[Harold] Monro was no insipid Georgian, either. This week's poem, Living, is a psychological meditation that is as fluid as Monro's personality, and gives voice both to the death-haunted depressive and the ardent, life-hungry idealist. Its startling range of imagery includes a sketch of the functions of the nervous system, a builder's crane, a drab interior with clothes-peg and clock, and a gloriously expansive outdoors.from Carol Rumens: The Guardian: Books blog: Poem of the week: Living by Harold Monro
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