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Author: Julian Wood

  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Not a stockbroker

    • Julian Wood
    • 24 May 2023

    They knew secret restaurants where / You had to knock at a little door with a hatch. And they rose each day at six sharp to train / Before striding into glass towers, And one of them, she said, had read Proust / And told her it was ‘great’, Only he (or she) / Pronounced it ‘Prowst’ like Faust / And all his envy turned to air.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Winging it

    • Julian Wood
    • 28 March 2022

    Beyond, the Hampstead houses / dipped their heads in the water / and drank long and slow / as if in companionship. At last the pond darkened / beneath evening clouds / And we rose to go, / Leaving behind the precious crumbs / The birds had waited all day for.

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