21 January 2026

The NS Poem: The Present Life on Earth

A new poem by Jack Nicholls

Photo by Alain Boussac /Millennium

Inside the ee ee ee ee ittl ee ittlittl
ee ee ittlittlittlittlittlee ee ee ee ee

ee jug jug a bring jug jug jug of song,
the birds, banging what they mean

against the inside of the birdsong;
inside the off-licence (little aisle

buttressed with toughened glass,
old breath) the fellow at the priest-

end sees the banging of a soul half-
out a head as if through television,

the quiet bottles rattling; inside
the ambulance, pleasant laughter,

banging off the inside of the mute
windscreen as it turns, sirenless

and slow, into the care home,
settling in the usual spot. And look:

in all directions, miles of dark air
to wing our cargo through forever,

never landing, our urgent messages
undelivered, unread. Look:

a sudden, solid nothing, to stamp
self-portraits on in fine white dust.

And inside the portraits, us, inside
the home, us, the offie, the ambulance,

the breathy upslur of the crowbar, us,
and inside the crowns of trees it’s us,

singing. All rivers burst their banks.
Bring a jug bring a jug bring a jug.