Since we are hoping to move in the near future, I have already started the long process of boxing up books.
For some time I have fantasised about doing away with the poetry I don't really like and keeping a much smaller collection of books that I really like and which I return to again and again, either as an inspiration for my own work or just for the benefit of my soul.
This appears to be a good time to give that a trial run. As such our flat now has metres of empty shelves and a half-shelf of desert island poets.
Keeping each other company are Eavan Boland, Hugo Williams, Mark Strand, Charles Simic, Peter Reading, Edward Thomas, Wiliam Carlos Wiliams, Seamus Heaney, Montale, Lavinia Greenlaw, Roethke, James Wright, and Charles Wright.
Good enough company until we're settled, though as I write I realise that over the last few days I have already regretted packing Dante, Ryokan, Douglas Dunn, Robert Lowell and Faber's Modern European Poetry.