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Articles by James Wilson
New range of homes released for sale at £50m Killamarsh development
Housebuilder Honey has released a new range of homes for sale at its £50m, 174-home development in Killamarsh. Called Aurelle, the development is located off Upperthorpe Road just a short commute to Chesterfield, Rotherham and Sheffield, and comprises a mix of two-, three-, four- and five-bedroom new homes. Prices for the new homes range from £239,995 for a two-bedroom semi-detached Avocado house type to £454,995 for a five-bedroom detached Wildflower.
James Matthew Wilson - The New Criterion
Sign into your account Become a subscriber Current subscribers may register for online access. James Matthew Wilson’s most recent book of poems is Saint Thomas and the Forbidden Birds (Word on Fire). Poetry: a special section The weight of Seamus Heaney Tucson hospital, waiting room T. S. Eliot’s still point Farewell to Berwyn On being ill On a box of rainbow sprinkles Passover
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Walter Osborne, In a Dublin Park, Light and Shade, ca. 1895, Oil on canvas, National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin. The weight of Seamus Heaney Purchase this and other timeless New Criterion essays in our hard-copy reprint series. Within a decade of the publication of his first book, Death of a Naturalist, in 1966, Seamus Heaney (1939–2013) was proclaimed the most important Irish poet since William Butler Yeats. In retrospect, such praise sounds tepid.
From a Rooftop - Hearth & Field
To look out on the city of your birth, As headlights trace a pathway through the dark; To see the distant white upon the dome That governs every avenue and park, Will leave you sensing what you had called home Is where the body longs to meet with earth.
“Tucson hospital, waiting room,” by James Matthew Wilson
The visitors outside the icu, After first greetings, don’t have much to say. And yet, an idle gazing on the view Of cars parked in the warming desert day, Waiting themselves in silence, will not do. And so, they speak of where their children live, Now that they’re grown with children of their own, Of one’s tenacity or initiative, A grandchild’s trophy, grades, or broken bone. No detail is too trivial to give. Their voices hide those distant beeps and hums That hint of purposes they only guess.
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