Poetry 20 January 2021 The NS Poem: Iris Murdoch’s Love A poem by the late Peter Abbs. Getty A hawthorn tree in full summer blossom in Dartmoor, Devon. Sign UpGet the New Statesman\'s Morning Call email. Sign-up Today the wild hawthorn breaks bridal white and a thick mist is drifting down. Why do I think “bridal”? Or feel terror as mist erases the familiar. To hell with nature poetry! Half-agreed – but this is not “heritage” or postcard elegy. In the calligraphy of landscape we’re encrypted. Here “mist” is a metaphor, “bridal” a key. I’m thinking of that philosopher whose mind in the dense blur of dementia still stuttered: Susten poujin drom love poujin? Poujin susten? Listen! Even now at meaning’s edge, one word breaking out, sub-song of being, blossom-breath. Peter Abbs was the author of ten collections of poetry, including "Voyaging Out (Salt)", and the emeritus professor of creative writing at the University of Sussex. He died in December 2020. › Many people think poor families don’t deserve pleasure. Our insulting “food hampers” prove it This article appears in the 22 January 2021 issue of the New Statesman, Biden's Burden