Born in Bristol, Angela Tuckett became involved in progressive politics from an early age. She supported the Welsh contingent to the 1931 Hunger March, the League of Progressive Writers and Bristol’s Unity Theatre. In 1940, as a solicitor, she took charge of the legal department of the National Council for Civil Liberties (now Liberty). She joined the staff of the Daily Worker in 1942, then worked on Labour Monthly from 1948 to 1978. She was a member of the editorial committee of the William Morris Society, and with her husband Ike Gradwell worked tirelessly to build up the Swindon branch of the Communist Party. This poem uses metaphor to illustrate what the struggle is all about.
Adrian Mitchell, 1932 – 2008, first performed his stirring denunciation of the Vietnam War, To Whom It May Concern (Tell me lies about Vietnam), at an anti war protest in Trafalgar Square, London, in 1964.
This video features a performance on 11 June 1965 at London’s Royal Albert Hall, at the height of the Vietnam War.
As well as being the anti-colonial and revolutionary leader of Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh was also a keen poet. Here we feature some of the poems wrote by Ho Chi Minh during a long period of imprisonment.
In 1942, at age 52, Ho Chi Minh was arrested in South China, accused of being a spy by Nationalist forces. For fourteen months, bound in leg irons, he was shifted from jail to jail. Throughout he kept a diary written in poetry. The following poems are a selection of poems from Ho Chi Minh’s Prison Diary.
Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, known to us as Lenin, was born 150 years ago on the 22nd of April. His effect on history, on revolutionary thought and on the minds of the people of this world, all remain possibly unparalleled by any figure of the tumultuous 20th century. One of the ways in which Lenin remained immortalised was by the admiration displayed for him by various artists around the world, especially writers. Lenin remains, as Marcel Liebman once wrote, a figure which nearly every insurrectionary movement claims as their heritage.
I Time is sick, but once it departs as long as it sells, there’s no greater burning to write for dear life, as soon as it starts and no man can get by, except when by earning and no one should live all aside from the arts, No matter which way, at once it’s concerning Continue reading “Poetry Corner: Ire”
You were the first I calved, And I did so to the letter. I brought you out to this world, And so felt better. When the fence came down, you ran, And left me a fretter. Back when you were a calf, And I knew no better. I watched you grow, From calf to cowContinue reading “Poetry Corner: I Knew No Better.”