfy drawl, a paperback in his hairy paw
Red wine staining his bearded jaw. What big ears
He had! What big eyes he had! What teeth!
In the interval, I made quite sure he spotted me
Sweet sixteen, never been, babe, waif, and bought me a drink
My first. You might ask why. Here’s why. Poetry
The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods
Away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place
Lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake
My stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer
Snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes
But got there, wolf’s lair, better beware. Lesson one that night
Breath of the wolf in my ear, was the love poem
I clung till dawn to his thrashing fur, for
What little girl doesn’t dearly love a wolf?
Then I slid from between his heavy matted paws
And went in search of a living bird – white dove –
Which flew, straight, from my hands to his open mouth
One bite, dead. How nice, breakfast in bed, he said
Licking his chops. As soon as he slept, I crept to the back
Of the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books
Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head
Warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood
But then I was young – and it took ten years
In the woods to tell that a mushroom
Stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds
Are the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolf
Howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out
Season after season, same rhyme, same reason. I took an axe
To a willow to see how it wept. I took an axe to a salmon
To see how it leapt. I took an axe to the wolf
As he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw
The glistening, virgin white of my grandmother’s bones
I filled his old belly with stones. I stitched him up
Out of the forest I come with my flowers, singing, all alone
Little Red Cap was written by Carol Ann Duffy.
Little Red Cap was produced by Carol Ann Duffy.